Quinn took a step backward as Wilder pulled the truck's roll-up cargo door closed, his fluid motions making the task seem effortless. The man did have some decent biceps, she had to admit, but she'd curl up and die before she'd let him catch her enjoying the view.
Beyond a good show, though, Wilder was proving to be kind and deeply considerate. He'd thought of everything, including choosing a refrigerated truck from his fleet so the flowers wouldn't wilt in the humid Texas heat.
Quinn chastised herself for mentally gushing over him. It was just plain embarrassing how attractive she found him and his take-charge, get-it-done attitude. There was no reason for him to jump in and help her with this wedding debacle, but he'd done it anyway, without hesitation or complaint. She guessed it was possible he'd done it for his brother's sake, but it didn't seem like the two were terribly close. Her intuition told her that Wilder—when he wasn't being a flirtatious showman—was just a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy who'd help anyone in need.
He'd also smoothed things over with Claire and his mom when they'd heard the news that there were no flowers. Quinn had been the one hatching this long-shot contingency plan, and even she'd been convinced they could get everything done by the time he'd finished his persuasive pep talk.
After he closed the truck's cargo door and gave it a tug to make sure it had fastened, the two of them climbed into the cab to head back to Sawyer Creek. Now that they had the no-flower problem solved, Quinn was wide awake and ready to conquer what remained of the wedding weekend. Her pain, while always present, seemed more bearable. Whether it had truly lessened or she was simply distracted by her new fake boyfriend, she couldn't be certain.
Wilder guided the truck onto the entrance ramp of the freeway that would take them most of the way. He was a good driver, confident while paying attention to the road and ignoring the phone he'd put in the console between them. He looked over his shoulder before merging into the left lane.
"Did you start out driving the trucks yourself?" she asked. Operating the monster of a truck would have freaked her out, but he handled it naturally, as if he'd done it a million times.
"Truck. Singular. I started out by sinking all the tuition money my mom had given me for my second semester in college into an old, used moving truck. I painted it by hand. It was a piece of junk." He chuckled, and although his words were dismissive, he spoke with clear affection for it.
"And now...?" She was fishing for information, but they had another ninety minutes to kill, at least, and she didn't know much about him. Only what she'd gleaned from spending time with Nicholas and Claire.
Wilder didn't take his eyes off the road but smiled like he knew exactly what she was doing. "Now I only drive if someone calls in sick. Or if there's a wedding emergency." His smile stayed in place, but the light in his eyes dimmed slightly. "Sometimes I wish I'd finished college and gotten a degree, but..."
"Looks to me like you've done quite well without it." He'd built something impressive out of that first investment and hard work, but he was humble about his success. Quinn appreciated that.
"Speaking of the wedding," he said, deftly changing the subject. "Did you think something was up with Nick tonight?"
She frowned, mulling it over. "Maybe he seemed a little distracted?" She'd been distracted herself, thanks to Andrew's jabs and her joint pain. "Did you think something was wrong?"
"I don't know." Wilder leaned his elbow on the armrest between them. "It could've just been pre-wedding jitters. I think we're all a little on edge. My mom. Even Shelby." He paused, thoughtful. "Of course, Shelby's been permanently on edge since the news about her arrest broke six months ago." He shook his head. "I don't have a clue how to help that girl."
"Have you always made it your job to take care of everyone in your family?" Quinn could definitely see the oldest child in him. He was a take-charge, type-A personality, but it was also clear that he truly enjoyed helping people. He'd been quick to jump to the rescue more than once in the past twelve hours, and Quinn didn't think it was because he wanted to impress anyone, especially not her.
He shrugged. "I guess. When my dad left, it was either step up or... you know. The trash didn't get taken out. Dog didn't eat. We didn't eat, if Mom was working nights."
"That's a lot for a kid to handle." He might think it was natural to step up, but she knew plenty of people who would've done the opposite—and then cried about it later.
Wilder was special.
She felt like she was discovering hidden depths in him. And each thing she learned made her realize how much she liked him. Starting out the weekend, she hadn't expected that at all.
None of that meant he was interested in a real relationship with her, though. No matter how interested she became in him. He had a reputation with women, after all, and he'd probably earned it. She fell silent at that reminder and turned her face from him, staring out the passenger window at the darkness beyond the highway.
In the reflection of the truck's interior, she saw his hand reach out. He flipped a button on the console, and a Spanish station blared from the speakers.
"Sorry," he muttered, quickly turning down the volume. He fiddled with the radio until familiar intro music filled the cab.
She turned to look at him in horror. "Oh, nuh-uh. Please. Do not play my show."
It was a pre-recorded episode, one that had aired earlier in the year, since she'd taken two days off for Claire's wedding. The last thing she wanted was to hear herself talk.
"I'm trying to figure you out," he said, batting her hand away when she reached for the radio controls.
"You don't have to listen to my show to figure me out."
He chuckled. "I happen to like your show. I've listened to it several times."
She clapped her hand to her suddenly-burning cheek. "You have not."
