Page 55 of Hit the Ground
I rubbed a hand over my jaw, trying to dislodge the tight feeling. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just…” Just what? I didn’t know how to explain myself without sounding like a damn lunatic. Like some overbearing jackass who didn’t trust her to make her own choices. That wasn’t it. I did trust her. I didn’t like the thought of her being back in that bar, where anything could happen. Joy was there, but she’d been there the night Bart had grabbed her, and she’d ended up bloody too.
She must’ve heard something in my silence, because she spoke again, softer this time. Like she was trying to comfort me. “You don’t have to worry so much. I’m not fragile.”
I wanted to argue she’d been through enough—that her bones were still mending along with the parts of her I couldn’t see. But I bit down on the urge. Hard.
Before I could say something I'd regret—or worse, something I meant—she changed the subject.
“Do you still want to read tonight?” she asked. “I could use a little escape.”
I exhaled, deciding to let her take the wheel. “Yeah. I definitely want to.”
We settled into it the way we had every night this week. I cracked open the book and started where we’d left off, my voice filling the quiet space between us. She hummed once, then again, and the tension in my shoulders began to ease.
Little by little, her sounds stopped, and her breathing slowed. She’d fallen asleep, but I was still wide awake. Wondering if she was in bed—if she was comfortable so she didn’t wake up with a crick in her neck tomorrow.
I closed the book, but I didn’t hang up right away.
Just sat there with the phone to my ear, listening to the rhythm of her breathing like it was some kind of lullaby I didn’t know I needed. I told myself I was giving her time to wake up, in case she’d dozed off for a minute. I was being polite.
The truth was, I stayed on the line longer than I’d ever admit to anyone.
Because for some reason, the sound of her sleeping calmed something in me I hadn’t even realized was restless.
I didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t try to name it.
I just listened.
Chapter Twenty-one
Alice
Mrs.Taylorwasafaithful patron of Sugar Brush Community Library, but she did not trust me. Every time she checked out a book, she gave me a serious stink-eye—and I was almost certain I’d never steered her wrong.
This afternoon, she peered at me over the top of her reading glasses, the library’s copy ofWild Like a Cowboy’s Heartclutched tightly to her chest, like it was in danger of being stolen.
“I need to know,” she whispered, as if the other patrons might eavesdrop. “Is it…spicy?”
I glanced at the cover—shirtless cowboy leaning against a fence post at sunset—and fought the smile tugging at my lips. I might’ve been a devout fantasy reader, but that didn’t mean I never ventured onto the wilder side. I liked a good, steamy cowboy romance as much as the next person.
“I think it’s pretty spicy, but I suppose that would depend on your personal definition.”
“You know.” She wiggled her stark white eyebrows. “Not just kissing. I don’t have time for all that slow-burn malarkey.”
Biting back a laugh, I flipped the book open and scanned a few pages I found pretty dang delightful. “I’d say it’s a medium burn. There’s a barn scene about halfway through, and…well, I won’t spoil it for you. You’ll know when you get there.”
The blush that suffused her cheeks made her look fifty years younger and not nearly as cantankerous as I knew her to be. “Perfect. My blood pressure’s been low lately. The doctor says I need excitement.”
“I think you’ll find plenty in those pages,” I assured her.
She questioned me for a few more minutes and requested I order a book by one of her favorite romance authors, then she promised I’d be hearing from her if the cowboy spice wasn’t up to snuff. I told her I’d be ready to face the music if that happened.
When she finally toddled toward the exit, I was grinning to myself, but I froze when I spotted the mountain planted beside the front door.
Caleb Kelly sauntered over to my desk, one hand tucked in his jeans, the other holding a miniature potted plant. I held my breath until he reached me, the crooked grin blooming under his scruffy beard entrancing me.
Dang it all to hell.
Our nightly reading sessions were doing nothing to help me move on from this damn man. Yet I always picked up when he called.
