by Hebby Roman
Well, someone had—the half-drunk woman currently snoring with her face plastered against the side window—but he’d managed to push her far enough away that she apparently still hated him.
The snoring increased in volume and Tina shifted uncomfortably, but Joe couldn’t hold back from laughing. “Let this be a lesson,” he said.
“What’s that?” Tina asked.
“Don’t drink four Whiskey Sours.”
He pulled up to a small house in a neighborhood and stepped out of the Bronco so that Tina could exit on his side. Skye never stirred.
Joe walked Tina to her door.
“It was really nice to meet you,” Tina said.
He gave a nod.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” She smiled expectantly up at him.
That caught his attention. Had he agreed to take her to the Mistletoe Ball? He didn’t think so, but maybe Celeste had finagled it behind his back.
“Sounds good. Good night.” He turned and headed back to his vehicle before she could question him further.
He’d call Ollie and set the whole thing straight. He’d let the man deal with Celeste. Even better, if Skye would agree to go with him, then he’d have a valid excuse to get out of whatever Celeste had cooked up.
He hopped back into his car and drove off without a glance in Tina’s direction. Instead, he watched Skye in-between keeping his eye on the road. Her face had slid along the car window, causing her head to fall back. With her mouth now open, the snoring had taken on epic proportions. He chuckled. Not wanting to embarrass her, he flipped on the radio. “Dancing Queen” by ABBA filled the cab.
Perfect.
It was one of Skye’s favorite songs. He remembered a Halloween party in middle school where Skye and Celeste had dressed up as the female members of ABBA and lip-synced the song. What had happened to that carefree girl?
With a loud snort, Skye bolted upright, suddenly awake. She looked at him, clearly confused.
“How was your nap?” he asked.
She ran the back of her hand along her mouth, wiping away the drool that had been glistening in the darkness. He suppressed a smile.
She looked around. “Where are we?”
“Almost to your folks’ place.”
She scrunched her face. “Where’s your date?”
“She wasn’t my date.”
She pinned him with a suspicious glare. “Yes, she was. Any idiot could see that.”
“Are you jealous, Skye?”
“What?” she scoffed. “Of course not.” She turned away from him, gazing at the endless snow whipping by in a blur, and groaned.
“Are you gonna be sick?”
She responded with a hand over her mouth and another moan.
He pulled off the road and in seconds was out of the Bronco and grabbing hold of her just as she unloaded her burger and fries into a fluffy pile of snow. Shifting his stance, he held her up with one arm while gathering her hair with his other hand to keep it out of her face.
When the retching finally stopped, she clung onto him and came upright. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
She stepped away, forcing him to break his hold on her.
“Sorry about that,” she added.
“It’s no trouble. But I know how you can pay me back.”
“How?”
“Let’s get back on the road, and I’ll tell you.”
Once he had her tucked back into the Bronco, he leaned across her and rolled the window down a crack. “The fresh air will help you from getting sick again.”
“What’s the payback? It’s not like I actually puked in your car.”
“And I greatly appreciate that. Why don’t you let me take you to the Ball tomorrow?”
She snapped her gaze to him. “You want me to be your date?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Because Tina is your date.”
“I don’t want to date Tina. And you can help me get out of it.”
“Oh. Right.” She hiccupped. “That makes more sense.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re still a lowdown scoundrel, aren’t you?” She shook her head, smothering another hiccup.
“Is that what you think of me?”
“Yes.” Hiccup. “No.” Hiccup. “Maybe.”
He turned down the drive to The Quarter-Circle and parked in front of the main house. Before he had a chance to exit, she pushed the door open, stepped out and slipped, her arms flailing as she fell to the ground with a scream.
He quickly ran around the front of the Bronco, his feet sliding in all directions, but thankfully he had imbibed very little liquor and therefore possessed more dexterity, so he avoided a fall. Reaching her, he helped her to stand. “I think you need some coffee,” he said.
