Branded as Trouble (Rough Riders #6)(8)

“Rest, yeah I know. You’ve barged in here like a hundred times today. You are single-handedly keeping me from getting any rest.”


India blinked. “But, that’s not what—”


“I’m sure Doc Monroe mentioned if I didn’t have enough downtime there was a higher chance of infection and complications.” Colt raked a hand over his stubbled jaw. “So soon as you feed me, I’d appreciate it if you piped down so I can conk out for a while.”


“I have to come up with dinner for you? Tonight?”


“It ain’t like I’m up to cookin’.” Might make him a jerk, but Colt loved her wide-eyed expression of alarm. It wasn’t his fault he was laid up; it was hers. And he had no intention of letting her off the hook so easily. Especially about Blake.


“Ah. I have plans tonight.”


“Really? I hope you’re makin’ me something good to eat, because I’m starved.”


She bit her lip. “No. I mean I have plans to go out.”


“Out as in…out to grab us some food?”


“Umm…no. Out as in, out on a date.”


He paused. “You have a date?”


“Yes, I have a date.”


“Tonight?”


“Yes, tonight.”


Colt laughed. He kept laughing.


“What’s so damn funny?”


“You are. Whoa.” He clutched his stomach. “You really had me goin’ there for a sec.”


“Had you going? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”


“Come on. Stop kiddin’ around, Indy. It hurts when I laugh.”


India actually stomped her foot. “You find the fact I have a date… funny?”


“Yep.” He laughed harder.


“It’s not funny!”


“Yes, sugar, it is.”


“Stop laughing.” India crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m single, I’m fun, and it’s Saturday night. It is not that far out of the realm of possibility that some man would want to take me out and show me a good time.”


Instantly Colt sobered. “Where’s this mystery man takin’ you for the rip-roarin’ good time in the Sundance metro area?”


She shrugged. “Out.”


“Out…where? Not out dancin’, ’cause you don’t dance. Not out drinkin’, ’cause you don’t drink.”


“There are lots of other places we can go.”


“Really? Name one.”


Her mouth opened. And closed. Opened and closed again. She looked like an air-starved trout, not that he’d voice the comparison out loud.


“Wasn’t it you, complaining to me, just last Saturday night, that there was nothin’ to do in this town?”


“So?”


“So, I’m curious as to what’s changed in seven days.”


Those beautiful sapphire eyes sparked danger. “Why? What’s it matter to you?”


Colt reined in his temper. Barely. “Two reasons. One, because damn near every Saturday night for the last two and a half years, I’ve heard you whine about the lack of entertainment options. I’ve offered to take you to rodeos, church socials, tractor pulls, community dances, demolition derbys, casinos, on horseback rides, fishin’, campin’, huntin’ and concerts. What have we ended up doin’ nearly every Saturday night?”