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“I minored in environmental science in college. I guess that’s where it really started, but it took me a couple years out of college before it occurred to me to actually apply any of that stuff.” I grin at her. “What can I say? I’m slow.”
“I’d so love to agree with you, but I wouldn’t insult you,” she says, but she does so with a grin still on her lips. “Do you spend most of your time here on the ranch? Or do you jet around to all the environmental conferences you can?”
That question was a bit more personal, but only just. “Trey and Joshua aren’t much for conferences,” I admit. “And with the exception of yourself, they don’t want to chat with journalists of any kind. So I handle all that stuff.”
“Must be terrible for you,” she says dryly, pausing in her notebook writing to glare at me.
“I manage, somehow,” I say. “Every once in a while, going to a conference really pays off.”
“I’ll bet it does,” she mutters.
I can’t help it, I wink at her, and she glares harder at me.
“So, you don’t have a girlfriend running around here that’s going to jump out and try to beat me up, do you?” Her tone is casual, but I’m not fooled. I know that having slept with me while I had a girlfriend waiting at home would bother her—and not just a little bit.
“No girlfriend,” I reassure her. “I’m sorry about how I handled New York City. It was supposed to be just the one night. But... I could have handled it better. You’re right to wonder exactly how badly I behaved, but I swear, sneaking out in the middle of the night and lying about my name was the extent of my bad behavior.” Damn. When I say it out loud, especially to her, it sounds pretty fucking awful.
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and it takes every bit of self-control I possess not to fidget while I wait. But changing the subject or prattling on to make myself feel better would be a shit thing to do. She deserves some time to think.
“One night was all it was. And it’s all it’ll ever be,” she says, a touch of anger in her tone. But before I can try to smooth her feathers, she keeps going. “So, do any of you guys have kids? Any wives hidden somewhere?”
“No, ma’am.” I don’t tell her about Trey’s wife. If he wants to tell her about Claire, that’s his business. But I’ve never seen him talk to anybody about his wife. Not unless he had to, and not since we buried her. So I really doubt Jessa will hear one word about her.
“Do you want kids?”
The directness of her question startles me into hitting the gas. I compensate by hitting the brake a little harder than I should, and Jessa jerks in her seat as the seat belt catches.
I ignore her glare, and I answer honestly. “I’ve never really thought about kids. The family thing, it’s never been something I wanted. I know somebody has to inherit the Lazy H. But I’m fine with Trey or Joshua doing the procreating. Hell, it’s possible even Tyler will settle down enough to get married have a kid someday. Stranger shit has happened.”
“I see,” she says, then goes back to her notebook, not writing, but reading over other notes she’s taken. Surprisingly, she clams up entirely after that, giving me only one-word responses when I try to open up the conversation again.
I don’t dare allow myself to think too hard about why she might be upset.
By the time we roll into the small town of Sweet Lake, the tension in the truck is palpable. Jessa doesn’t seem angry, not exactly. But doesn’t seem very happy either. And it’s beyond my skills of reading people—women, anyway—to figure out what the hell is wrong.
“See you here in an hour or so?” I ask. I hand her a card with my cell phone number on it. “Text me if you want to head back sooner.”
“Thank you,” she says, spine stiff. But she doesn’t look at me. Instead, she opens the door and hops out of the truck, then heads into the drugstore.
I’m sure I’ve said something wrong. Something very wrong. But I don’t have a fucking clue what it might be. My decision to avoid her is a sound one—now only if I can stick to it.
Chapter 9
Jessa
I practically run into the drugstore to get away from Clay. I’m so mad. But I’m not sure who I’m mad at. Am I angry with Clay—who’s done nothing worse than be honest about his intentions? Or am I pissed at myself? For being stupid enough to even have the slightest hope Clay might want something more?
Irritated, I grab the only brand of prenatal vitamins on the drugstore shelf. The drugstore itself is tiny, not more than three little aisles with a couple of displays at the front of the store. I wouldn’t want to have to do any real shopping here, but considering the size of Sweet Lake, I’m lucky I found prenatal vitamins at all. That would teach me to just grab my pre-packed bag—the one I always take on trips like this. Not only had that made me forget about my prenatal vitamins, but I’d only packed a single pair of jeans. Hopefully I can wash them tonight and leave Sweet Lake before I need to launder them again.
I bring my vitamins to the counter, giving a quick glance out to the truck first. No Clay. Thank goodness.
“Will this be all for ya, hon?” the pretty young girl behind the counter asks. She has dark hair and eyes, and looks like she might be sixteen at the most. Must be a family store.
“That’s it,” I confirm.
“Congratulations on your news,” she says, smiling brightly at me. The difference between the big city in a small town. Most drugstore clerks would’ve kept their mouths shut. I kind of like the slightly invasive kindness of Sweet Lake.
So long as I can keep things under wraps until I talk to Clay.
