“Is he handsome?” Hannah asked and then gestured at her face. “Under all that garbage? Maybe you can get him to shave. It has to be hard for you, him looking like he does and you always so put together.”
Amy bit her lip, her expression embarrassed. Becca felt the same way. Hannah was being pushy as heck and it was grating on Becca’s nerves because she was feeling very unsure of their status. Just one tiny text would have made everything better, but did he text her? No. Call? Nope. Was she just a free babysitter and doughnut delivery service with a bit of making out on the side?
Or maybe he just thought they were super casual and she’d hear from him in a week or two. God, that would be the worst. Becca didn’t know how to do casual. Not after being with Greg for ten years. She was past casual. She wanted something real. Something legit. “We’re just casual right now,” Becca finally lied. “It doesn’t mean anything. It was just to get back on the wagon, you know? Test the waters.”
Yeah, that sounded like a strong, confident answer. Now she just needed to believe it.
“Well, if you want to test the waters more, I have a wonderful nephew who lives in Topeka. He’s an accountant and he’s been married three times but he’s still great friends with all three of his wives.”
Oh boy. She forced a smile to her lips. “I’m taking it slow, but thank you, Hannah.”
“I should get going,” Amy said apologetically. She touched her hair. “I love this, though. It looks amazing.”
Becca beamed at her. “You have gorgeous hair. It was my pleasure.”
She took Amy’s money and cleaned off the station after the other woman left, grateful that Hannah had given up on her line of questioning—for a few minutes anyhow. When she turned to focus on the other woman, though, she noticed that Hannah was talking to Libby, and Libby was showing her a picture. Gosh, Libby was just a delight. The little girl was adorable today in green coveralls with a tiny pink shirt underneath, and Becca had twisted her hair into two cute knots atop her head.
As she approached, she heard Libby’s small voice piping up. “And this is where Daddy lives with Uncle Jack and Uncle Caleb and me.” She pointed at a picture, and Becca noticed it was one of a scribbly cabin with stick figures and some triangle things in the background. Mountains, maybe?
“Is that the ranch?” Hannah asked.
“No, it’s back home. Daddy says we’re gonna go back there once the cows stop having babies.”
It was like a punch in the gut.
Oh.
Maybe that was why Hank wasn’t calling her. Calving season was almost over. The ranch would settle on its feet once the herd wasn’t needing constant supervision, and then Doc would probably bring in a few new ranch hands . . . and Hank had no intention of staying. That was probably why he hadn’t enrolled Libby in preschool, either.
“Are you ready, Hannah?” Becca asked brightly. She moved to her nail station and gestured at the seat across from her.
“Why don’t you draw me a cow, Libby?” Hannah said to the little girl, and when Libby started to draw again, she touched her hair gently and then moved to sit with Becca. “Cutest little thing.”
“She really is.”
“Good thing she didn’t take after that father of hers.” Hannah widened her eyes innocently. “Her mother must be dainty. You know anything about her?”
“Haven’t asked. What color?” She shoved the nail polish rack forward with a little more vigor than she should have.
Hannah lingered for far too long, and by the time her nails were dry, she’d grilled Becca for information on everything. Where did they eat? What did she wear? What did he order? What did he wear? What time did they get back? What did they talk about? It was exhausting and she was relieved when Hannah finally went back to the hotel.
As Hannah walked out the door, she tittered and looked back at Becca. Sure enough, the moment Hannah left, Hank strolled in. He was wearing his cowboy hat and jeans, a checked blue-and-black shirt rolled up at the elbow.
God, he looked good.
“Daddy!” Libby flung herself up from the tiny pink desk and raced for him, the picture in her hand fluttering.
Becca looked away as he scooped his daughter up, busying herself with the broom. There was loose hair on the floor that had to be swept up, and she needed to clean her nail station. He could just take Libby and go, and that would be that. “Her bag’s behind the counter, packed and ready to go,” she told him. And just to prove that she had no hurt feelings, she gave him a bright smile and then started sweeping as if her life depended on it.
Hank sidled up to her, standing right over where she was sweeping and forcing her to look up at him. “Got a minute?”
Oh, so he wanted to talk now? Her annoyance flared, and in her head, she kept hearing Libby’s voice saying We’re going home once the cows stop having babies. Was he going to tell her he was leaving? Why should she care? It wasn’t like they were serious. It was just one date.
And a hot make-out session on the couch.
Her feelings shouldn’t have been hurt at all.
She gave him an apologetic smile and gestured at the floor. “I’ve really got to clean up.”
“But—”
“Daddy, I have to potty,” Libby proclaimed. “Number two!”
He grimaced, and she hated that she found that so damned endearing. “Mind if I let the princess here stink up your bathroom?”
Her mouth twitched in a reluctant smile. “Go over to my house. Next door. I have another haircut coming in about five minutes, so she can take all the time she needs there.”
Hank nodded and gave her a searching look, as if he wasn’t quite satisfied with her answer. Like he wanted to say something, and she tensed up, hoping that he would. That he’d tell her all about his day, or why he’d avoided her, or that he’d had fun last night . . . but he only nodded and took his squirmy daughter out to the porch and then opened the door to her house and stepped inside.