“I’m fine, Carrigan. I’ve ice skated before.”
“Is that what you call it?” But he didn’t let go of her. Once she regained her balance, she ceased her struggle and locked eyes with him. Her hiccups had stopped, probably frightened into submission when she’d hit the ground.
“Why are you even more handsome now than back in high school?” She threw up her arms in exasperation, breaking his hold on her, and stomped away.
He held his breath, waiting for her to fall on her ass, but somehow she made it to the porch. Only then did he exhale with a big grin splitting his face. She thought he was handsome. He could work with that.
Gathering her luggage, he met her at the door. She opened the screen, gave a knock, then pushed open the main door. “Hello?”
“Skye?” Her mother’s voice came from the living room.
Skye’s father appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel he’d flung onto his shoulder. “Hi, darlin’. You made it. Did Ollie meet you?”
She let him draw her into a hug. “He did, but I got another ride.”
Mr. Mallory caught sight of him. “Joey? It’s good to see you.”
“You too, sir.” Joe deposited the suitcases along the wall of the foyer and shook the older man’s hand.
Since returning to Durango, Joe had spent time with Oliver, but he’d only seen Mr. and Mrs. Mallory once. It still struck him how Griffin Mallory hadn’t changed much in the past nine years—he was still tall and lanky, his dark hair streaked with the barest hint of white. The only thing age had changed was the deeper groove of wrinkles when he smiled.
“We haven’t seen enough of you since you and Annie returned. Come on in and say hi to Livvy.”
Joe slipped off his shoes and left them on the entry rug, obeying habits of old. Growing up, he’d spent a fair amount of time in this household, and Mrs. Mallory’s rules were stamped in his head.
Skye popped off her shoes and hung her coat on one of the hooks that lined the entryway. As he shed his jacket, she darted around him, refusing to meet his eyes. The last time he’d been here had been with her. They’d spent two hours at the kitchen table eating Snickerdoodles, while Skye had tutored him in Trig and Physics.
He met Mr. Mallory’s questioning gaze over Skye’s behavior. “You might want to pump some coffee into her,” Joe said quietly.
Skye’s dad nodded with a knowing smile. “Got it. Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine.”
As Mr. Mallory headed back to the kitchen, Joe rounded the corner to the living room and was greeted by Olivia Mallory with a big bear hug. It never failed to surprise him how much Skye resembled her mom. “Joey,” she squealed, patting his back, smelling of cinnamon and everything motherly and warm. “We’re so happy that you and your mom moved back.” She released him. “Come in and sit. How did you find Skye?”
While Skye and her mom sat on the couch, Joe settled into one of the stuffed chairs.
“She was at Hank’s,” Joe said. “I offered to drive her instead of Ollie. I’ll get her car tomorrow.”
A flash of panic crossed Skye’s rosy-cheeked face.
“I had her leave it at Hank’s,” he added, covering for her, realizing she didn’t want her folks to know about her little car wreck either.
“I can send one of the ranch hands to get it,” Mr. Mallory said as he returned and handed a steaming mug to Skye.
“I don’t remember asking for this,” Skye said as she took hold of the cup.
“Have you been drinking?” Mrs. Mallory pinned her daughter with a glare.
Skye sank back onto the couch. “Just a little,” she mumbled, and dutifully took a sip of the coffee.
“I can get her car with my Bronco,” Joe said. “It’s great in the snow. It’s no trouble.”
“You’ve still got that old thing?” Mr. Mallory laughed, sitting in the other matching stuffed chair. “You and Ollie sure spent enough time in it.”
“Every few years, I’ve got to do something major to it, but it’s hanging in there. I’m rather sentimental about it now.”
Joe spent the next half hour catching up on old stories with Skye’s parents, while Skye remained mostly silent, drinking her coffee and watching him over the rim of her Denver Broncos mug.
