by BA Tortuga
“You have no idea.” The guy grinned. “Emily says you ride bulls. That rocks, although how salt of the earth met queen of the night, I don’t know.”
“There was a bar.” He glanced at Emmy, not sure how much she’d want these folks to know. “You sure look pretty, honey. And yeah, I’m ready for lunch.”
He’d figured out the whole bus thing, which beat walking up and down all the hills in downtown Austin, and got there in time to take his girl for food. Shit, when had he started thinking of her as his girl?
“Thank you, Cotton. What’s your position on Vietnamese food?” She waved to her bosses and they headed out.
“Uh.” He wasn’t sure a man could have a position on anything that didn’t get cooked on a grill or in a smoker. “I’m willing to try?”
“It’s noodles and grilled pork with some veggies and a dressing. It rocks.” Those shoes made things all…bouncy when she walked.
“Well, I like pork.” Hell, he liked noodles. Oh, man, he could murder some of his momma’s spaghetti.
“I like this. It’s grilled and spicy.” She walked him down Congress, past students and suits and folks. She was a looker—she caught lots of stares, lots of attention. Cotton wasn’t about to bristle at these folks. They didn’t know any better, not like the guys would at the rodeo. No, he chose to be proud. She was something else. “Hopefully the guys aren’t talking each other out of letting me be the lead for the new game. I’m good enough to do it.”
“They seemed like they was just arguing to argue, honey.” He knew the sound of that well enough. They’d let her do the job.
“They do that. They’re just like my brothers, really. That’s why I took the job, at the beginning. I was so homesick.”
“Your brothers are twins?” Had she told him that? Maybe she had, but he couldn’t remember.
“Yeah. Identical. Lawyers. They work together, live two blocks away from each other. They both have three kids each and pretty blonde wives.”
“Makes you the odd one out all the way around, huh?”
She nodded. “They’re good guys. When my dad died, they helped me stay in college and everything.”
“Well, it’s good to have family you like.” He grinned, thinking how some of his family hadn’t come down out of the trees yet.
“Yeah. Now, Mom? I’m like the antichrist there, especially with the wealthy husband.” She chuckled. “He doesn’t even know about me.”
“No shit?” Wow. That wasn’t right. Whoa, something smelled good.
“No…” They had just turned the corner onto Sixth when a bunch of kids whizzed by behind them on bikes, zooming down the hill. One of them overbalanced and his arms and legs went wide. The sound when one arm connected with Emmy’s shoulder was like the bang when your head hit the skull of a bull.
She went down into the street, bouncing against the side of a FedEx truck before she hit the pavement on hands and knees.
“Shit!” Cotton leaped after her, putting himself between her and traffic. “You okay, honey?” He didn’t want to move her until he knew nothin’ was broken.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” She stood, wincing, brushing off her hands on her skirt, leaving wet stains on the black cloth. “Come on. Let’s go in. I’ll clean up.”
She took one step across the street and went a little gray, but she cowgirl’d up and made it across.
Christ on a crutch. Cotton held her steady as best he could, waving off the little host man and heading for the bathroom in the back. “Do I need to get you to the doc, honey?”
“No. No, get a table. I’ll clean up and sit, huh?” She was fixin’ to shake apart, and he could see tears on the horizon.
“Shh. Come on, now.” He took her right into the little girls’ room, getting wet paper towels and helping wipe her down. “We’ll get some food to go and take you home, huh?”
She seemed okay—a couple of scrapes, couple of red spots. It was that one ankle that was worrying him. It started to swell but good, especially without a boot to support it.
“Let’s just leave that shoe off, huh?” It would fit in her bag, and he had a hankie he could tie her ankle up with.
“It’ll be hard to walk to the bus stop without it. God, that wasn’t my most graceful moment, huh?”
“We’ll call a cab.” Emmy had that phone thingy. She could look up a cab company. Cotton had cash in his wallet. Then he’d call his momma and tell her to send Digger down with his truck. This was fucking asinine.
