Playing With Fire (Tangled in Texas, #2)(11)
He slowed, veered off the road, and rolled to a stop in front of my driveway to let me out. “Chief Swanson and his wife lived up the road, only about half a mile.”
I remembered passing by the charred rubble of a home nearby and even stopped to take a closer look. But, at the time, I didn’t know it had belonged to the chief. Dread flooded over me as torturous images flickered through my mind. I didn’t need or want any more sleepless nights than I already had.
Instead, I wanted to get out of the truck and walk away from the horrible pictures flashing through my head. Get as far away from them as I could. But I sat there for a second longer, feeling like I owed Cowboy some sort of comforting thought in return for the roadside assistance he had given me.
“No matter what happened to your chief, I’m sorry for your loss. It had to be devastating for you to lose someone so close.”
Cowboy gave me a quick nod. “You lost someone, too, right? In a fire?”
For some strange reason, I wanted to answer his question. But the moment I opened my mouth to do so, nothing came out. Damn it. Frustrated, I looked down and twisted my fingers together.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know I understand and you’re not alone.”
I glanced back up, meeting his unwavering gaze. Then I realized what he’d been trying to do. He’d hoped that by talking about his traumatic experience, I would open up to him about mine. “I…can’t.”
“If you ever want to talk about it, I might be able to help. Who better than a fireman, right?”
“Thank you,” I said softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As I reached for the door handle, he cocked his head and said, “You don’t like me, do you?”
Oh, hell. What could I say to that? I couldn’t forget how Cowboy had snapped me out of my panicky state and suppressed my inner demons. Like some kind of fairy tale with a brave knight who had courageously slain the maiden’s dragon and won her hand, as well as her heart. But I didn’t believe in fairy tales. Or knights in shining armor.
Because the one man I trusted—a man who swore he was saving me—ended up taking the one thing I loved most in this world. That knowledge left me with a dilemma. And it had Cowboy’s name written all over it. “It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s just…well, I’m a little quiet, that’s all.” And I had no intention of starting something I couldn’t finish.
“A little?” Cowboy chuckled at that. “Sweetheart, if you got any quieter, I’d check your pulse.” He smiled at me. “You know, I joke that Austin looks like a turtle, but he’s got nothing on you.”
I blinked with confusion. “Did you just refer to me as a turtle?”
“Yep. That’s what you remind me of. Judging by the way you acted tonight, I’d say you have a tendency to protect yourself by pulling in your limbs and head.” Then he grinned sinfully. “Bet I’d have one hell of a time breaking you out of your shell.”
I could only imagine why he’d think that would be fun. But I didn’t want him—or anyone, really—scraping at my innermost layers. That wasn’t what I moved here for. In less than six months, I’d be long gone. So the last thing I needed was to fool around with a handsome, exciting playboy. Especially one who was only looking for me to stroke his ego. Probably among other things.
“Well, Cowboy,” I said, shaking my wrist loose from his grip and hopping out of the truck’s cab. “I guess that’s just one more thing you’ll never know about me. Thank you for the ride home.”
I closed the truck door and stepped away before turning to wave good-bye, but I didn’t miss the look he gave me. I’d only meant to discourage him from pursuing this venture any further. Unused to being shot down, Cowboy’s stubborn eyes narrowed and one corner of his mouth tipped up, as if I represented some sort of intriguing challenge. One he intended to overcome.
To get away from the scrutiny of his riveting green eyes, I quickly spun and headed for the house.
He motored down the window on the passenger door. “Hey, Anna,” he called out from behind me. “You’re still going to hold that book for me, aren’t you?”
I stopped halfway through the yard and glanced back. “Of course I am.”
“Good. See you tomorrow, then…Sparky.” He flashed me a smug grin, then drove away.
Waves of regret crashed against the barrier of my heart, breaching my defenses, and creating tidal pools of sorrow. I barely cleared the doorway into my home when I bent over, squeezed my arms across my middle, and felt hot tears streaking down my face. Not only had he used a nickname that had taken me back to a time I wasn’t fond of visiting, but…
He remembered me.
Chapter Three
It was all so bare.
No flowers. No trinkets left in his honor. No proof of the lives he’d impacted. Only unruly weeds and climbing vines that had taken over the gravesite, covering the bottom half of the granite marker.
I avoided the stinging bull thistle while carefully clearing the other invading weeds, then removed the vines that clung to the solid gray headstone, revealing the rest of the sandblasted letters beneath his name that had been enhanced with black lithichrome paint.
In honor of a husband, a friend, and a hero.