Sitting with the Mallorys, the flickering flames in the fireplace casting a soft glow around the room, Joe felt all warm and fuzzy inside. Family. He’d always felt that way here.
And then there was Skye. Her intelligence had always thrown him for a loop. As kids, he’d kept his distance, intimidated by Oliver’s little sister. In high school, her drive and ambition had been tempered by her humor, and she’d become an annoying distraction to him—a girl unlike any of the others he normally chased, a girl who wasn’t a quick fling, a girl that, frankly, had scared the hell out of him.
When he’d needed to get his grades up senior year or risk not graduating, his parents and her folks decided that she should tutor him, and he hadn’t been able to get out of it. Not that spending time with her had been a chore, but it only strengthened his resolve that despite wanting her, she was best kept far from his thoughts. And his heart.
He’d had plans after high school, and those plans had never included being tied down.
And then she’d gone and kissed him one night, confessing her feelings to him. In what he could only label a coward’s move, he’d walked away and never looked back.
Until now.
He’d made a mistake then, but maybe he was getting a second chance.
“I’m trying to convince Skye to go to the Ball with me tomorrow,” he said.
“Oh my gosh,” Mrs. Mallory exclaimed, “that would be wonderful!”
Like a deer in headlights, Skye froze. “I don’t have a dress,” she said flatly.
“I might have something you could wear,” Mrs. Mallory said.
Skye narrowed her eyes with a lethal glare directed straight at Joe. He held her gaze and tried not to laugh outright. Still a spitfire. Adult Skye was more captivating than any younger version had ever been. The minute she stepped out of her car earlier tonight, the past nine years had hit him square between the eyes. How had he said no to her that night? He must have been out of his mind.
But not anymore.
She turned to her mother. “No offense, Mom, but we’re not quite from the same century.”
“I’m not that unfashionable. And I’ve saved my wedding dress for you.”
Skye gave a sarcastic snort. “Carrigan won’t mind if I wear that tomorrow, would he?”
Mrs. Mallory tsked under her breath. “Skylar, I’m not your enemy.”
“Sorry,” Skye replied, looking contrite.
Mrs. Mallory said to Joe, “We’ll figure something out. We’ll make her presentable.”
“I’m not worried,” Joe said. “Skye always looks great.”
Chapter Four
Still half asleep, Skye caught the scent of coffee and ambled downstairs. As soon as she entered the kitchen, she stopped short. Carrigan sat at the table shooting the breeze with her dad.
“Morning, sweetheart,” her dad said.
She pulled the edges of her robe around her and cinched the belt tight. “Good morning,” she mumbled, pushing her long hair behind an ear, wondering how unkempt it looked.
Carrigan watched her with an amused glint in his gaze.
She turned to the coffeepot and grabbed a mug to distract herself from how good he looked, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed wearing jeans and a gray fleece jacket.
How could she be expected to face him at the crack of dawn?
It was bad enough he had infiltrated her dreams during the brief pockets of sleep she’d managed to grab, since her belly had cramped for much of the night with the swirl of coffee and whiskey dancing around for hours.
And she had a hazy recollection of snoring, vomiting, and a supposed date to the Ball. She wasn’t ready to face the memory of any of it.
“Joe towed your car back,” her dad said.
Skye paused at the bread bag and glanced at the clock. 6:30 a.m. “Already?” But it was a rhetorical question. She’d grown up on a ranch. If any sliver of daylight was present, then time was a wastin’. Except that it was December, and Joe must have hauled her car back in the dark.
Remembering her manners, which if she recalled correctly she hadn’t practiced last night, she threw a thank you over her shoulder and went back to making toast. But the action made her realize she was still being rude.
Dammit. She paused and pinched her lips, then spun around. “Would either of you like something to eat?”
“I’m fine,” her dad answered.
“I could use some eggs and bacon.” Joe winked at her.
She suppressed a grimace. “Of course.”
She went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs, the butter dish, and a package of microwave bacon.
