Spurs 'n Surrender (Operation Cowboy Book 2)(44)

“Anya.”

A cold look had taken over her blue eyes.

Regret, pure and simple.

His chest burned. Not bothering with his shirt, he got behind the wheel. As soon as he started the engine, she cut the silence. “This was dumb. We’re nothing alike.”

He pushed out a sigh. If she didn’t want to open up to him, he couldn’t force her. “You’re right.” Though the opposite was true—they were very much alike, which was probably why they argued so often.

“Good—I’m glad we agree on that much. I think we need to try to stay away from each other until we figure things out. I’ll help at the Kents’ while you work on the tiny homes.”

“That’s a plan.” Why did his heart feel as if he’d just taken a hit from a mortar? He bumped across the field toward the main road leading into town—back to her Airstream. She remained silent during the ride while his mind whirled at eighty miles an hour.

“We fight too much to be good for each other,” she said out of the blue. Obviously she was worrying over the bone of their personality clash too.

“You’re absolutely right.”

“I’m glad you agree. Drop me here.” She waved toward the side of the road. About half a mile away her silver Twinkie glinted in the morning rays.

“You sure? I can drive you up to the door.”

“No, I need to walk a little. Thanks.” She climbed out of his truck without a backward glance. As he watched her walk away a little stiffly, he couldn’t help but take pride in the mark of their night on her.

Dammit, what had just happened? They’d shared the most amazing sex of his life and she’d walked away? And he’d let her go?

For a moment he considered cutting the engine, getting out and going after her. But she held her head so erect that he knew she’d only give him a tongue-lashing for chasing her.

Feeling more despondent than any man should after having a little vixen in his arms all night, he turned the truck around and headed for the Bells’ place. Once there, he didn’t bother going inside but did a few chores around the ranch before having a quick, cold wash in the outdoor sink.

No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn’t erase Anya’s scent. She was ingrained in his pores.

Damn if he didn’t like it. But he had a sinking feeling that when he was with her he had no self-control, and there was no way that looked good on him. For once, he should try to be a gentleman, take it slow.

By the time he was on site of the tiny home, he decided he’d made the right choice in bucking her know-it-all instructions and building the addition on the place. The home looked so much better, and as far as he was concerned, was much more desirable to a buyer.

He took up his hammer and set to work. When Garrett joined him, he let out a low whistle.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Change of plans.” Just like everything else. Last night he and Anya had agreed they were good for each other—today not at all. He pushed a breath through his nose.

Garrett scratched his unshaven jaw. “Anya signed off on this?”

“Does it matter? It’s built now and needs to be roofed. Grab that bundle of shingles and the ladder.”

A few minutes later they were working in a rhythm together. Even though the addition was much larger than the original home, it didn’t take a lot of time before they had the place weatherproofed.

Wydell looked toward the Airstream and sucked in a harsh breath. She’d moved it farther down the road, to the other side of the Kents’ place. From this distance, he couldn’t see Anya if she came outside. A weight crushed his chest.

“What’s that all about?” Garrett asked, following his stare.

“Guess she wanted a change of scenery. I wouldn’t know.”

“It has nothing to do with you two being parked in your field last night?”

He looked up sharply. “How do you know?”

“I wander when I have trouble sleeping. I heard… I mean I walked that direction and spotted your truck.”

Wydell grunted. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I figured. You probably don’t want to discuss how difficult this is going to make working conditions either.” Garrett’s look was too piercing, but Wydell noted the strains of fatigue and stress around his friend’s eyes. The man hadn’t escaped the evil pull of post-war fatigue either. He just handled it differently. They all did. Brodie buried himself in work and now in Danica and the coming baby. Boyd had disappeared.

He pressed his lips into his teeth and spent two solid minutes beating an ill-fitting window frame into submission. Finally he said, “Anya and I discussed it. She gave me the run of this project.”

Garrett stopped swinging his hammer. “Is that what you want?”

He stretched his arm to indicate the wing he’d built. “Sure.”

“Okay, then. I won’t interfere.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Despite the cool exchange, they worked companionably for the rest of the day. Which was good because Wydell was on edge enough. Anya was too far out of his sight—and out of his reach. The baggage he came with was too much to dump on a woman like her, not when she couldn’t handle her own. She deserved a whole man, and he definitely wasn’t that.