Spurs 'n Surrender (Operation Cowboy Book 2)(24)

“That’s nice of them.”

“We’re a unit. We don’t know how to do most things without each other.”

“You do pretty well solo from what I can see.” She slid a forefinger down his chest, zigzagging through his sparse hair there.

Before she reached his stomach, he trapped her hand beneath his. “I don’t need backup for this mission.”

A soft smile graced her lips.

“What?” he asked.

“The way you talk—like a Marine.”

Tension spread along his shoulders. “I thought I was a cowboy.”

“You’re a lot of things, Wydell. I know you don’t like to talk about your past, so let’s discuss the future. What happens after the first house is built?”

“We get a realtor to find a family of gnomes to buy it.”

She wrinkled her nose in a scowl, but the effect was totally lost in cuteness. “You’re just upset that you didn’t think of building small houses first.”

Sputtering, he said, “Jealous?”

“Yeah, you know I’m right about this venture and you wish you’d come up with it.”

“I did come up with it. Well, not the tiny homes, but the whole project.”

She pushed out a sigh. “Yes, you did. Look, I’m not arguing with you. Not here.”

With her honey-blonde hair spread around her and all that golden, tormenting skin within reach, he was in full agreement.

“After the walls, what next?”

“Wiring, windows, doors. A roof. Then the inside work.”

“I like the storage area you added to the design.”

“Thank you.” Lying with her like this was surreal. If anybody had told him three days ago that he’d be capable of having a civilized conversation with Anya, he would have laughed his ass off.

“But the bathroom isn’t quite right.”

He stared at her. “What’s wrong with the bathroom?”

“The sink and toilet should be reversed so the sink has more wall space.”

He leaned on one elbow and bright spots flashed in his vision as pain shot through his skull. “Goddammit!”

“Oh your head. Come here.”

“Don’t touch it.” He still couldn’t see straight. At this rate, he’d be so concussed that he’d be hammering his thumb more than any nails.

Anya pushed into a sitting position. “Fine, I won’t touch it. But tell me what I can do.”

He rested his sore head back on his forearm, assessing the damage. He didn’t feel blood oozing from the spot, which was positive. But the throb told him he was in for a nasty goose egg.

“Ice.”

“Okay. Stay here.”

“Where am I gonna go?” he growled. “I just saw my life flash before my eyes.”

Her laugh trailed away as she left the nook. A minute later he heard ice rattling.

What did she mean the bathroom wasn’t right? The order of toilet and sink was perfect for the space. As far as miniature bathrooms went, the place was an Elfin Taj Mahal.

“Here, sit up.”

“I’m afraid to. There might be more things to bash my head on,” he grumbled, but did. She settled a cloth-covered bag of ice against his head. “It’s on the other side.”

“Excuse me. You’re like a bear when hurt. How did you ever manage to survive a war?”

He leveled a stare at her. Her gaze flickered over his shoulder and arm, where the skin was twisted from his burns. Shoving the ice back into her hands, he got out of bed and located his clothes scattered near the front door. He strode toward them.

“Wait, you’re leaving?” There was only a hint of strain in her tone—the rest was pure indignant sass.

Tossing her a look, he said, “Yeah.”

Not even a full heartbeat passed before she said, “Good. I didn’t want to share my bed with a big, angry cowboy Marine anyway.”

“That’s good, because you won’t be.”

“Don’t think you can come back here and get me in bed again, Wydell.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” He practically leaped into his boxers and jeans. Without bothering with his socks, he shoved his feet into his boots, trying not to wince at the pain radiating through the caved-in part of his skull.

He’d been stupid to let his hormones and a full stomach get the better of him. Anya might be a good woman, but they were still oil and water. They couldn’t even get through the afterglow without a fight.

When he opened the door of her trailer, she gave a throaty moan of frustration that almost made him turn around and ravish her again.

“Thanks for the good time,” she shot at him as he went into the night.

He closed the door behind him. He could thank her for a lot of things, but mostly she’d made him realize something. In war, he’d run on training, experience and instinct. But back in the civilian world, he couldn’t go with his gut. So far his decisions with Anya had been all wrong.

He had to think before acting with her. But his new vow didn’t matter anymore because he was through with the woman. He’d steer clear and she could write checks for the homes he built.

Knowing he was in for a rough night, he didn’t bother going to his cot at the back of the barn and sat up for several hours working on house plans. Just when he’d convinced himself he was grounded once again, didn’t he find her at the tiny house the next morning, wearing skinny jeans and a bright blue tank top, her honey-blonde hair in a messy bun and with a hammer in hand.