by Dee Palmer
“Wow, someone got out of the wrong side of his truck this morning. And I thought I had a good reason to be grumpy.” Quickly pulling my hand away from him, I tuck both hands under my butt for fear of making the same mistake a third time. I can’t help it. I’m a touchy-feely kind of girl. If someone is in pain, I want to help, but he’s right. I have no right to pry. Besides, I have enough on my plate and that’s exactly why I need to play ‘let’s pretend’.
His curt response does nothing to dampen my efforts.
“Fine. Nice to meet you, Pink.” I offer my hand, and I’m all kinds of relieved when he visibly relaxes and shakes it. My moment of pleasure quickly fades when he once again falls silent. We pass nothing for miles, and when I see a sign for the next town, my tummy rumbles painfully. It’s only then I realize I don’t remember the last time I ate.
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat.” He nods and rubs his tummy like he’s warming it up in preparation.
“Great, pull off at the next junction and we’ll try and find some place to stop.”
I know this area and we’re going to have to drive a few more miles along the back roads until there’s anywhere big enough for a diner or a cafe. It’s mostly farms, small homesteads, and abandoned buildings torn up by the extreme weather we get in Texas. Pink pulls the truck into a one-pump garage, frozen in the 50s with its original Coke machine and a pump design you only ever really see in the movies. There’s a small cafe with a handwritten sign in the window declaring it open. He wrenches the handbrake hard and kills the engine.
“Shall we?” He tips his head and waits for me to nod my agreement before he cracks the door handle and drops down out of the truck. I want to follow, but I’m only now acutely aware of what I look like. He watches me as he walks slowly around the front of the truck, and when I still haven’t moved, he crosses his arms and stares at me.
“I’m not waiting on you, princess, with a take-out, so you better get your ass out or you’re going hungry.”
“Um, yes, right, of course, I don’t want you to wait on me. It’s just…look at me.” I hold up the dirt stained edges of my dress as if it needs highlighting. “I can’t go in like this. What will people think?”
“Do you know these people?”
“No.”
“Then what does it matter?”
“It matters to me. And look at my feet. I don’t think I could walk if I tried.” I’m not normally so emotional, and I hate the tears that are all too quickly streaming down my face. I rub them dry and curse my hysterics. Pink walks away and disappears into the cafe. I drop my head in my hands and sob a little more. It’s been a tough day so I’m going to allow myself this, then I’m going to pull myself together, hopefully, before they stop serving food. My blurry vision clears with the loud creaking noise of my door opening wide. Pink is standing there with a bowl of steaming water and a pile of paper towels at his feet. He kneels down and lifts the bowl onto his lap.
“Come on, princess, let’s get you cleaned up.” He twirls his finger for me to move around, and like it’s some sort of internal remote control, I slide my bottom round and lift my legs so my feet are hovering above the threshold of the car. I hesitate. I don’t remember the last time someone took care of me like this. It’s always the other way around, and it suddenly feels wrong to be letting a stranger do it. Not because I don’t trust him. I mean, I don’t. I don’t know him, and I do need the help, but it just feels wrong. I jerk my knee high when he reaches for my calf.
“It’s all right. I can do it.”
“What are you afraid of? I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice is thick with concern, and he looks more mortified than offended.
“I know that. It’s just I can take care of myself.” My soft response seems to add fuel to the fire, and I feel completely awful that I’ve now made him mad when he was only trying to help.
“I never said you couldn’t. Suit yourself.” He throws the paper towel he was holding into the bowl of water with a splash and is about to pick up the bowl and no doubt throw it in my face I’m acting so darn ungrateful.
“Sorry, I’m so sorry, Pink. Please,” He’s half up on to his knees getting ready to stand when my urgent plea makes him settle back into his position. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude. Thank you, and, please, I’d very much like your help with these.” I try to wiggle my toes, but they are too swollen. He blinks, and with an imperceptible nod, he once more reaches to wrap his hand around my left calf. I jolt from the contact. I think the heat of his touch must leave a mark.
