Page 6 of Better Together

Now, she could struggle to dress herself in peace. She tried another stretch and was able to wiggle out of the torture device. She leaned against the cabinets and took a minute to catch her breath. Maybe she should switch to leggings. Or jeggings. Could she get away with jeggings on the ranch? Maybe no one would notice.

Remi slipped on Colt’s pants and double knotted them at the waist. Then, she rolled up the bottoms of the legs and propped her hands on her hips. “Job well done.”

She waited to hear from Colt on the other side of the door, but there was only silence. Maybe he’d really gone downstairs.

After gathering up her wet clothes, she exited the bathroom with as much grace as she could muster.

Colt’s bedroom was basic with only a bed, dresser, nightstand, and chest of drawers. The dark-gray comforter on the bed lay in the general vicinity for the bed to be considered “made” but no corners were lined up or tucked in.

“Amateur,” Remi whispered. She’d been making her bed meticulously for as long as she could remember. Making her bed look nice made her feel like she had something of worth. There had been times–times that shall not be named–when she didn’t have a bed. Having a comfy place to sleep was a privilege, and she showed her appreciation by making her bed.

Lame but true–however weird it may be.

Remi walked down the stairs, careful to lift the long pants up just a little more so she didn’t trip on the hems. She’d done enough of that today, and Colt would probably put her on the prayer list if she fell twice in one day. All of the old ladies in the congregation would be calling and stopping by to wish her well.

The ridiculous vision wasn’t imagined. He’d done it before. They’d even brought Remi casseroles all because of a bruise.

At the bottom of the stairs, Remi headed for the laundry room and tossed her wet clothes in the dryer. They’d be dry in an hour, and she would feel like a real person again. Because, no, the all-too-comfy woman wearing Colt’s clothes had to be some fictitious joke. Wearing his clothes didn’t mean anything. At least, that’s the lie she was telling herself today.

She stepped back into the enormous main room of the house. She looked around the kitchen and living room, but there wasn’t any sign of Colt. Where did he go? She searched around and found him in the recliner. He was sprawled on his back with an arm draped over his eyes.

He was wearing a different shirt. How did that happen?

He lifted the arm off his eyes and raised his head to look at her. “Took you long enough. The pizza should be here any minute.”

“How did you–”

Colt sat up and grunted. His nose scrunched, and his eyes shut tight. “Unlike some of us, I know how to change clothes all by myself.”

“How did you do it with one arm?” Remi asked.

He stood and rubbed a hand over his face. “Carefully. The shirt is made of some stretchy material.”

“Colt, I could have helped you.” Heat spread up her chest and into her cheeks. That’s what friends were for, right? Helping and whatnot. While she was usually willing to lend a hand, helping Colt in and out of his clothes skirted the line.

But Colt wouldn’t get the wrong idea if their friendship ever came to that. She’d known some shady men in her life, and Colt wasn’t one of them. The guy worried about the bees and turtles when winter came around, for Pete’s sake.

His hand dropped from his face lazily. The heaviness in his eyes was new and worrisome. Where was her happy-go-lucky friend?

Then, he looked at her, and all concerns about his wellbeing went up in smoke. His grin broadened, and he looked her over from her head to her feet. “You look good in my clothes, princess.”

Remi punched his arm. “Stop it.”

Colt jokingly stumbled back, but his gaze didn’t waver. That kind of stare from any other man would bring on the harsh tongue she used to fight off her past and anything remotely close to the mistakes she’d made. It was also the same fear that kept her relationship status carefully tucked in the singlehood category.

Most men wouldn’t care about her past, but Colt would. He’d run screaming for the hills if he heard even a whisper of the woman she used to be.

But Colt was still looking at her like he saw more than just his friend standing in front of him when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it.” Remi darted toward the front door and flung it open.

“Hey.” The young man shoved the pizzas at her and didn’t try to hide the assessing look as his gaze traveled from her head to her feet and back up again.

Remi snatched the pizzas from him. “I fell in a puddle. How much do I owe you?”

“Already paid for.” The guy handed over the receipt.

Lucky for him. If she’d been in charge of paying, she wouldn’t have left much of a tip after he’d gotten a good look at her in Colt’s clothes.

---