Page 24 of The Rough Rider

Hell, he didn’t like admitting it to himself. Because what the hell kind of asshole felt that way?

He’d felt protective over the little girl she’d been. But hewantedthe woman.

Now that woman needed protection, and while he would never, ever give in to his desires for her, he could save her. Maybe along the way it would save him too.

SHEWASEXHAUSTEDand sleepy by the time lunchtime rolled around. And she hadn’t even done anything. It was just that she’d slept badly, then had gone to meet with Gus, had fallen into an uncertain and irritating nap, and now was crabby.

He’d texted her to say that he was going to meet her at Sullivan’s Point, and she was sitting out on the porch in one of the white wicker chairs with her knees pulled up to her chest and her eyebrows cinched tightly together.

He pulled up in his battered old pickup and got out. His boot hit the dirt first, then the rest of him unfolded out of the cab of the truck. He put his hat on his head, and walked up to the porch. “You ready?”

“I guess.”

“You feeling okay?”

“No,” she said. “I feel sick and angry.”

“You want to wait to do this? Because it can wait.”

“No. I don’t want to wait. I just want to get it out of the way.”

“Right then. Let’s go, princess. I might buy you lunch if you play nice.”

She huffed as she walked around to the other side of the truck, but he went around the front, which was much shorter, and met her there, with the passenger door held open. “I’m nice!”

With her irritation on high, and not even really directed at him, she got into the truck. She pulled her knees up in the same position as he started the engine and peeled out of the driveway.

It wasn’t a terribly long drive down to the courthouse in Mapleton. It was always nice to go there. There was actual shopping and restaurant options. Pyrite Falls wasn’t exactly a booming metropolis. It was a collection of ramshackle wooden buildings along the highway. Smokey’s Tavern and the general store, a gas station, a diner and an ice cream shop. Not much else.

“Can we play music?” she asked.

“Be my guest.”

She found a pop music station—she’d never been a huge fan of country, which mortified Elsie—and started to sing along with the song. Some of her irritation faded away as the beat picked up. She shook her hair out, laughing as she did.

She felt better already.

About halfway through, she peeked over at him, and saw that he had part of his attention directed at her.

“You’re supposed to be watching the road,” she said, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“You’re a changeable little thing.”

“I don’t like to feel upset. Sometimes it’s unavoidable. But... I’ve always tried to just make the best of things. I was tired, but music gives me energy. So, I don’t need to sit in my tiredness. I just need to deal with myself. Find a way to be happy.”

“Is that what you’re supposed to do? I just learned to like the feeling of being burned at the stake for my sins.”

She blinked and stared at him.

“Intentional reference,” he said. “But if I can’t make a good joke about being burned at the stake, who can?”

He grinned, and the smile tugged at his scars.

She huffed a laugh. “Yeah. You’re a real Joan of Arc.”

Except, she had to wonder if he was. Given that he was sacrificing to marry her. Though, maybe he wasn’t really sacrificing anything. Like he’d said, he didn’t really do personal life here in town. Which must mean he did it elsewhere. Well, he’d kind of said that too. And that meant that he would probably keep on doing that.

They were on their way to get their marriage license. She should probably ask.

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