“Sorry.” Exhaling an apologetic light laugh at my ridiculous overreaction, I let him pull my leg forward and lower my foot into the bowl of water. “Mother flipper, that stings!” I yell, biting my mouth shut to stop screaming.
“It’s got antiseptic in it. Sorry. I should’ve warned you.” He raises a brow and flattens his smirk, failing miserably to look remotely sorry.
“No, it’s fine.” My face tells another story, all screwed up with a thin grin clenched so tight my jaw creaks. He takes the wet towel and lifts it a little way up my leg and squeezes it so that the water trickles down my shin. He repeats this several times, slowly, methodically, and I am mesmerized by him. His chest rises and falls with each deep breath, and each time he drops his hand into the water and swishes it around my foot, he looks up at me through his long golden lashes. His fingers graze and brush my skin with feather light touches, making me forget the pain. Heck, I almost forget to breathe it feels so good. He carefully wipes my foot clean of all the dirt and grit, picking out some of the large pieces that are wedged deep with his fingertips.
“They are in pretty bad shape. I’m going to need to get my first aid kit out for some band aids.”
“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have run after them. It’s not like I was ever going to catch them, but I was so mad I just kept running, and I didn’t feel a thing until I did. Then it was too late.”
“Who were you chasing?”
“The jerks that stole my car.”
“How did they steal your car?”
“I thought you didn’t want to do the soul sharing thing,” I goad, and he grins, pausing only briefly to meet my wry gaze.
“Grand theft auto is hardly deep soul stuff. I think I can handle the details.”
“Well, this morning my grampa gave me my grandmother’s wedding dress to try on, on account of I’m—” I knew he’d interrupt, but it was worth a try, and his warning tone is considerably less severe than I was expecting.
“Just the car theft bit, Buttercup.”
“Right, got it.” I tip a two-finger salute that makes him look to the heavens. Still, I swear he’s losing that fight against flashing me his killer smile. “Okay, I was driving in my wedding dress, like you do, and I saw a child on the side of the road. I mean I was in the middle of nowhere, and he can’t have been more than five years old. He looked so scared and lost.”
“He was a dupe.”
“He was a child in trouble, and I pulled over.”
“I see.”
I shake my head at my own foolishness, not for stopping. I was always going to stop, but I know better than to leap out of the car without checking my surroundings.
“I drive barefoot and didn’t think. I just got out my car and, as soon as I did, out from nowhere there was his whole darn family piling in my jeep. I tried to catch the driver door before it shut, but a really big man grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me off backward into the bushes. I was scrabbling, screaming and trying to fight him off, and I…I…” My heart is hammering in my chest, tightening with every gulp of air I’m trying to drag into my lungs. I can feel adrenaline pumping through me, as the panic and fear of only a few hours ago replays in my head and has my whole body trembling.
“It’s okay.” Pink drops the towels in the bowl and takes both my hands in his, calming me with his firm and comforting touch. His thumbs trace small circles in my palms. He hisses, “Fuck!”
then looks up and meets my gaze. A storm so wild rages in the depths of his blue eyes, and I am rendered speechless. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so angry, and I’m momentarily confused. Why would he be so mad? It takes another second for me to understand he’s taken my tale and painted the rest of the picture in horrific Technicolor.
“Oh no, Pink. No, nothing like that.” He closes his eyes, his jaw twitching with tension rolling off him like a force field between us. Flipping his hold so I now have his hands clasped between mine, it’s my turn to calm. I can see the effort it’s taking for him to let the image go. Finishing the story will help…I hope. “He didn’t touch me. He threw me, like I was a shot-put, and then he ran. I was winded and hurt my hip when I landed on the rocks, but I picked myself straight back up. By the time I got to the road though, my Jeep was tearing its way up the highway, and I was just this crazy lady running on after a speeding car. I collapsed after about a half a mile. I found some shade and waited until I heard a car. Yours was the only one I heard. I think I would’ve died out there if you hadn’t come along.”
