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He’s not looking, his eyes are lowered.
“Why are you on my front porch?” I ask, moving around to stand in front of him. The railing pushes against my lower back.
This time, he looks up and takes his hat off. His hair is the nicest shade of deep brown, and it’s brushed back, somewhere between short and a little bit long. It’s just long enough that I could play with the waves on top, but not enough to touch his neck.
His gaze cuts right through me and makes me feel naked.
“You get left here all alone, darling?” he said, his voice low.
My mouth goes dry, and I realize I don’t know this man at all.
“No,” I say quickly.
“I saw David and the others leave on my way up the road.”
“Well, he’s coming back. Really soon.”
He shakes his head. “No, he’s heading down to Lancaster to the auction there. They won’t be back until around about seven.”
I dig my toes into the worn floorboards. “What’s that to you?” I ask.
He rises and towers over me. I shrink back, cowed by his height. My eyes run down his blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. I stare at those barbed wire scars, distracted.
“I thought I’d come by to say happy birthday,” he says, his voice husky.
Like he’s feeling something.
“Thanks. It was yesterday,” I say.
“I’m taking you out, Diane.” His voice is quiet, firm.
Dead silence falls between us. Does he mean on a date?
The breeze rustles the trees and blows my hair back over my shoulder, the wind tugging it. Deep down in the pit of my stomach, heat tingles and makes me want to press my thighs together.
“I…I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I say.
He clears his throat, and his intense stare rests on me for a long moment. “Are you going to ask me inside?” he says finally.
For a second, I think about refusing him. Then, I remember there’s a pistol underneath the kitchen sink, so I nod and lead the way inside. He sets his hat on the kitchen counter, standing between me and the hall. It should scare me, but it doesn’t, just like it didn’t the first time.
“You want an iced tea?” I ask. “I can spike it.”
The corner of his mouth turns up, and he leans on the counter. “Sure, that’d be nice.”
I make two, filling the glasses with ice, lemonade, tea, and a shot of whiskey. It’s early in the morning for a drink, but standing next to him, I need a stiff shot in my system. He takes a sip, and I can’t keep from staring at how big his hands are on the glass.
“So, what do you say?” he says, setting it aside.
“About taking me out?” I ask. “Like on a date?”
“Yeah,” he says, locking gazes. “Like a date.”
I want to recklessly say yes, but then I remember David and what he said about Thomas Garrison yesterday. I have my doubts he’ll give a cowboy from Sovereign Mountain his stamp of approval over a Garrison.
Maybe I should lie and say I’m taken.
One look into those hazel eyes, and I know he can read me like a book, so I opt for the truth.
