Rodeo Christmas at Evergreen Ranch (Gold Valley #13)(39)

He’d slept with every pretty cowgirl who’d winked at him and had made a really awkward situation for himself right at first. He’d broken hearts he hadn’t meant to break and he’d had to see those women frequently after, and they’d acted like it was something he was doing to them personally when none of it had felt personal to him at all.

Either way, he was in need of the punishing workout that came with that morning’s chores. And in need of some distance from Callie, considering the two of them were going to spend a few hours in the cab of the truck together today. His words from last night came back sharp and clear. About making sure the ride was full of awkward silence. Yeah. Felt good to get in her face like that last night. To pour out some of the frustration that had been churning inside of him for months. It was a lot less fun today now that he was facing down that car ride.

He was already heading back to the house by around 7:30 a.m. when the front door opened. Callie’s duffel bag exited first, making a loud thunk on the wood planks.

He’d thrown all his stuff in his truck earlier in the day.

He was grateful now, because he didn’t want to walk up onto that porch and past the snarling bobcat that he had a feeling was about to make her way out.



* * *



CAL’S APPEARANCE A moment later confirmed his bobcat hypothesis. She had a black cowboy hat pushed low on her head, her hair back in a messy braid, and she looked red-cheeked and sweaty. Which was not a good sign for this hour of the day.

“Good morning,” he said, stopping by his truck and leaning against it.

“Good morning,” she said.

She didn’t look at him.

“Better get a move on,” he said.

“Let me get coffee,” she said. She picked up her bag and began to walk to her truck.

“We’re not taking that,” he said.

She looked over at the big green beast. “Why not?”

“Because it’s a piece of shit.”

“Your truck’s a piece of shit,” she said.

“No, it’s not. My truck is great. Yours is a hand-me-down of the hand-me-down that went through your brothers before it went to you, and I don’t want to drive a long distance in it.”

“It’s how I got here.”

“Yeah, but it’s not how I’m getting there.”

“You’re a dick,” she said, picking up her duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder and walking down the stairs.

He grabbed it up off the top of her shoulder and pulled it out of her grasping, angry fingers as she tried to follow the path of it upward over his shoulder.

“Such a dick,” he said, hefting it up and wandering over to his truck.

Callie’s hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and she stomped over to his vehicle.

“Knock it off,” she said, getting in the passenger side and shutting the door.

“Thought you wanted coffee,” he said, poking his head through the driver’s side.

“You can buy me one on the road.”

“Anything for my darling wife.”

There was that word again. He had to be careful using it. Even as a joke. Especially as a joke, because that was when it came around to bite him in the ass.

He did his best not to linger. Not to look at her face. Not to remind himself of what had happened the night before. He got in his side of the truck and started the engine.

“All right. One word.”

“I was promised awkward silence,” she said, staring straight ahead. And that was when he found he couldn’t help himself. He found he had to stare. Her nose was just perfect. A little slope, her lips full and inviting. And he’d had a taste of them. She was glorious. All strung out and wired like a filly that hadn’t been broken in yet. But warm like the summer sunshine. Sweet like the smell of grass and hay. So many of his favorite things rolled all into one package.

Good thing he was an experienced man who’d had a lot of sex, or thinking of her that way might get him hard. In the cab of his truck. And nobody wanted that. Least of all him.

He reminded himself repeatedly as he fought against his body’s natural response.

“Well, you’re going to have to give me your coffee order before you get your awkward silence,” he said.

“A mocha.”

“A mocha,” he repeated. “Cal, I didn’t take you for a sweet drink kind of girl.”

“Maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes.

That was the problem. There was a lot he didn’t know about her. And he thought against listing the things. The way her bare skin looked against his sheets being one of them.

He drove a little faster on the road that led into town, and parked his truck in front of Sugar Cup.

“After you,” he said when he killed the engine.

“Not going to open the door for me? Have I gone to the level of a buckle bunny now that your tongue’s been in my mouth?”

“You’re a brat,” he said. “Do you know that?”

“Yep.”

She got out of the truck and headed toward the coffeehouse, and he got out, slammed his door and followed behind her. They went inside, and he could see the moment that Callie’s anger faded a little bit as she took in the atmosphere of the coffeehouse. The roughhewn wood floor, the exposed brick walls and the glory of the chandelier that hung in the center of the place. All a bit of hipster nonsense for his taste, but he could tell that she was charmed. And he took a small amount of satisfaction in that, because he knew she was trying to be angry. So any sort of charm—even if it didn’t come from him—felt like a victory in his corner.