Playing With Fire (Tangled in Texas, #2)(28)
Silently, Cowboy returned to me. For a moment, he just stood there with his eyes closed, as if he were willing himself to settle down. When he opened them, something else had taken the place of the anger. Something closely resembling sympathy and understanding. “Is that why you’re scared of fire?”
I bit my lip to keep it from trembling as another tear rolled down my cheek. I nodded slowly.
Bridging the gap between us, Cowboy pulled me into his masculine arms. At first, I tried to push away, not wanting his pity, but he wouldn’t allow it. He drew me back to him, and within seconds, I surrendered to the security of his strong hold, burying my face into his chest as little hiccupping sobs burst from my throat.
“Okay, just breathe.” He smoothed one hand over my hair, then settled it on my lower back. “Slow and easy. Like this,” he said, using his other hand to place mine against his chest, allowing me to feel the rise and fall of his even breaths.
He held me comfortably, giving me time to calm down, while he probably contemplated which one of the Barlow boys he was going to punch in the face first. Because when their screen door banged against the jamb again, Cowboy whirled around fast, fists clenched, ready for a fight.
Mandy Barlow had stepped outside on their porch with her short, blunt brunette hair and perky nose. She looked straight at me, her eyes registering concern, then flicked a glance at Cowboy. “Is everything all right?”
“Apparently, your brothers get off on threatening women.”
“Oh God. I’m sorry,” Mandy said, shaking her head. She directed her attention back to me. “Don’t listen to them, honey. They’re all talk…well, mostly.” She offered a small non-committal shrug. “They may not use the sense that the good Lord gave ’em, but I’m sure they were only trying to scare you.”
“Well, it worked,” Cowboy said, his tone shifting from sour to downright caustic. “Give them a piece of advice for me, Mandy. Tell them that if they come near Anna again, they’re going to answer to me.”
Mandy bit her lip. “I don’t think—”
“Tell ’em,” he demanded. “Because if this happens again, we’re going to see how they fare with someone a little closer to their own size.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead, she nodded silently and went back inside.
Cowboy slid his arm gently around my shoulders and softened his voice. “Come on, darlin’.” He kept me tucked firmly against his side as he walked me home.
I was relieved he was no longer going after the Barlow boys, but hoped like hell Mandy didn’t actually tell her brothers what Cowboy had said. It would be the equivalent of beating on an active beehive with a short stick.
Once we cleared my front door, I let out a sigh of relief. Just being back inside my small rental home, surrounded by my own things, made me feel better. Safer, even. My quaint cottage held only sparse, simple furnishings, such as a small flat-screen TV and an eggshell-colored love seat, but it was my comfort zone. My sanctuary.
I loved everything about it. From the plain white lace curtains adorning the living room windows to the delicate pink rose wallpaper in the narrow hallway. Not to mention the hundreds of books on the two huge bookcases which commandeered an entire wall behind my beige reading chair.
Cowboy raised a brow. “You read all those?”
I nodded. “I enjoy reading.”
He lifted a romance book I’d left lying in my chair, scanned the title, and chuckled. “Sounds like some kind of guidebook for birth control, rather than a romance.”
Mentally cringing, I moved into the tiny kitchen to keep from awarding him with the blush I felt slowly creeping into my cheeks. His boots clomped on the floor behind me, signaling he’d followed. I glanced over my shoulder and caught sight of him eyeing the steaming white teapot on the glass-top stove.
“I was preparing a cup of tea when I heard the popping sounds coming from outside,” I explained, my voice shaking a little.
“Would you like a cup?” he asked.
I nodded and opened the cabinet nearest the sink, where I kept my good china and a small box of tea bags.
“Sit down,” he ordered, reaching over me and taking them from my hands. “I’ll get it for you.”
Wordlessly, I obeyed his command and sat at the small round dining room table. I reached over and flipped the switch on an electronic warming plate that held a vanilla-scented candle in a glass jar, needing the calming Zen the aromatherapy would provide. Then I took a couple of slow, deep breaths.
It was hard to believe Cowboy was inside my home, much less making me a cup of hot tea. Every vision I’d had in the last week of him being here with me had always had way more to do with my bedroom than a kitchen. And the thought of Cowboy and me anywhere near a bed together made my heart race and my breath quicken. Not that I’d ever tell him that, though.
My irritating mind used the pleasant fantasy against me to slowly drive me insane. I’d be leaving in a few months. Besides that, Cowboy had never been attracted to me. How could he be? Especially now when I resembled a worn, wrung-out mop.
Standing outside in the wind had dried my damp hair, but now it felt like an unruly ball of tangled twine on top of my head. Drab, stringy, and no doubt completely unflattering. Then again, I doubted he’d even notice. Cowboy’s only interest in me had to do with him bedding a woman who’d turned him down flat. That’s what he’d said, after all: I’m intrigued by you because you didn’t want anything to do with me.