Was he going to kiss me? I didn’t want him to kiss me.
No, really. I didn’t.
Or did I?
The memory of Clay and that woman, whatever her name was, walking down Main Street flashed through my mind.
No!
I placed my hand over his, intending to pull it away. But instead, I held it in place. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t push it away. “Clay,” I said, in my sexiest fuck-me voice.
Well, that wasn’t going to help!
Clay’s head inched closer.
Crap!
“Clay, please.” This time my words came out as a whisper. Weak and breathy.
That wasn’t going to help either. If anything, it sounded like I was asking him to kiss me.
I wasn’t.
Our breath mingled.
Was I?
My lips tingled.
No. No!
My fingers curled, fingertips sinking between his. I pulled.
He leaned back. “You still don’t trust me.” He laughed. “Your aunt was right. You are smart.”
“It’s not because I don’t believe you,” I told him as my heart practically beat its way out of my ribcage.
“No?”
“No, it’s because...like you said, you’re a prick with women. You hurt me.”
He clapped his hands around my face. “And you hurt me,” he confessed as he stared into my eyes.
I hurt him?Me? “When?”
He jerked his hands away. “I heard you, Morgan.”
Heard me? Say what? When? “What?”
“That morning, after the first time we...” Moving slowly, carefully, he folded his arms over his chest. “I heard what you said to your aunt about me.”
My heart started hammering as I frantically searched my memory. My face burned. Guilt. It was guilt making my face hot. But I didn’t even know why.
Had I said something about Clay that day? Would I have said something cruel when he’d done nothing to deserve it? That wasn’t like me.
It was a long time ago. I couldn’t remember.
He laughed. “Let me guess, you don’t remember.”
I shook my head. “I really don’t, Clay.”
“Of course you don’t.” He leaned forward and scrubbed his face with his hands.
This was awful! I’d said something mean? Me? “What? What did I say?”
“I haven’t been able to forget your words in four years. Four fucking years of having them echo through my fucking head. And you don’t remember?”
Chapter 16
I couldn’t breathe.
My heart was thumping so loudly I could barely hear what Clay was saying.
This was it, the answer I’d been waiting for. All this time I’d wondered why Clay had dumped me after the night he’d taken my innocence. He’d broken my heart. Obliterated it. Pulverized it.
All this time I’d told myself it was his fault—that he was just an asshole who didn’t care.
But here he was, telling me I was wrong.
It was me?
My fault?
“Clay, tell me. It had to be a mistake. Maybe you’re remembering wrong. Maybe it was after I found out about... Or... a misunderstanding—“
“No!” he shouted, making me jump. In a softer voice, he continued. But the redness in his complexion didn’t lighten. “It wasn’t a misunderstanding. I know what you said and when you said it. You said, ‘Clay Walker is nothing. A nobody who’ll do nothing. The minute I leave here, I’ll forget about him’.”
Silence hung heavy in the air as he glared at me, deep hurt turning his eyes black.
Had I really said something so cruel and callous? And if I had, how could I have meant it? Nothing in those words rang true. Clay was not a nobody. And he was in no way forgettable. How could I have said that?
After that night he disappeared and I was crushed. I was so hurt I actually became physically ill. My aunt even took me to the doctor.
“If I said that, I couldn’t have meant it,” I reasoned as I mentally wrestled with my confusion. It didn’t make sense that I’d say something so mean, not to my aunt, not to anyone. I wouldn’t have had any reason to lie to my aunt. She wouldn’t have punished me if I’d told her I was madly, desperately in love with Clay.
I wanted to remember.
But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t!
If only there was some way to rewind time.
“Clay, I was devastated when you didn’t call me after that night,” I confessed. “I spent months crying. When? When exactly did you hear me talking to my aunt about you? Where was I? What were we doing?”
His jaw clenched. He jerked his gaze away, slammed his feet down on the floor, sat forward, and blinked several times. “You know what? Forget it.”