“Someone would’ve come along, Buttercup. Someone always comes along.” He’s not convinced and dismisses my claim with another roll of his eyes before dropping his head and lifting my foot from the water and patting it dry.
“Not always someone so nice, though,” I pointedly remark, staring at the top of his hat, willing him to look at me. He doesn’t. Whether he believes it or not, I could’ve very easily died out there.
“Okay, other foot, princess.” He taps my ankle and I swap feet. He repeats his tender ministrations on my other foot.
It must take him a good half hour before I’m all clean and taped up. The time passes in a flash, and I feel a little dizzy, which I’m blaming on low blood sugar not on the intimacy of a very sexy man cleaning up my cuts.
“Now, some clothes. All right, I don’t have much that’s gonna fit you, princess.” He pushes his hat back and rubs his forehead.
“Thank the lord,” I quip. I’d die if anything of his actually fit me. He’s massive, easily over six feet tall, and even as lean and muscular as he is, he’s much bigger than I’d ever want to be. He’s rummaging in a large rucksack on the back seat, emerging with a wide grin and a fistful of clothes.
“I have a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and a belt that you could probably wrap around your skinny waist a time or two. Here.”
I take the bundle and hold it in my lap. “Thank you. Anything’s better than this.” I sweep my hand from the high lace collar to the dated frills edging the hem and waving all over my body to make sure I’ve included every bow, ruffle, and layer of a dress I doubt my own mother would’ve agreed to wear if she’d had the chance. He smiles politely enough and says nothing. In fact, he’s staring, and I can feel my cheeks heat with the intensity of his gaze. “Um, would you mind turning around?”
“Oh, sure. Sorry.” He coughs and spins on his boot heel when I hold up the change of clothes, the reason for the request.
I slip my arms from the sleeves and start to tug the bodice down to my hips, scooting as low as I can in the truck so no one can see. The bodice zipper slides down to my waist but no farther. “Oh darn it.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The zipper’s jammed, and I’m stuck.”
“You want me to help?”
Oh lord, I’m naked from the waist up and will have to stick my butt in the air for him to drag the zipper low enough to get it off my hips.
Why is this happening? Have I not had a bad enough day?
I let out a heavy sigh. My face must be the color of a baboon’s behind, I’m so embarrassed. “Um, yes, but… Oh heck, okay, just don’t go looking.” My arms are folded tight over my breasts, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got everything covered. I’m not gifted in that department, something I never thought I’d be thankful for until today.
“I’m going to need to look to see the zipper, princess.” He turns slowly, and my heart jumps to my throat. He’s looking into my eyes and nowhere else.
“Right.” I shift around awkwardly as my knees keep treading on the full skirt, and I can’t exactly pull it free. I manage to turn and nearly jump out of my skin when I feel his hand touch my back. His fingers slide under my dress and skim my spine, gripping the material; they also seem to sizzle against my skin. He tugs and jiggles the zipper until it loosens enough to slide all the way down. I’m quick to turn as soon as I feel him let go so he doesn’t get an eyeful of my panties and backside too. “Thank you.”
He swallows slowly and gives a curt nod before turning away to let me finish getting changed. “Done, all done.”
“You look like you’ve been eaten up by my clothes.” He chuckles.
“They are a little big.” The neck of the t-shirt slips off my shoulder as if on cue.
“You look good.” He coughs and blinks when my eyes meet his. Something in the air sizzles with the contact, and I can’t fight the pleasure hearing him say that. A smile so wide it makes my cheeks ache spreads across my face.
“I do?” This is new. What the hell just happened to my tummy, all fluttery and sick at the same time.
“Like you’re playing dress-up. You look cute.” My smile strains with the effort to keep it there and not look so disappointed.
“Oh, right.” Stupid Buttercup, he thinks you look like a child, and you’re just distracted, because you’re hungry.
“All right then, Buttercup, hop on.” Holding out his arms with his back turned he looks over his shoulder and jerks his head as if I’m supposed to do what exactly? Jump him?
