While recalling the number of times she squirmed, blushed, and chewed on her lower lip during my confession, I guide her toward the exit I was told our driver would be waiting at.
Upon spotting my name sprawled on a white chauffeur’s board for a local hotel, Regan stops walking. "Ah. We're not staying at a hotel." She locks her massively dilated eyes with mine. Our flirty interactions the past two and a half hours have unjumbled the confusion in her eyes, leaving nothing but painstakingly gorgeous green irises. "If my parents discover I was in Texas and didn't visit, I'll be shunned from family gatherings for eternity."
“It’s just a night—”
"They wouldn't care if it was a ten-minute layover. When you're in town, you visit. No questions asked." She scans the gathering of people milling around the departure bay waiting for loved ones. "I'm shocked Daddy didn't sense my arrival. He has a weird intuition with his children. When his ears twitch, it's either going to snow, or one of his babies is coming home."
Before I can laugh, a deep barreling voice booms into my ears. “I knew it! My ears don’t twitch for no reason!”
My hand darts down for the gun I'm not carrying when Regan is hoisted from the ground by a giant man with dirty jeans and a smile more blinding than the low-hanging sun. He holds Regan so close to his body, I'm confident she is moments from being crushed to death. I should be rushing in to save her from the man with biceps as big as my head, but the only response I can conjure when Regan squeals her father's name is a long, penetrating glare.
The giant standing in front of me isn't close to what I pictured when Regan shared stories about her father. I was anticipating a meek, knee-slapping farmer with pencil thin legs and a crooked smile. My assumptions were so far from the bullseye, my throws didn't even nick the board. Her father is tall and wide, and glaring at me like I'm two inches of foam on his recently poured beer.
“Sir,” I greet with a dip of my chin.
When I hold out my hand in offering, he places Regan back on her feet. He doesn't accept my greeting, though; he merely bounces his eyes between Regan and me as though he is assessing if I am a random Neanderthal cozying in on family time, or I’m with Regan.
I drop my hand to my side when his eye does a weird twitching thing. Years of studying body language ensures I can't mistake his annoyance. Mr. Myers is not a fan of mine. He knows my intentions with his daughter aren't noble, and he has no qualms wordlessly notifying me of his knowledge.
My neck cranks to the side when a familiar giggle rings through my ears. It is the same laughter I’ve heard numerous times the past two hours. When Regan's amused gaze meets mine, I nudge my head to her father, demanding an introduction. She cocks her hip as her arms fold in front of her chest. She's not being straight-up rude; she just loves my uneasiness too much to alleviate it.
I give her a look warning of my impending retribution before returning my eyes to her father. With his daughter failing to jump in with an introduction, the task is left to me.
“Alex,” I introduce, once again holding out my hand. “I’m a friend of Regan’s.”
“Hmm-mmm.Friend.Right.” Any buzz still thrumming through my veins from our trip dissipates from the irritation in his tone.
When he lowers his eyes to Regan, she stops grinning at my uncomfortable swallow. “Is he yourfriend, baby girl?” His tone revealsprecisely what he intends to do to me if Regan says no. I’m mincemeat.
Regan stews on her answer long enough a bead of sweat forms on my nape. It dribbles down my back when she eventually stammers out, “He came to support me at Luca’s memorial.”
Now, I’m not the only one sweating. Regan’s dad looks just as uncomfortable as me. His reaction makes it clear that this weekend is the first time Regan has attended Luca’s memorial. But if it didn’t, his next question leaves no doubt. “You’re attending this year?”
Regan halfheartedly nods before bumping her hip against mine. If she wants a hero to jump in and save her, she’s looking at the wrong man. I have no clue what to say to ease the pain in her eyes, except perhaps, “It’s time for Regan to move on. Luca would want that more than anyone.”
It dawns on me who Regan gets her knockout smile from when her dad grins as if all his Christmases came at once. I’m glad he got comfort from my reply, but Regan appears on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. The hurt in her eyes has returned stronger than ever, and once again, I am the man responsible for it.
“I’m proud of you, baby girl,” her dad assures, hating how pale her cheeks have gotten as much as me. “Your momma and I have wanted you to move on for years. We knew you’d eventually come around, because everything happens at its own pace.”
When he tucks her under his arm, she nuzzles her face into his broad chest. I’m left standing in the middle of a busy departure gate when he pivots on his heels and walks away, carting an unsuspecting Regan along with him.
Unsure if their gathering is a private party for two, I stay rooted in my spot. I want to comfort Regan in the same manner her father is, but to do that, I'd have to step over a father who is consoling his daughter. That would never be achieved without violence. And since there is only one time I've taken down a man double my size without a weapon—when I arrested Dwain at Substanz—I'm not eager to put those tactics into play.
If Regan discovers I can take down a man the size of her father, my cover would be jeopardized. Although I'd give anything to take away her pain, I can't let that happen. If she doesn't trust me, every inch of mud we've dragged each other through the past twenty-four hours will be for nothing. I'm standing in Texas for one reason and one reason only: to keep Regan safe. That comes before anything—even my position.
I’m saved from doing something desperate when Regan’s father shouts, “Fetch the bags, city boy, and be at my truck within five minutes, or hitchhike your ass home.”
His words barely leave his mouth as they disappear through dark tinted doors. Thankfully, Regan agreed to travel with only carryon luggage, meaning there are no additional bags for me to gather. I'm on their heels in under thirty seconds, and in even a shorter amount of time, squished between a cage of baby chickens and a goat as we make the fifty-mile trek to Regan's family home.
Chapter Twenty
I twist my neck back to face Alex when he asks, “Do the goats always ride in the cab of the truck?” His eyes dart between mine and my dad’s glaring at him in the rearview mirror as he adds on, “I get the chickens—they’re just babies—but this goat appears full grown.”
Before I can assure him he isn't going crazy, my dad butts in, "That's Clancy—Regan's pet goat. When Regan's home, Clancy goes wherever Regan goes." He mumbles a few more words under his breath but they’re quiet enough neither Alex or I can hear them. "Pet him. He's real friendly."
Missing the brisk shake of my head advising him against it, Alex does as instructed. He pays for his trust not even two seconds later. Clancy’s bite isn’t firm enough to draw blood, but I’m reasonably sure Alex’s hand will bear the imprint of his teeth for the next three to four days.
I pat Alex’s knee, enticing his eyes to mine. “He’s a bit of a chewer—”