“Right. Okay. Yeah.” She looked at herself in the mirror, smoothed out her eye makeup. “Right. Okay. I look okay. Let’s order, and I’ll call work.”
“Good deal.” Pressing a quick kiss to her cheek, Cotton took her arm, making sure he got a spot that didn’t make her wince.
He sat her down and let her order for them, then call her boss. That ankle was getting bigger by the second, and she was holding her shoulder real careful. She was a trooper, though. No tears, no bitching, no fussing. He was proud and worried, all at the same time. The food came, and he grabbed the bag, handing over a decent tip with it. “You call that cab, honey?”
“Yeah.” She nodded, moving so careful, trying so hard to look normal.
“Well, there you go.” He wanted to carry her, but he figured she’d hit him for making a scene. Poor baby.
“What does that mean?” The cab was waiting, which was good, because she was starting to sweat.
“Huh? I don’t think it means anything.” It was like there you have it, or what was it Packer said? No worries.
“Oh, good. I didn’t either.” She got into the cab, gasping as her shoulder touched down on the back seat.
“Easy now.” Cotton slid in next to her and took her hand, examining the scrape on her palm. If he could get that kid, he’d kick the boy’s skinny ass.
“They came out of nowhere.”
“I know. Little shits.” He gave the man her address and off they went, the cabbie giving them curious glances.
The tears were right at the surface by the time the cab driver’d hit every speed bump in Austin and pulled into her drive. Cotton just paid the guy and got Emmy up to her apartment, easing her down on the couch. “There. Now, let’s get this stuff off, have a look-see, huh?”
“Is the skirt stained?” He stared at her a second, then smiled. Her damned shoulder could be broke and she was fussing about her clothes. Such a girl.
“I don’t think it’s too bad, honey.” He would check it out later. For now, he was more worried about her bruises and bumps.
“Cool. I like this dress.” She started working the buttons open, fingers all clumsy.
“I do, too. It’s real pretty on.” Normally he’d make a joke about it being pretty off, too, but she was shaking.
“Thanks, baby. I… Can you help me? My hands hurt and the buttons are tiny and—” Her breath hitched.
“Sure, honey.” Every time she called him baby, it made things jump around like Mexican jumping beans in his belly. He helped her get the dress open, easing it off her bad shoulder first.
Jesus. There was already a bruise and that was obscene.
“Oh, Emmy. Do you have any witch hazel?” A nice lukewarm shower and some witch hazel and she’d be ready for a nap.
“Yeah…for my face. Why?”
“It helps with bruises. Makes ’em feel less hot and hurty.”
“Okay. You should eat something, huh? Do you want chopsticks or a fork?”
“Fork.” That way she didn’t have to feel like she had to wield chopsticks. Well, that and he couldn’t use them for shit.
“Cool. Me, too.” She stood, swaying a little, that ankle three times the normal size now. “Oh.”
“Whoa, honey.” Cotton stood, too, catching her. “Shower. Then ice and witch hazel, okay?”
“Okay.” She let him help her into her wild bathroom, into a warm shower.
Her whole body was becoming this huge bruise. Christ. Cotton stripped down and got in with her, m
aking sure she didn’t slip on the wet porcelain.
She leaned against him, cheek on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“What for? Wasn’t your fault.” He was the one who should’ve been watching more careful.
“Still. I’m being a wienie.” She hummed, keeping her foot off the ground. “You feel good.”
“No. You cowgirl up good, honey. I swear, I’ve seen guys break a pinky nail and bitch more’n you.”
“Now, that hurts, breaking a nail.”
He ran his hands over her, gentle as he could, just making sure the water poured over her. Her poor ankle. God almighty, it looked bad. If ice and elevation didn’t help in the next few hours, she was gonna have to go get X-rays. If Doc Madding had taught him anything over the years, it was not to be a martyr.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She kissed his jaw, sweet as anything.
“Me, too.” Lord, if he hadn’t been, she would still be waiting on the bus. When she started to sag, he got her out of the shower and dry, in her robe with her foot up and an ice pack on.