Becca blew out a breath and stared down at the floor.
Why was dating so stupidly hard?
CHAPTER TWELVE
She swept and mopped the floor and tidied things up, deliberately taking her time. Her final appointment for the day canceled, and she stared around her clean salon and supposed it was time to go back to her place. Hank was still there, his truck parked out front, which worried her. That meant a confrontation of some kind . . . either that or Libby had made a dreadful mess in the bathroom.
With a four-year-old, anything was possible, but Becca suspected it was a confrontation. So she steeled herself, preparing to hear the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech from a big, surly cowboy, and closed up shop. She locked the front and went through the side door that led to the back of her house . . .
And smelled pancakes. Heard bacon frying. That was odd. Hank was . . . cooking?
Confused, she headed into the kitchen and saw her small dining table had been taken over. One of her fat, decorative pillar candles had been lit and set in the center of the table, and Libby was at the far end, carefully folding Becca’s best napkins. Hank’s hat hung on a wall peg by the door as if it belonged there. A huge stack of pancakes was on the table, along with condiments and plates, and she looked over in surprise at Hank, who stood in the kitchen over the stove. He looked confident and sexy and . . . amazing.
“You’re . . . cooking?”
Hank gave her a half smile. “I know how to cook. It’s pretty limited, but I do know how. Hope you don’t mind breakfast for dinner.”
“I’m helping!” Libby waved one of the napkins at her.
“I see that,” Becca murmured, moving to take the napkins from her. “And what a wonderful job you’ve done. Why don’t we wash our hands while your daddy finishes?”
She bustled Libby upstairs to the bathroom, doing her best not to stare at Hank as he expertly flipped
bacon in the pan, his stance casual and determined. He hadn’t even made a mess of her kitchen, not really. Greg had cooked for her once or twice, but the ensuing disaster in the kitchen had been so dreadful that it had ended up being less exciting and more of a mess for her to clean up. When she came back down with Libby, Hank was near the table and pulled chairs out for both of them.
And she felt like she could smile for the first time that day.
“I’m sorry if I was a little short with you earlier,” Becca told him as she sat down. The setup looked amazing. There was buttered toast, fresh bacon, and so many pancakes that she couldn’t possibly eat all of them. He’d done this for her. She didn’t even care that he was using an expensive candle designed to be used for show only. It didn’t matter. He’d made her dinner.
Hank pushed in her chair and murmured in her ear. “I said I wasn’t good at relationships. I’m good at pancakes.”
She chuckled at that. Maybe they both weren’t good at this sort of thing. Hank was used to being on his own, and Becca was practically planning their lives together after one date. Perhaps they both needed to meet somewhere in the middle.
The pancakes were amazing. Hank had cut both hers and Libby’s into a heart shape, and the remnants ended up on his plate, which she thought was cute. Everything was perfect, right down to the conversation. Libby chattered and talked to her dad nonstop, and Hank answered her between bites. She enjoyed herself, loving the interplay between the child and her father, and when dinner was done, Becca smiled at them. “Do you guys want to stay and watch a movie?”
“A different one, I hope,” Hank said.
She chuckled. “I’m sure we can find something Libby appropriate.”
After the table was cleared, they all three piled onto the couch—Hank in the middle—and put on a Pixar movie. Libby was rapt, her gaze glued to the screen, and Becca found watching her almost as amusing as the movie.
Not that she was paying much attention to either, because Hank’s arm immediately went across the back of the couch once the movie started playing, and by the time it was halfway over, he was rubbing her shoulder and her neck as cartoon animals marched across the screen.
She should not have been turned on nearly as much as she was. It seemed wrong to close her eyes and bite back a moan as he massaged her neck, his fingers working magic over muscles she didn’t even know were tight. God, this man. She’d been so frustrated with him earlier and now she couldn’t even think straight she was so blissed out.
Becca was utterly disappointed by the time the movie ended. His big, delicious hand left her neck and she glanced over at him. Libby was draped over his side, her mouth open in her sleep. She was adorably sweet, as was the protective way that Hank held her close. “Looks like it’s past bedtime,” she whispered.
He didn’t get up, though. He just glanced over at her with a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Tonight was easier,” he murmured, voice low.
“Easier?”
“Easier to talk to you. Easier to be around you. I felt like a big idiot at the restaurant. Like I wasn’t fancy enough for you.” His mouth flattened into a hard line. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable? Becca shook her head, startled at the confession. “You just seemed like you didn’t want to be there with me.”
“There? Not really. But with you? Absolutely.”
And that made her feel warm and fuzzy. “All I wanted to do was spend time with you,” she confessed. “Get to know you better. I’m not interested in fancy restaurants or anything like that. I’m not going out with you for a steak. I can buy my own.” Becca gave him a wry smile. “I’m going out with you because you’re tall and strong, and kind and thoughtful, and you have a cute daughter that you think the world of.”
He grunted, then studied her. “It’s not because of the beard?”
Becca giggled. Was that a joke? Was Hank Watson joking with her? “It’s not my usual, but I don’t mind it.”