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll give you a piggyback ride into the cafe, save your feet for a while longer if you want?”
I’m already lowering myself to the ground because that idea is the worst. If he didn’t make me feel like a child with the ‘playing dress up’ comment, riding piggyback into the cafe would be the icing on the cake to my humiliating day. “Oh, no that’s fine, I’m sure I can…Ow! Oh…” Shooting, knife-like pain at the tiniest amount of weight has me whimpering and lifting myself back into the truck.
“Up?” He arches a brow, purses his lips, and looks all kinds of smug and handsome.
“Yes, please.”
He scooches closer so I don’t have to stand, and when I place my hands on his shoulders, he eases me onto his back, jerking me higher when he stands upright. I wrap my legs around his waist, ignoring the surge of flutters wreaking havoc in my stomach and a little lower. With my body tight against his muscular back, it’s extremely difficult to think they have anything whatsoever to do with food.
“I have a question.” He turns to kick the truck door shut and strides toward the cafe.
“I’m all ears.”
“What is a mother flipper?”
“Now who’s being cute?”
HOLDING HER TIGHT AGAINST ME was not my smartest idea; still, I couldn’t see any other way. And I’m sure my heart’s going to stop jackhammering in my chest just as soon as I put her down. Cute. She doesn’t look cute; she looks smokin’ fucking hot and good enough to feast on and never need another meal. And that’s a problem because she’s looking at me like I’m some sort of white knight with those big doe eyes of hers. Even if I was in the market for a good time, a long time or anything in between, I can’t ignore the fact that she was wearing a fucking wedding dress.
Forget it, Pink, give her this day and hit the road.
“Where do you wanna sit?”
Her face is almost cheek to my cheek. She nods in the direction she’s also pointing, and this close, I get a full assault on my senses of just how damn good she smells. Even with the sweat and dirt from her ordeal, the traces of wild roses and warm honey make my mouth water.
“That booth over in the corner. It’s closest to the restroom, and I’m hoping, after I’ve eaten, I’ll be able to make it there, unaccompanied.”
“That makes two of us.”
She giggles and her body jiggl
es against me. The vibrations travel from her, right through me and straight to my cock. She slides down my back and plops onto the seat. I quickly take the one opposite, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser in a not-so-subtle effort at hiding the trouble growing in my pants. Buttercup is watching me with confusion when the waitress appears and hands her a menu. I’m thankful the waitress starts speaking when she hands me my menu.
“Good afternoon guys. Welcome to Lone Star Café. My name is Willow. Can I get y’all some coffee to start?”
“Coffee sounds good.” A cold shower would be better.
“May I have some sweet tea?”
“Sure thing, darlin’. We’ve got everything on the menu except the shrimp, and I can recommend the special. Today it’s chicken fried steak.”
“Thanks.” Buttercup smiles and her eyes drop eagerly, darting the length of the menu card.
“Take your time. I’ll fetch your drinks.”
“Oh lord, excuse me.” Buttercup’s hand flies to cover her mouth the other one is pressed against her tummy. Her cheeks flush bright pink in time with the loud rumble her stomach makes just as the waitress turns to walk away.
I laugh. “Hungry, hmm?”
“Sounds like it.” She snickers, her fingers failing to hide her glorious smile, brighter than the daybreak and just as breathtaking. “So what do you fancy?”
“Excuse me?”
“Food. What are you going to have?” She waves the menu card in front of my nose.
It wasn’t a trick question, idiot.
“Oh. Yes, right. I’ll probably have the special.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Willow returns with our drinks and a large pitcher of ice water. She scribbles our orders on her notepad and leaves us to talk. It’s quiet in the café with no other customers and only the faint sound of country music filtering in from the kitchen. I look at Buttercup and she looks at me. I can see she wants to talk; her brow keeps furrowing. She’s clearly troubled, and every time the words look like they have reached her mouth, she seems to swallow them right back down. Refreshing her smile and pulling in a deep breath, she nervously taps her fingertips on the chipped Formica-topped table.
