Page 59 of Risking it for the Cowboy

“I’ll sue you for assssault,” Jason rumbled.

“See you in court,” T.R. muttered flatly, then wrenched open the driver door and shoved him in.

The guy wasn’t sober, but he wasn’t staying here, either.

“You can explain to the judge why a loving father beats down his daughter’s door while drunk as a skunk and curses at his baby mama after being arrested the night before for the same exact bull. I’ll sit back and smile.” He slammed shut the door, slapped the frame as if sending a friend on his way, and dragged out his cell. “Tell you what, I’ll even call the police right now to get the ball rolling for you. Oh, Officer, there’s a guy driving drunk in a rusting white F-150, plate number …” He craned to look at the license plate. “J2R—”

“They’re mine.” Fuming, Jason glowered, eyeing T.R.’s thumb hovering over the emergency call.

“You done a shit job of keepin ’em proper,” T.R. retorted.

“You keep away from them.”

Oh … that was never gonna happen now. Because that fear on those girls’ faces meant something sinister T.R. didn’t dare think about without wanting to put his fist through Jason’s throat.

“Or what?” T.R. hitched up that devilish grin that always crawled under an adversary’s skin.

Prodded the beast and relished the flash of uncertainty flickering through Jason’s eyes when he realized T.R. was mad enough to do something more about it.

He chuckled, then leveled his gaze. “I ain’t got nothin’ to lose.” He’d been fired more times than he could count.

Been long-since disowned by parents now dead and gone. And maybe oversteps his bounds with Ty. That, and while he’d begged for a do-over with Charlie, it wasn’t as if she’d said yes yet.

“What about you?”

Coming to a decision, Jason bit his tongue, concealing something, and finally fired up his engine.

“Guess you got something to lose after all,” T.R. goaded.

Jason thumbed his chest, confidence overtaking his face. “I’ll fare jusss fine in court now. It’s you who oughta be worried.” He peeled out in reverse.

T.R. maneuvered into the middle of the driveway beneath the live oaks for good measure, taunting the fool to drive straight back in for him, for there was a crazy gleam in Jason’s eye that said he might. Wisely, he squealed away instead.

T.R. folded his arms, eyeing the back road to make sure it stayed quiet. He frowned. He needed to take off. It might be his day off, but Ty still depended on the vitamins. Yet he didn’t like the idea of Charlie being out here, alone and so remote, in case Jason returned.

What a bastard. Charlie’s fear … her divorce that had led to her losing her scholarship and her property to pay it back … that night two weeks ago, “Hold me like you want to keep me.”

And morning after when she’d panicked exactly like this…

The screen hinged open behind him, and he turned around to see Charlie stepping through while Artex shoved through and trotted nervously through the grass. His feet moved of their own volition, leaping up the porch steps, arms already opening to her.

Chapter Eighteen

She fell against his chest as his embrace engulfed her, fingers splayed on her lower back to hold her close, fingers curled around her nape to secure her shaking, as if she was desperate for his offered touch, any offered touch.

“I got you, Flower girl,” he murmured gently as his pulse rushed in his ears.

Nestled his face to her hair, squeezing, and dammit, it still smelled like the lilacs creeping up the trellis.

Because now he was reliving that night two weeks ago, when he’d reached his hand down to a wallflower in the audience and hoisted her up into the spotlight. Reliving driving those back roads with the windows down. Remembering feeding her tacos and discovering her hidden passion in that tunnel and laughing into the early hours of morning with her leaned against his chest, arm slung so casually around her middle, his chin resting on her shoulder, his hand palming her hip as he looked at memories of dream cabins and sensed her loneliness. Relived being a tangle of limbs and tongues as they fought their way out of their clothes and collapsed in her bed. Remembered that adoring smile she’d worn when he’d drummed rhythms on his knees while she played her uncle’s banjo. Remembered the joy he’d felt thinking a pissant like himself actually had a shot at aiming for the star-studded heavens.

Did she still taste like peppermint lip gloss?

He needed to back up. This was horrible timing for an erection—

“What’s this about jail?” he rumbled.

His phone was still buzzing in his pocket. If Ty was firing him, he wasn’t ready to read it.