Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(24)

“Get in, we’re gonna ride,” Hank said.

I stared at him, then I stared at the driver.

“No,” I whispered.

I couldn’t take it. An evening with delicious food at a romantic restaurant, wine, good conversation, a walk through the streets of Denver wearing Hank’s jacket, now a carriage ride. It was too much. I couldn’t withstand it. I’d never been in a horse drawn carriage. I’d begun to believe I’d never have anything romantic happen to me, except in a scary Bonnie and Clyde type way where I’d end up riddled with bul ets if Bil y’s stink settled on me.

Bil y had never taken me on a horse drawn carriage ride.

Bil y had promised a mil ion romantic promises but he’d never even bought me flowers. Hel , none of my boyfriends ever bought me flowers.

“What’s the matter?” Hank asked when my body locked and refused to move.

I felt it happening. I hated it when it happened without warning. My nose was stinging and I was trying to fight it but I just knew I was going to cry.

Hank turned me to him and looked down at me.

My nostrils were quivering.

Shit!

There was nothing worse than the nostril quiver.

I dropped my head.

His hand came to my neck. He cocked his head and bent low to look at me. “Jesus, Roxie, what’s the matter?”

“Let’s just go,” I whispered.

“She okay?” the driver asked.

“Sunshine…” Hank said softly, his hand at my neck sliding around my shoulders and his other hand going around my waist, pul ing me to him.

“Let’s just go,” I repeated but it was kind of muffled against his chest because my head was stil tilted down and my face was pressed against him.

“You want my hankie?” the driver asked.

One of Hank’s hands went away then came back to my chin and he tilted my head up. This was unfortunate considering the fact that I was now out-and-out crying.

I slid my eyes to the side so I couldn’t see Hank because everyone knew, in an embarrassing situation, if you couldn’t see the person you were trying to hide from, they weren’t actual y there.

He wiped my face with a blue bandana and didn’t say a word.

“Don’t mind me,” I said on a sniffle, stil looking to the side. “I cry a lot.”

Hank didn’t say anything.

“I cry at commercials,” I told him.

Hank stil didn’t say anything.

“I cry when I watch Terms of Endearment which I’ve seen, like, a dozen times,” I went on.

Hank stayed quiet.

I took a shuddering breath. “Every time Shirley MacLaine comes out and has that fit at the nurse’s station about getting Debra Winger her medication,” my throat closed at the memory and I swal owed hard, “It gets me.”

“Are you tel in’ me you’re cryin’ because you’re thinkin’

about a movie?” Hank asked.

I shook my head.

“Then why are you crying?”

Final y, I looked at Hank.

Then, don’t ask me why, but I whispered, “Because you’re being so nice to me.”

For a second, before he could hide it, his head jerked a fraction and his face changed. I didn’t get a chance to read it before it went away and his eyes went perfectly blank.

What I could read scared me, in a lot of different ways.

“Has someone not been nice to you?” he asked and I could tel his voice was careful y control ed.

“Let’s just go.”

He watched me for a while, one arm stil wrapped around my back. Then, he let me go. I thought he was going to give in, but I was wrong. He leaned over, slid an arm behind my knees and grabbed my shoulders then he lifted me up.

“What are you doing?” I kind of screamed, throwing my arms around him to hold on.

“We’re takin’ a carriage ride,” he said, carrying me while climbing into the carriage.

This was no mean feat as I wasn’t exactly dainty. Uncle Tex toting me around was one thing; Uncle Tex was Paul Bunyon come alive. This was plain crazy.

He settled me in the seat without apparent effort and sat beside me.

The driver rushed to his perch and we took off.

“There’s just no shaking you, is there?” I asked Hank, my tears gone, I was beginning to feel… I didn’t know what I felt.

Hank pul ed me into his side. “Nope,” he answered.

I crossed my arms and tried to pretend I wasn’t feeling whatever it was I felt. Whatever it was felt nice and I couldn’t give in to it; I had too much to lose if I did.

Then I looked up at him. “Is my makeup ruined?” He looked down and smiled. “Yep.”

Shit.

* * * * *

I fixed my makeup the best I could with the bandana and my hand mirror and we rode through Denver. After awhile, I settled into Hank’s side and relaxed. I couldn’t help it, he was solid and warm. Denver was beautiful as I watched it passing by on the clop and the carriage rocked soothingly. Even the most tense, stressed-out neurotic would have relaxed.

After another while, Hank’s hand came to my chin, he tilted my head up and he kissed me.

It didn’t take awhile for me to kiss him back, I just did, right away.

He was a great kisser and, on close inspection, I realized he had a bottom lip that even rivaled Springsteen’s.