Page 77 of Risking it for the Cowboy

His jaw pumped as his eyes bounced back and forth between hers.

“Abbreviations. Materials needed for the frame and foundation,” he gnashed out, the darkness riveting his brow as he shook his head and slouched a hand on his belt. “It’s easier for me to jot out abbreviations and keep it simple, otherwise it gets all confusing on the page and … Jeezus, Charlie.” He spun to her. “Who the fuck breaks shit and yells at a kid for messing up a pencil line?”

*

The darkness tethered by a thread on his tongue rumbled free as he ripped off his glasses again and dropped them atop his rendering, rubbing the corners of his eyes as if seeking composure.

Charlie stepped back, eyes wary. Dammit, he didn’t want to alarm her. He inhaled for composure. But had Daisy confessed something worse, that her daddy put his hands on her, T.R. hadn’t been sure he’d be able to contain the beast within him anymore.

“The way she just reacted, it’s what she expected. Goddammit, I wish I would have known when I met you. I wish—How do you live like this with this … anger?” he gnashed out, Charlie’s hands over her mouth as those tears glistened on her eyelids.

He paced a step. Paced back as he ripped off his Stetson and cast it on top of the glasses, reached out without thinking, opening his arms and God she fell into him. Gripped him. Held onto him as if desperate for a savior.

“Talk to me, darlin’,” he murmured into her hair as they engulfed each other in a tangle of arms. “Don’t cry, just talk to me.”

“No one has ever gone to bat for her before, except me,” Charlie breathed into his shirt. “And I’m losing the battle.”

His pounding heart thundered with desire to track down Jason and knock his teeth around his skull. With a confusing cocktail of wanting to protect these two and needing to feel the pleasure of her seeking solace in his arms, not seeing him as a wild card but trusting him as a sure bet.

“I’ll go to bat, ’kay?”

She rested her cheek to his chest as he spoke. Squeezed him.

“One day of knowin’ all this about Jason and I’m about to bust,” he growled. “Baby, tell me you got that order filed.”

“It’s done.” His heartbeat thudded like horse hooves against her ear. Lilac filled his senses as she burrowed harder into him. “They’re serving him right now.”

“Good,” T.R. crooned, willing his voice to soften for her sake, planting a kiss atop her hair. Another…

She leaned into him, her palms bracing his back as her chest rested against his, this girl needing him and boosting his ego. His muscles jumped beneath her touch. His lips kept touching her hair. Now her cheek. This need to feel her, be close to her. It was sexual, yeah, but it was … more. It was a need to feel needed, to be trusted. It was addictive.

“I-I can’t get away from him, can’t get out from underneath this system, and God but I don’t know that I can do this forever because it’s breaking me.”

*

He remained silent for a beat. Birds chirped.

Then he turned her face up at him with his callused fingertips, so her chin rested on his chest, his touch gentle even if his blues glittered and his words were hungry.

“We’re gonna beat this. You ain’t broken or dead. Hear me? Something here ain’t fair, and we gotta get to the bottom of it.”

She bit her lip. It wasn’t fair. And she’d never had anyone who could help her fight.

“Tell me you understand,” he whispered, eyeing where she pinched her lip and plucking it free, brushing his thumb over it to sooth it, this tell of hers. “That we’re gonna beat this.”

“I can’t send her back with him again.” She squeezed shut her eyes. “Next weekend is her weekend with him before the school year starts, and she’s begging me not to go.”

“She ain’t going back.” His hand held her nape, jostling her for emphasis. “Hear me?”

“I’m … scared.” The admission finally leaked from her lips. “Scared you’ll get hurt. Scared of falling for someone so good and honest, scared of trusting when all trusting ever did was get me into troubl—”

“I’m your trouble.” His lips pressed to hers, as if quelling any further comment.

He cupped her head, his fingers knotting in her hair as a cry left her lips, and before she could think twice, she was grasping his hair, his nape, clenching hard and reaching up to his offering.

So starved for this. She inhaled. Fisted his T-shirt and pulled him closer.

He groaned as if she’d poured rain on the desert, his boots straddling her Birks as he staggered her backward. Tipped her head, improving his angle. And then his tongue swept hers. Faint taste of ice cream, a touch of coffee. Never a single hint of whiskey on the tongue that had traced her navel and whispered sweet nothings against her earlobe and worshiped her lips.