Page 38 of Risking it for the Cowboy

They said at the same time, cutting each other off and falling silent again.

Chapter Twelve

“I thought you didn’t call,” he finally admitted, chuckling wryly. “It didn’t surprise me, someone like you with more letters behind your name than the alphabet. But I really wanted to talk to you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Had a proposition for you.”

She exhaled and air quoted. “The mysterious proposition. Come on, stop already. You got what you wanted.”

“No, I didn’t,” he argued, and her eyes widened with surprise. “No, I mean, yeah, I did when it came to that, but-but—” He was putting his giant boot in his mouth now. “Look, what I mean is I really did want to ask you to come jam with me and Jack and Bo. Maybe practice with us and come to our gig tonight.”

Silence.

“You know, a trial run. Maybe fill in for Hunter so we can enter the Homegrown Awards in Austin. But you kept surprising me, kept making me want to know you more.” Making me insecure about guys with records. “And I didn’t know how to ask, because you’re all accomplished and shit, when I’ve been on my own since sixteen.”

“Sixteen?” she said softly.

He exhaled, slouched his hands on his hips, and glanced away. Jeezus, he was getting all open and stuff with her.

“Your little girl ain’t safe right now on the side of a back road. Let me help you. I wasn’t gonna leave you. We can let bygones be bygones. I know you probably only called because I pressured you, anyway. Deal?”

She looked up into his eyes. Searched back and forth.

Swallowed. “Thaddeus—”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

She flinched back. Dammit, he didn’t want her doing that, not from him.

“Look, everyone who thought I’m just a fuckup Thaddeused me,” he enunciated. “Every teacher, my parents, every employer. And I get it. I was a rabblerouser, not Harvard material. I don’t have a string of acronyms behind my name like you. Probably can’t spell acronym without spell check. Couldn’t even finish high school. Kicked out. Didn’t matter that I couldn’t read right and didn’t know how to cope.”

“And yet you’re a wordsmith,” she murmured, still staring at him with wonder. “A poet.”

There she went again, seeing something good in him…

“I just, uh, do not want to be Thaddeused from my favorite mouth.” His thumb kept brushing across her lips, his gaze locked there on his throaty whisper. “It’s a bad word in my book.”

She shivered. His favorite mouth? It was, he realized. It was the first mouth to encourage him in a long time. He pushed her lips out of shape, wishing he could turn back time. Make different choices. Be worthy.

“You’re wrong,” she said, as if his opinion caused her real pain.

“I ain’t wrong,” he replied.

She palmed his cheek, noting his rough inhale as his thumb on her lip pressed harder. Caressed harder.

“It’s a beautiful name. Courageous heart.” She brushed her thumb across the crinkle in his brow to smooth it. “Gift from God.”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his gaze bouncing back and forth between hers. “How would you know that?” his gravelly reply came.

“Thaddeus Haenke, the famous botanist.” Her thumb kept caressing.

He leaned into it, his blood racing.

“A type of orchid. Cattleya Thaddeus.”

That visceral hatred soothed, as if her thumb brushed a balm on wounds.