"Have so." He glanced at her briefly before turning his attention back to the road. "I can't figure out why you get so embarrassed when someone mentions that they listen to your show. You did it with my Aunt Ruby earlier, and with Shelby."
Quinn slid her hand up from her cheek, covering her eyes. He'd already wrung enough from her today to render her vulnerable—he knew about her RA and about Andrew's insults. She should've just stayed in Sawyer Creek and let him shoulder the blame if the flowers were the wrong color.
"It's a great show." He reached over and clasped her wrist, tenderly drawing her hand away from her face. "You've got nothing to be embarrassed about."
"I just..." He kept hold of her arm, making it harder to gather her thoughts. "I didn't go into radio to become a public figure. The whole point of being on the radio is that nobody sees me. I'm in this little booth, with only my producer there. Sometimes I can't really believe I have fans. I mean, that's not why I went into broadcasting."
"Why did you?"
Oh, no way. She wasn't going into this with him. She'd been humiliated enough for one day. It was his turn in the hot seat. "Why do you let your family believe you're so shallow?" That wasn't the right word. It was obvious his family loved him. They leaned on him, relied on him. But he also let them think he was a selfish, perpetual heartbreaker. Why?
Quinn thought about their little ruse. If Wilder was only in it for himself, he wouldn't have cared about Andrew making her weekend miserable, or about her RA pain.
He pulled his hand away from her and stared out the windshield, his warm expression gone and quickly replaced with the smooth, blank one that both intrigued and irritated her.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he finally said. "I'm not really that complicated. What you see is what you get, babe." He gave her a too-bright smile and a wink, but the authenticity that had lit his eyes just moments ago had vanished. Goodbye, Salt-of-the-Earth Guy. Hello, Obnoxious Flirt. Jekyll and Hyde had nothing on him.
Disappointment burned Quinn's throat. Disappointment at both his casual denial and his overt attempt at donning his emotional mask. She tried to ignore it and looked out her window again i
nto the night.
Wilder had only promised to be her shield for the weekend, not her boyfriend, not even her friend. Why did she now expect him to open up and share himself with her? Just because she'd seen how important his family was to him? How he'd taken care of Quinn? How he'd seen her needs when no one else had?
It meant nothing. She was misreading social cues again, believing things had a deeper meaning, all because she wanted something out of reach.
Someone to love. And someone to love her in return.
Wilder Caine was never going to be that someone.
It was better that she addressed her mistaken notions now. But if it was better, why did she feel such keen disappointment?
Quinn was too perceptive for her own good.
Why do you let your family believe you're so shallow?
She'd known him for a handful of hours, and she could already see through him.
Josie had always been able to do the same thing. Like magic, she'd known he was lying to his high school history teacher about the paper he hadn't had time to complete because he'd been working, trying to keep his family's electricity on. He'd told the teacher he'd forgotten to put the paper in his backpack and asked if he could bring it the next day. Not that he could've done it then either, not with another shift as a busboy for the local cafe on his schedule.
Everyone in Sawyer Creek had known about his parents' split, known that their single mother was barely able to function and hold down her multiple jobs.
The teacher had given him a break.
And Wilder had caught Josie watching him on his way back to his seat from the teacher's desk.
He'd done what he'd learned to do. Covered his embarrassment with a smile, adding a flirtatious wink to the new girl, who'd arrived halfway through their sophomore year.
She hadn't giggled or looked away, feigning shyness, as the other girls always did. She'd just stared at him, her gaze unwavering until he himself had to look away to take his seat.
He hadn't been able to finish the essay before he'd crashed after long hours on his feet, arms aching from scrubbing so many plates. But when he'd arrived in class the next morning, he'd found several sheets of paper face-down on his seat. She'd completed the assignment and put his name on it.
She'd had a way of looking inside him, right from the very start. He missed that.
He shoved those thoughts away, his sudden shift jerking the wheel slightly. Quinn, who'd been staring out her window, startled.
"Sorry," he muttered. "Thought I saw a coyote or something."
Or something. The white lie rolled off his tongue easily.
What was wrong with him? He made it a practice to keep his past locked safely away in his memory. That had been a long time ago, and he hadn't thought about Josie in years. Because he needed it that way.
It was a fluke that he thought about her now. His brain was tired from the stress of dealing with his family all day and then driving several hours tonight.
Quinn did not remind him of Josie. Josie had been curvy, with big brown doe eyes, and the pixiest short haircut he'd ever seen on a girl. Quinn was willowy and raven-haired, her striking blue eyes curious, but nothing at all like Josie's.
His overtired brain was making connections where there were none. He needed a distraction. "If you won't talk to me, how will I stay awake?"
"Fine." Quinn folded her arms over her chest. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Why don't you want to tell me the reason you went into broadcasting? Were you trying to impress a college guy?" He wiggled his eyebrows.
"Nothing like that." She glanced away, the movement itself a tell. "I got caught in a thunderstorm and ducked into this building I'd never been in before. I was trying to wait out the rain and wandered down this hall and saw a guy in the broadcast booth. I was the only person there. He was doing some comedy show, I don't really remember. But..." She trailed off. Then her voice emerged clipped. "I realized I could communicate with the world around me from the booth. That's it."