“You sit a minute, honey.”
“You sure? You should eat.” Two extra-strength Tylenol, a glass of tea, and then he brought their lunches over.
“Ta-da.” He grinned, helping her get her tray all set. “Now, eat up.”
“You, too, huh?” She smiled over at him, so fucking pretty, even all damp and bruised.
“Hey, I won’t wimp out on you.” The noodle bowl thing smelled real good, and it was a little awkward at first, but he watched her and got the hang of it. “It’s good.”
“I think so.” She reached down, fingers soft on his side. “What do you think about an afternoon with stupid movies and necking?”
“I think it’s a fine idea, honey.” He thought she ought to nap, too, but he could cuddle with her while she did. “I think I’ve proved that I’m good at doin’ nothin’.”
Emmy laughed softly. “Uh-huh. You’re going to have to fix the trap under the sink or my broken shoe rack soon. I saw you looking.”
“Shit.” He hung his head, peeking at her from under his lashes to see if it was working. “I like to tinker, is all. You all done?”
After easing the tray away, Cotton moved over to sit next to Emmy, putting an arm around her.
She cuddled right in, handed him the remote and sighed softly. “I like you, Cotton, tinkering and all. After all, you don’t mind when I’m up until four coding.”
“Nope. I just sleep.” He could sleep like a log. “You let me snore. It works.”
“It does.”
He dropped another kiss on her lips, loving how her eyelashes were light like his under the mascara. “So, what movie do you want to watch first?” She was already fixing to doze off. He could feel it in how heavy she was getting against him.
“You pick this time, baby. You watched The Matrix with me last night.”
No silly girly movies for his girl.
“Hmm. How about that Appaloosa thing we rented?” That would be fun.
“Sounds perfect. I’m developing this thing for cowboys.”
“That works for me.” Cotton slid away to put the movie in before grinning. “Gotta hit the head before it starts. Be right back.”
“‘Kay, baby.” Emmy propped the pillows around her and settled in with a sigh.
He waited until her eyes closed, just to be sure she didn’t need nothin’, then grabbed his jeans and hit the bathroom. He pulled out his cell and dialed his momma, listening to the phone ring.
“Hey, baby boy. What’s up?” Momma had been so proud of herself when she’d gotten caller ID.
“Hey, Momma. I need Digger to bring my truck back…”
Chapter Eight
“No, I’m good, guys. Really.” Em grabbed her crutches and headed for the door. She’d ended up at Seton in the ER, Cotton holding her hand through X-rays and soft cast. Not a break, but a bad sprain, and she was gimping until Christmas at best. Goodie. She’d stayed home one day from work, but this morning she’d managed to get herself dressed and onto the bus. Now it was time to go home, occupy Cotton. Or rather, pacify Cotton. She’d gotten a panicked phone call around nine, wondering where the hell she was.
She’d learned a lot about Cotton’s position on hurt girls on city buses.
She didn’t know what he expected. The bus was a hell of a lot cheaper than a cab or whatever—which didn’t stop Cotton from being right outside her door when she left work.
“Cotton?” She couldn’t help smiling. “I didn’t expect to see you yet.”
“Well, you know me. Full of surprises.” He gave her this weird, almost rueful glances. “Emmy, I want you to meet my momma, Caroline. Momma, Emmy.”
Oh, wow. Mom. She. Wow. “I love that name.” She smiled and juggled purse and crutches so she could hold her hand out. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Cotton looked just like his mom.
Just.
It was adorable.
“Hi, darlin’.” Caroline shook her hand firmly but quickly, letting her get her balance back. “I brought Cotton’s truck down. Said he needed it. I told him he needed to take me to supper, and here we are.”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you! Do y’all need suggestions for a good place to go?” She wasn’t going to invite herself to dinner. That would be weird. Hopefully Cotton would offer to drive her home or hurry up, because her bus came in seven minutes and she’d be waiting for forty-five if she missed it.
“Emmy.” Cotton seemed a little shocked. “You don’t want to come?”
