Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(75)

I saw Carrie and Mom looking at me. Mom was smiling still, it was softer, knowing, with a hint of happiness mixed with the anxiety she’d worn the last few days and some confusion too.

Carrie was also smiling but it was in a way I figured she thought maybe me taking the plunge with Tate might not be such a bad thing.

Tate turned to Mom and kissed her cheek.

When he did she patted him on the back and breathed, “Oh my.”

Tate did the same to Carrie and she gave him a hug.

He left the waiting room and Mack followed.

He didn’t turn and look at me. I wanted to see his face but I got it this time.

He was focused.

Chapter Twelve

Sweet Dreams, Baby

I was in bed in my old room which was now the guest bedroom at my family’s farm.

I had my phone in my hand and I was punching out the words on the little keyboard.

Hey honey, going to bed.

I hit send but didn’t put down the phone. I twisted, turned out the light and settled in, all the while I kept the phone in my hand.

Over the past five days I learned Tate wasn’t a big texter. At first, as ordered, I texted him as he asked me to, telling him my every move – to the hotel, farm, hospital, when I woke up, when I went to bed. He rarely texted back and when he did they were one of two words.

Good.

And.

OK.

So on day three I stopped telling him my every move because, in all honesty, he didn’t seem all that interested.

This earned me a phone call to which, when I answered while pushing a cart through the grocery store at approximately ten thirty in the morning, Tate did not greet me.

Instead he said, “What the f**k?”

I was surprised at this opening so I non-greeted back, “What the f**k what?”

“Babe,” was his reply.

I was silent because that wasn’t much of a reply, he sounded slightly put out and I wasn’t certain why.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Where are you?” he asked back.

“The grocery store,” I answered.

“You forget something?”

I looked in the cart. “No, it’s just that Mom and I are at the farm and she hasn’t had a home cooked meal for awhile and I haven’t cooked at all for awhile so tonight I’m going to cook…”

“Ace,” he growled and realized he did that a lot. Growl. He could, with that rough voice he could definitely growl, but he didn’t have to do it so often and especially for reasons unknown.

“What?”

“Last I knew, you were goin’ to sleep,” he informed me.

He might not text but every night, from that first night, minutes after I texted him with the information that I was going to bed, he’d call. Our conversations weren’t long, heartfelt and soul-baring. They were short and informational but I thought they were sweet mainly because they were with Tate.

“Well, I’m awake,” I pointed out the obvious.

“I’m gettin’ that,” he ground out. “We had a deal.”

“A deal?”

“You text,” he clipped.

Well there it was, I was wrong, he was interested.

“Oh,” I said.

“Oh,” he repeated.

“I won’t forget again,” I promised.

“Yeah, Ace, don’t forget again,” he warned and it was definitely a warning.

I felt my back straighten as I stood in the grocery store aisle. I turned and stared at the shelves, feeling myself getting angry.

“Well, it’s not like your King Text,” I snapped.

“Come again?”

“You don’t reply,” I told him. “I text and you don’t reply. I mean –”

He interrupted me. “Deal wasn’t that I was texting you.”

“Yes, but –”

“I don’t text,” he informed me.

“But you expect me to?” I shot back.

“Yeah, Ace. Newsflash, I’m huntin’ a raping serial killer. I think you get that he’s tweaked me, that sick f**k takin’ out Tonia. My old lady is four states away, not close, not in my control. You get that?”

“Um…” I mumbled because I partly did and the part I got felt nice. I also partly didn’t because he referred to me as not in his control and I not only didn’t get that I wasn’t sure how to take it.

He kept talking. “And last time I left you on your own, you ended up with another guy.”

Oh no he didn’t. We’d talked about that. He didn’t get to throw that in my face.

“I’m hardly going to pick up a man in Indiana,” I snapped.

“Babe, you don’t pick ‘em up, those f**kin’ legs of yours, they pick you.”

“Tate –”

“Text.”

“Tate!”

“Askin’ you to give me peace of mind here,” he clipped, “text.”

“Oh all right,” I relented because we were talking about peace of mind. We’d talk about me being in his “control” later.

“We done?” he asked.

“You called me,” I reminded him.

“We’re done,” he muttered and then disconnected.