“Tore your face up something awful last night when we kissed.” His voice was low and husky, and for a moment, it felt almost as if he were kissing her again. Becca’s skin prickled with awareness as he gave her a lazy smile and then touched his beard. “Gonna have to figure out how to soften this up for when I kiss you again.”
She could feel her cheeks flushing. “You sound so certain.”
“That I want to kiss you again? Never been more sure of anything in my life.” With his free hand—his other arm still around the sleeping Libby—he reached out and carefully traced her mouth with his thumb. “I’d do it right now except . . .”
“Except you’re a human pillow.” Oh, but she ached with want. She wanted him to kiss her, too.
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I’m not good with texts and shit like that. So if you send me those, I might not answer right away. My hands are usually pretty filthy when I’m working, so the phone stays inside most days.”
“Okay.”
“I work long hours, too.”
She tilted her head, pretending to study him. “Are you trying to scare me off from dating you?”
“Just don’t want you thinking I’m someone I ain’t.” His fingers brushed along her jaw and then down to her shoulder. He stared at her skin as if entranced, and she mentally willed him to drag his hand lower, to her breast. “Like I said, I’m not real good at this.”
“Then lucky for you, you’re a good kisser.”
Even though it was dark in the room, she could have sworn his eyes grew heated. “You keep saying shit like that and I’m gonna toss you down on this couch and show you all the things my mouth is real good at.”
The insides of Becca’s thighs tightened with arousal. That was a bold statement, but . . . she didn’t mind it. In fact, she rather liked it. “But then you’d wake Libby up.”
Hank sighed heavily and glanced at his sleeping daughter, who was oblivious to their soft, heated conversation. “I know. I should be getting back soon.”
“Probably.” Even if it disappointed her. But he wasn’t like Greg. He wore responsibility like another shirt, and that was as sexy and appealing as everything else. If she was ever in need, she had no doubt that Hank would be there instantly, whereas her ex had thought of himself first, her second. So she got to her feet and picked up his hat from the peg on the wall, along with his keys, as he gently carried his daughter out of the house and toward his truck. Becca trailed behind him, watching as he skillfully opened the truck door with one hand, cradling Libby’s sleeping form with the other. He pushed the passenger seat forward and then settled his daughter in her car seat in the rear seat of the truck and carefully buckled her in.
He turned to look at Becca, and she held out the keys and hat to him. “Thank you for a lovely dinner.”
“Do I get dessert?” Hank moved forward to her, his hands going to her arms.
“Dessert?”
“Just a taste,” he said, and then leaned in, stooping low so he could brush his lips over hers.
And oh . . . that kiss was perfection. She moaned into his mouth as he slicked his tongue against hers. Her hands went to his shirt and she clung to him as he coaxed and tasted, nibbled and explored her mouth. She’d never been kissed like this. It was as if he couldn’t get enough of her mouth, like it was endlessly fascinating to him and he had to have more, more, more. Kissing Greg had been nothing like this. Nothing at all.
She never wanted it to end.
His tongue was like heaven. His big body loomed over hers, both protective and strong. As he kissed her, the world around them disappeared until there was nothing for her except his hands on her arms, his lips on her lips, his tongue caressing her tongue . . . and the heat between her thighs.
Hank pulled away far too quickly. She could have kissed him for hours, but he gave her a rueful smile. “Told myself it’d just be a taste.”
&n
bsp; “Oh. Right.” Flustered, she brushed her hair back from her face with a shaking hand and tried to give him a smile. “Let me know when you want the whole buffet.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than she felt like an idiot. He stared at her, and then one of those slow smiles crept across his lips. He leaned in again, his fingers skating along her jaw. “Not gonna let myself feast until I have time to savor every mouthful.”
And goodness, now her whole body was flushing. Becca resisted the urge to fan herself as he checked on the sleeping Libby one more time, then carefully shut the door. Hank gave her one last lingering look before he got into the cab of the truck.
She stayed on the porch, hugging her chest as she watched him drive away. It wasn’t until she was back inside, tidying up the relatively small mess he’d left, that she thought about her morning ritual. Was this his way of suggesting she start coming by again?
He’d told her that they didn’t need her to head over in the morning anymore . . . but he’d also returned and kissed her tonight, so was that a yes or a no? Frowning to herself, she pulled out her phone and texted him.
BECCA: I know you said you don’t check this often but I’m hoping you see this. Let me know if you need me to come by in the morning or if I should sleep in.
She stared down at the phone, wondering if she should end the message with a cute emoji. A kiss? A smiley? A freaking XOXO? In the end, she went with nothing and stewed over it.
There was no answer right away. Of course not. He was probably still driving the back roads all the way back out to the ranch. Even so, she didn’t want to show up and be a pest. They’d had a second date—sort of—and Hank made it clear he was interested, even if it wasn’t about helping out around the ranch. And they were grown men. They’d fed themselves for years, and with calving slowing down, surely they could feed themselves again.
She wouldn’t show up unless invited. Becca knew she could be a bit of a busybody and didn’t want Hank to feel as if she was making a nuisance of herself.
The Cowboy Meets His Match Page 10