Her chin turned to the side, as if she'd given her answer and that would be enough.
It wasn't enough, but he knew she wouldn't give him more. At least, not tonight.
Their time together had slipped away quickly, and the exit to Sawyer Creek rose at the end of the truck's headlight beam.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, but Wilder couldn't quiet the storm of questions in his mind. Why would someone as smart and pretty as Quinn want to hide away? Did she crave the booth for its safety or its anonymity?
And why did he care so much?
Chapter 5
Quinn had completed the boutonnières easily enough, and the corsages for Wilder's mother and aunt. A few simple rosebuds with baby's breath would do for herself and Shelby.
By the time she'd wrangled a dozen roses and sprigs of lily of the valley into a bouquet for Claire, it was past one a.m. and her joints were screaming.
She put the bouquet upright in a small water-filled vase Wilder had found in the kitchen. They'd taken over the dining room completely, tables strewn with flowers and detritus from their work. Wilder had been quick to admit that he hadn't a clue about flower arrangements, but he'd been helpful in sorting out the most beautiful roses from those with blemishes, and he fetched and carried whatever she needed.
He'd disappeared into the kitchen about ten minutes ago. Or maybe he'd gone to bed, she couldn't be sure.
Thank goodness the work had offered a distraction. She needed it.
In the truck, she'd had a good reminder that what they were doing here wasn't anything serious. She'd do well to keep her distance and keep her emotions disengaged.
Unfortunately, she was pretty sure she was already falling for him, at least a little bit. Bother.
She walked a slow circle around the rustic farmhouse table, eyeing the bride's bouquet from every angle. Was that one rose bigger than the rest?
"You're done," Wilder said. And suddenly he was there, big hands on her shoulders, gazing down at her with those smoky eyes.
She hadn't realized she’d been rubbing her palms, applying pressure to help alleviate the pain. "There's still too much left to do."
His hands slid down her arms, spreading warmth and tingles wherever he touched. Quinn wanted nothing more than to sink into his embrace, put her head against his chest, and let him hold her.
And that thought was dangerous, especially in light of his clear desire to keep things casual between them.
She pulled away instead. "There are still table arrangements for the reception, those swags your mom wanted on the aisle chairs, and a garland for the gazebo."
Just thinking about everything she still needed to do made her feel a little nauseated. Or maybe her stomach was growling. All of a sudden, she remembered that she'd skipped supper to go on their errand to Austin.
"All that stuff can wait until tomorrow. I'm not even sure what aisle chair swags are, but we should talk to Claire and my mom to see if we actually need all that stuff."
Either he had a point, or she was so tired she was willing to agree to anything. Claire had simple tastes, and Quinn doubted Nicholas would care one way or the other if the chairs outside were unadorned.
"Plus, I know my mom and Shelby will want to help in the morning."
Reinforcements? That sounded lovely, too.
"Come with me to the kitchen to get something to eat, and then I'm sending you to bed."
She looked at him askance.
"Don't argue. I could hear your stomach grumbling." Humor sparkled in his eyes. "You should've reminded me back in Austin that we skipped dinner. I get laser-focused sometimes."
She shrugged. "I have some granola bars upstairs." Part of her maid of honor supply kit for tomorrow. "I can just grab one of those before I go to bed."
"Absolutely not. You need real food."
Once again, he was paying attention to her needs.
She followed him into the kitchen because she got the feeling he woul
dn't drop this until she complied. And because she wasn’t going to argue if it meant a few more minutes in his company.
The kitchen was delightfully eclectic in style, with a combination of rustic farmhouse elements and industrial appliances. Wilder had left a skillet on the stovetop, a bowl and whisk on the counter beside it. On the large block island, he'd arranged two blue stoneware plates full of omelets and toast, each with a tall glass of orange juice alongside. A perfect middle-of-the-night snack.
Quinn hadn't realized how ravenous she was until she pulled up the barstool and the scent hit her. She was already digging in by the time Wilder sat beside her, his knee knocking hers as he climbed onto his stool. When he settled in, the side of his thigh pressed against hers, but she was so enjoying the meal that she almost didn't notice.
Almost.
"Thanks for this," she said between bites. "It's delicious."
He was grinning at her, shaking his head a little. "If I'd known you'd smile at me like that, I would've been in here earlier."
She flushed. She was probably breaking all kinds of dating rules by stuffing her face in front of the guy she liked, but right now she couldn't care less. "Nobody's ever made me late-night omelets before," she said over another bite.
"Never? What about late-night cold pizza? That's a favorite. Or reheated Chinese food? PB&J sandwich?"
She shook her head at each choice he offered. "Nope," she said when she'd stumped him.
Disbelief was written across his face. "Who's been taking care of you?"
She averted her eyes. "Myself, I guess." She finished off her omelet, then toyed with the last triangle of toast on her plate.
"Why'd you stay with your ex anyway?" he asked. "I don't know him very well, but it doesn't seem like he treated you the way you deserve."
Someone Borrowed: sweet contemporary romance (Jilted in Sawyer Creek Book 3) Page 4