“But, Clay—“
“I said, forget it.”
End of conversation.
Well, I had an answer. For months I’d cried, wondering why he’d disappeared. He knew I was a virgin, that he was my first. And he knew—or at least, I’d thought he knew—I was crazy in love with him.
Clearly some wires had been crossed. I had to end these bad feelings, the underlying distrust and hostility, now that I knew where it was coming from. I reached for his hands, now clasped together, elbows resting on his bent knees. “We hurt each other, Clay. I’m sorry. Very sorry. I don’t understand why I said those things. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“You have no idea,” he said to my hand, resting lightly on top of his.
I slipped my other hand under his, weaving our fingers together. “We were both hurt. Badly. But maybe we can find a way to trust each other again?”
Clay lifted his head. Our gazes locked again. “I don’t know. You say that, but do you really mean it? Every time something comes up, you jump to conclusions. You believe the worst about me. Always.”
God, he was so on point. It hurt, hearing those words.
It was even worse, knowing that I’d said something so awful that he’d clung to that pain for years.
“You’re right. I have done that. I tend to look for a reason to distrust people.” My gaze dropped to our hands, still clenched together. “But it isn’t just you I do that to. I... do that to a lot of people,” I admitted to myself for the first time.
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
“It doesn’t.” He released my hand to reach again for my face. His thumb teased my lower lip and a quiver of need rushed through me. “The truth is, I don’t know if I want to keep trying to convince you I’m not a fucking jerk. Maybe I should just continue being the prick you think I am.”
“Clay...”
His hand slipped away, followed by his gaze.
That was it. He’d cut me off.
Now I knew why. At least there was that. Thanks to the drugs, he’d finally come clean. I understood now.
Even if it didn’t hurt any less.
I stood.
“Why did you come here today?” he asked as he reclined back, heavy eyelids shuttering dark eyes.
“Because I wanted answers,” I admitted.
“Did you get them? The answers you were looking for?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Good.” His eyes closed. He whispered, “I don’t need a fucking babysitter...”
***
“What are you doing back here?” Harper exclaimed, wearing my aunt’s boots, one of my shirts, and a very red face. Her hair wild, she was standing in front of the closed barn door looking guilty as hell. Inside the barn I could hear rustling. Either someone was in there or an animal was loose. I suspected, from my roommate’s flushed face and freshly-fucked bed head it was the former. And if I had to bet on who I would find in the barn, my money was on Mike.
“Clay and I had a coming-to-Jesus meeting.”
“Didn’t go so good?” After a glance back at the shut door, Harper flopped an arm over my shoulder and steered me toward the house. “Why don’t we
have a beer or ten and talk about it?”
I glanced over my shoulder then gave my roommate a good, long look. Did I see... was that... straw in her hair?
The barn door thumped.
“Harper, if I interrupted something it can wait.”
“No!” she plastered on a plastic grin. “You didn’t interrupt anything. I just finished up today’s work and was headed in for something to eat.”
The door thumped again.
This time I whirled around. “Is something going on in the barn?”
“No.”
The door slid open and out strode Mike, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “Why’d you leave so suddenly, babe?” He sauntered over to Harper and slid his arm around her waist.
Harper’s face turned as red as a Wyoming sunset. “I swear, we weren’t fooling around on company time! I wouldn’t—”
“No need to explain,” I interrupted, lifting her arm off my shoulder. “You two have some fun. I’m going to grab some dinner and call it a night.”
Harper gave Mike a questioning glance, which was answered by an eyebrow slat and crooked grin. “Are you sure?” she asked me. “If you’re upset—“
“I’m fine.”
She still didn’t look convinced.
“Really.” I shooed her. “Go. I don’t own you twenty-four, seven. Get out of here.”
