Page 11 of Her Grumpy Cowboy
I nod.“Fixing things is what I’m good at.”
* * *
I get Angel back to the truck and drive her to the shop.Jamie is behind the counter, measuring coffee grounds like it’s a science experiment.
“She lives,” Jamie says, her gaze darting to me.“Good job.”
I ignore her.She’s seventeen.Teenagers live to be smug.
Crouching by the front door, I set my toolbox down.“Door first,” I say, testing the swell.“Then the sign.”
Angel leans against the counter.“Are you about to fix my entire life?”
I ignore thewantin my chest and nod.“Starting with your hinges, Shortcake.”
Angel blushes at the nickname.“Good.My hinges could use some attention.”
Jesus.
How does she make the wordhingessound so damn sexy?
I shave the door down until it closes cleanly.Sweep the back step.Find the loose board, sink in a couple of screws to hold it until I can bring something better.When I tighten the bracket on the faded sign out front, an idea occurs to me.I file it away for later.
Angel watches as she sits behind the cash register.Jamie serves the never-ending flow of customers.When I finish, Angel flips the sign toClosedbehind Jamie as she leaves.
“Stay off that ankle,” I order.“Call me if you need anything.”
“I don’t have your number.”
“Fixing that.”I pluck her phone from the counter and add my contact with a little pine tree emoji next to my name because this woman makes me an idiot.I hand it back, and a second later, my phone buzzes.
“Grady,” she says, trying out my name like it’s new to her.
“Angel.”I nod toward the stairs.“You need help up?”
“You don’t need to?—”
“I want to.”Jesus, those words are becoming my mantra where she’s concerned.
She hesitates, then says, “Okay.”
I lift her.She fits in my arms as if she were born to be there.On the landing, she fumbles with the keys, laughing.I take them and open the door.
Setting her on the sofa, I grab an ice pack for her ankle, flick on the lamp, and make sure the windows lock right.
Angel watches me like she’s not used to someone staying this long.Like maybe she’s waiting to see if I will.
I step closer, and she tips her chin up, brown eyes big and steady on mine.Her pulse flutters at her throat, a delicate wingbeat.My hand lifts—comfort or need, I don’t know—and I cup her jaw.Her skin is soft under my palm, her pulse racing against my thumb.She’s watching me like she wants this as badly as I do.My restraint cracks.Not breaks—just cracks enough to make the wanting visible.
“If I kiss you,” I say, voice raw, “I won’t pretend I don’t mean it.”
The breath she takes is shaky and brave.“Then don’t pretend.”
It would be easy to devour her.She’s everything soft, everything I’ve never let myself want.And right now, she’s looking at me like sheknowsI could be rough, and she still wouldn’t flinch.I bend closer, and the scent of her—coffee, vanilla, a hint of something sweeter underneath—almost does me in.
I bend anyway, but I stop with my mouth a whisper from hers, not touching, breath to breath.Every part of me wants more—just a taste.Enough to remember the shape of her mouth against mine.But I want it right.I wanther, not a moment stolen before she’s ready.
“Not yet,” I murmur.“Not while you’re hurting.When I kiss you, I want all of you with me.”