“I can’t believe you drive a Prius,” Joe said.
She set the food on the counter and grabbed a skillet from a low cabinet. “It’s a company car.”
“I guess you’ve figured out that fancy lawyer cars don’t do well in the snow.”
She slammed the pan onto the gas burner, wincing from the loud noise. “Environmentally-conscious ones are better for the earth.”
“Well, those tiny city tires don’t get any bite in the snow,” he said.
“Thanks for the car lecture.”
“He’s right, Skye,” her dad said. “I don’t think you should drive it while you’re here.”
“Fine. Can I drive your truck?”
“It’s in the shop.”
“What about the truck with the feedbox?”
Her father looked at her as if she were six and had just fibbed about not leaving the chicken coop open. He wasn’t buying it, and he hadn’t then. Her mistake had cost six hens their lives when coyotes had hunted them down. Skye still felt terrible about it. She and ranch life had never been a good fit. When she had escaped to college, a weight had been lifted and she’d been able to breathe, finally free from the country life. Then why was the prospect of owning Mrs. Pendleton’s ranch filling her with what she could only describe as excitement? Did she want a ranching life after all?
“Right,” she said. “The cows need to eat more than I need to have transportation.” She dropped a slice of butter into the pan and it started to melt. “I’ll just ride Sarge whenever I need to go to town.” Not that riding her favorite horse was a hardship. She issued a silent apology to Sarge for her sarcasm. I’ll bring you a few carrots as soon as I can, she promised.
“I can loan you the Bronco.” Joe stood and came to the coffee maker. As he refilled his cup, he bumped her arm. “I’ll have mine sunny-side up.”
She curled her lip and threw him an annoyed look. “I don’t need your Bronco. I don’t have anything pressing, just a meeting on Monday. I can borrow my mom’s car.” She had to peek around Carrigan’s broad shoulders to see her dad. “Right?” she asked.
Her dad tilted his head in a skeptical nod. “Well, you’ll have to work
it out with your mother. You know how particular she is about her vehicle.”
Skye cracked two eggs into the hot pan, and they crackled and sizzled. She waited for the other distracting sizzle to go back to his seat, but instead Joe stayed where he was and leaned against the counter, crossing one sock-clad foot over the other.
“I can drive you to your meeting on Monday.” Joe sipped his coffee and looked down at her.
His nearness made her feel drunk all over again, and all she could do was shrug since her mind had blanked on a good retort. She needed to get out of the Ball first, and then she could focus on wiggling out of the next Joe-commitment.
Honestly, what was his game? If it were any other guy, she’d say he was flirting with her. But this was Carrigan, the guy who had steadfastly and completely ended any hope or idea of romance. Hell, she’d been so far gone back then that he could have seduced her, and she would have been a willing participant despite being only seventeen. And since it had been no secret that Joe had had a slew of girlfriends, rejecting her for sex had only crushed her more.
She pulled a packet of bacon from the box, placed it in the microwave above the stove, and punched in the time.
“You kids are gonna have to excuse me,” her dad said, putting his empty coffee mug in the sink. “The animals expect breakfast too.” He gave a squeeze to Skye’s shoulder. “See you tonight, Joe.”
“Yes, sir.”
Skye transferred the eggs onto a plate, added toast and bacon, and handed the end result to Carrigan. She tucked a jar of strawberry jam under her elbow, and with her free hands took her coffee and a plate with her own toast and headed to the table. Joe joined her, sitting across from her.
“Thanks for breakfast,” he said, smashing bread into yolk and taking a bite of the dripping mess.
Skye buttered her toast. “Don’t you need to get back to your ranch and do ranch stuff?”
“I’ve got three guys working for us. I decided to take some time off this weekend.”
She smeared jam on next and then took a bite. “How lazy for you.”
“I need to have time to get myself presentable for the Ball.”
She sighed. “Yeah, about that—”