“Fine. I’ll be home later...” she glanced at Mike. “Make that tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.” I hurried inside, flopped on the couch, and poked the TV remote. I needed noise, something to shut off the voice of my inner-Judge-Judy, yelling sarcastic comments about what a bitch I was.
It was my fault. Mine.
All that heartbreak. My fault.
I’d hurt Clay.
And I’d totally decimated our relationship.
By saying something stupid, thoughtless.
What kind of bitch was I?
Even though I wasn’t hungry, I went into the kitchen and checked the refrigerator. Nothing looked good. Probably because I wasn’t hungry. Probably because I felt like shit.
The more I thought about it, the clearer it became. Clay wasn’t the fucking jerk. I was. I said he didn’t mean anything to me. And then, adding insult to injury, I ran around, blaming him, acting all paranoid, and jumping to the worst conclusions, even when he was trying to help me.
I didn’t deserve his help.
What an idiot I’d been.
But at least I’d learned something for the future. As much as I used to think I trusted people, I didn’t trust anyone. I was always looking for the truth hidden behind what they said. I didn’t take what anyone said at face value.
Not even my Aunt Sandee.
As long as I continued to act like that, I wouldn’t be the kind of person I’d want to date, let alone to fall in love with...or marry.
So, I had some work to do. I would learn how to cast aside my distrust. I didn’t want to destroy another relationship.
One heartbreak in a lifetime was one more than I wanted. I wasn’t sure I would survive a second.
More than that, I wasn’t sure I would survive causing a second.
Chapter 17
Over the next couple of weeks Harper and I, along with Cockroach and the rest of the crew, settled into a steady routine. Harper and I tended to the animals and kept the barn inhabitable while the boys took care of the heavier chores.
During the evenings Harper and Mike would head off somewhere to have some private time together while I sat around the house. For the first week or so, I was just a little bored and lonely, wondering if (and yes, hoping) Clay would call. But by the second, I knew I’d blown it with Clay.
Today was the opening day of the fair.
The studly cowboy named Will, with biceps that made the rest of the crew green with envy, and a massive belt buckle proclaiming him the world champion cowboy of 2014, cornered me in the barn just after Harper and Mike left to have some fun at the fair. A stunner of a smile in place, he leaned in close and asked, in a husky voice, “Dinner tonight? I have a friend who has a booth at the fair. They make some killer ribs. What do you think?”
Will wasn’t Clay, but he wasn’t much different. I’d seen him a time or two on the weekends, a little too drunk, and a little too friendly with the women. He was a tall, dark, and handsome drink of heartbreak, wrapped up in a to-die-for body.
And I was a sucker. Because I wanted to accept. This man would definitely test my new vow to trust people more.
“Well, babe?” he asked when I didn’t throw myself at him like he was (no doubt) expecting.
Dinner.
Dinner was safe.
I could do dinner. We would walk around the fair, eat food, and talk. It could be romantic.
He moved and his pecks rippled.
And if things went well, then maybe...
“Okay yes. Dinner sounds great. Thank you.”
He grinned. He looked handsome when he smiled. Not as handsome as someone else I knew, but still attractive. That someone else was out of my life. It was time to move on. “Good. How long will it take you to get ready?”
I ran a hand over my hair. Ugh. I needed a shower. “Give me a half hour?”
“Sure.” He gave a swift nod. “I’ll run home and clean up. Be back in a half hour.”
I dashed inside and jumped in the shower to steam off all traces of animal stink and de-fuzz all parts that were getting prickly. Then I hopped out, sprayed some curl enhancer in my hair so I didn’t have to blow it dry and jumped into a fresh pair of underwear and a cute bra. Picking just the right outfit was tough. It was hot and muggy. So I would need to wear something cool. And yet I didn’t want to wear anything slutty. Nor did I want to wear anything too school-marm-ish. Something cute and maybe a little flirty but not over-the-top.
Jean shorts. A cute top that wasn’t too tight or too low cut. And sandals.