“Well, sure I do, baby. I just didn’t want to invite myself!”
“Cotton is an idiot, darlin’. What he meant to say is, we came by to get you so you could come, as long as you’re feeling up to it.” Caroline actually popped Cotton upside the back of his head. “If you aren’t, we’ll get take out and go sit and chat at your place.”
She blinked, then started laughing. “I’d love to. What kind of food do you like best, and where did you get that purse, because it’s a work of art.”
It was gigantic and vast and the most amazing green. It would go with everything she owned.
“I want chicken fried steak, since I’m here, and my sister’s boy, Digger, made it for me. He’s good with tooling leather.” Caroline took her arm gently, leaving Cotton standing there with his mouth hanging open.
“Threadgill’s it is.” She headed for the familiar truck. “How was your drive?”
“Good. The trip back will suck.”
Cotton chortled, and Caroline glared over her shoulder at him. It was cute as hell.
“Why? Is the weather supposed to be bad? I’ll get in the back.”
Cotton held her crutches and helped her up while Caroline chattered away.
“Well, I’ll be stuck in Sissy’s VW Bug, won’t I? And she plays this god-awful music. What does she call it, baby boy? Techno?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Ah.” Oh, god. That was funny. Techno.
Caroline peered at her over the back of the front seat. “You like techno? I think with Allison, it’s a phase. She still wears ropers.”
“I like music, in general.” She smiled, but she was totally not getting into a discussion about death metal.
“Huh.” She could tell Caroline wanted to pursue the matter, but Cotton distracted her by pointing out the capitol.
Emily checked her makeup really quick and texted Ricki to let her know that she was meeting Cotton’s mom. Ricki texted back immediately with a ‘no shit?’
She grinned, popped her iPhone in her purse and dug out quarters for parking.
“Come on, Momma. Help me get Emmy’s crutches.” She hadn’t even noticed that Cotton was all starched and pressed. He looked hot.
He helped her out of the truck, letting her rub all the way down, her casual-Friday jeans thin enough that she felt his heat. “You look great.”
“Thanks, honey.” His eyes moved over her, that crooked smile kicking up his lips. “Y
ou do, too. I like the way those jeans make your butt look.”
She blushed, her pigtails bouncing a little. She loved the baseball tee and jeans aesthetic, but if she’d known Cotton’s mom was going to be about…
“Oh, something smells good.” Caroline twirled a little, arms out, and Emily just had to laugh.
“This is the best place to have chicken fried steak in town—chicken livers, too, if you like those.” She clumped in, being careful.
“I like anything fried.”
“Yeah, so much that the doc tells her to go easy.”
“Cotton! I don’t eat out but once a month. You let me enjoy.”
“We’ll have a salad. That will counteract it.” Em winked, then let Cotton open the door. “How long was your drive?”
“Six hours, give or take.” They got seated at the red and white checked table, all of them exclaiming over the variety of amazing side dishes.
Caroline was funny and vivacious, and Em could see where Cotton got his mannerisms, from the way his leg bounced to the way he chewed his bottom lip. There were some things that he had to have inherited from his daddy. His tiny butt, for one.
She found herself just staring at him, watching how he moved, how the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled.
“Honey?” She should have been watching his mouth, because he’d obviously just said something.
“What? I’m sorry I was…” Staring. Really hard. Because she was stupid in love.
“Did you want to split some fried pickles?”
“Sure.” She blushed at the knowing look in Caroline’s eyes.
“Cool.” Cotton patted her hand, completely oblivious. “I love ’em.”
Emily nodded, smiled, feeling exposed, a little like a monkey at the zoo.
The tea came, which gave her a break from Caroline’s sneaky stare. Damn. And Cotton was just jabbering away about someone named Digger and how he’d scratched up a bumper.
“They have that stuff on the television. It’s in a pen. They say it will cover that up.”
Caroline nodded. “I wonder if it works. What kind of car do you have, honey?”
“Oh, I don’t drive.” Ever.
“No shit? Why not?”