The work outside had given my face a nice tan, so I didn’t need a whole lot of makeup and I was ready to go. Done.
And just in time. The knock on my door told me my date had arrived. On time.
Pinching on her earrings, I scurried to answer the door, grabbed the knob and yanked.
Ohmygod.
“Clay.”
His gaze zoomed down to my feet and up. “I came—“ He twisted around, looked over his shoulder at Will, who was loping toward the front porch.
Will stomped up the front steps. “Walker.” He nodded to me. “Ready?”
I gaped. My heart thumped.
Clay. Clay was here. And I was supposed to be going on a date with Will. Oh crap.
Clay stepped aside, his head turned toward Will, his expression hidden from my view for a moment. “Will,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you here after work hours.”
“Seems to me, what I do on my time isn’t a concern of yours.” He reached past Clay, offering his hand to me.
My gaze bounced between the two men, who appeared to be having a disagreement of some sort. I was so freaking confused I didn’t know what to do. Seeing Clay again made my heart hammer and my brain turn to mush all over again. But I remembered what he’d said the last time I’d seen him. How could I forget?
“Morgan?” Will said, his hand still hanging out there, waiting for me to take it. “I’m so hungry I’m gonna eat my hat if we don’t get goin’ soon.”
“I...” I searched Clay’s eyes.
They were cold. Arctic cold.
He was angry. Seething. Furious.
And I felt guilty as hell, even though I didn’t do anything wrong.
Clay turned around without saying a word, clomping to his truck.
Will grinned. “Shall we?”
Letting Will lead me to his truck, I watched Clay start his truck and skid away. Will’s truck drove through the cloud of dust Clay’s kicked up.
The tension in the air was thicker than molasses.
The radio blasted as we bounced down the long drive and out onto the road. I watche
d wide open pasture fly by as we roared toward town. Thankful for the music, I kept quiet, my hands resting in my lap. When I caught Will looking at my bare thighs, I tugged the bottoms of my shorts down.
This was a mistake. What was I doing?
I looked at Will.
Stubble shadowed his strong jaw and chin. His eyes were bright blue, his hair, what I could see of it, bleached from the sun and curled by the humidity. He was the all American man. Ruggedly handsome. Very masculine, in his plaid shirt and jeans, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned, suntanned forearms. I was on a date with champion cowboy of 2014.
And all I could think about was going home.
“The rodeo starts tomorrow. Will you come watch me?” he asked, peering my direction for a moment.
“Rodeo?”
“Of course I’ll be competing in all the men’s events.”
“Of course.”
“So you’ll watch?” he smiled. “It’s always nice knowin’ there’s someone out there rootin’ for me.”
“I... I’m not sure. Rodeos were never my thing.”
“Around these parts, rodeos are everyone’s thing.”
Up ahead I could see the fair, carnival rides swinging and swooping and spinning. He parked in a nearby empty lot and insisted I wait as he stomped around the front of the truck to let me out. A hand was waiting for my grasp as soon as the door was open. I accepted it, not wanting to seem rude.
His fingers clasped my hand firmly and didn’t let go. “This way.” He led me toward the entry booth set up at one end of a public park. He released my hand to pay the entry fee but the moment he had his wallet back in his pocket, he grabbed it again. My palm sweated as we wove between couples, teens and families enjoying the sights and sounds of the fair.
Thanks to the lights and smiles everywhere, my anxiety eased as we wandered past the line of food trucks parked along one side of the fair. The scents of roasted meat and popcorn made my mouth water, reminding me I hadn’t eaten much at lunch time.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Will said as he expertly steered us through the throng, the thick crowd parting before him, greeting him, waving as if he was a celebrity. Though, in a town as small as Dawson, the national cowboy champ probably was a celebrity.
“Starving,” I said, my eyes bouncing from one truck to the next. Elephant ears. Popcorn. Ice cold drinks! “And thirsty.”
Jerk: A Bad Boy Romance Page 11
