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“Because I’m hungry.”
The idea of sitting in what had to be a cozy motel room dominated by a bed twisted my insides into a honda knot. I couldn’t let myself get roped in by him again. I’d been willing to sell myself out when I had nothing and no one depending on me. But now I had Diamond UU. I had a place where I was needed. A place where I fit by just being me.
“I should get home. I’ve been gone most of the day.” That was reasonable and not a desperate attempt to get away from how his bourbon-and-citrus scent branded my skin.
He snagged my hand, threading his fingers through mine. His thumb ran over my bare ring finger. Hurt darkened his fathomless eyes.
“Ranching and jewelry don’t go together.” It was a good reason, but I hadn’t taken my ring off to do chores. He wore his, but I wasn’t sure what to think of it.
“Food and discussion, Delaney. We don’t have to make our decision tonight.”
When, then? I’d lived with this anxiety long enough. With him next to me, making me like him even more, the stress might topple me. But all I said was “All right.”
* * *
Archer
The motel room used an old-fashioned key on a large blue oblong key ring. I let Delaney in. She carried the soup, and I held the appetizer and drinks. I’d respected her concerns and parked at the edge of the parking lot and run inside to grab the food. I didn’t see my uncle, and if any of my cousins were in there and figured out who I was, they didn’t make themselves known.
She went right to the little round table flanked by two chairs and set the food down. The inside of the room didn’t give her pause like it’d given me.
It’d been years, probably when I’d been single digits old, since I’d stayed in a motel like this. One with doors on the outside and no room service. I doubted anywhere in town delivered food. Mini blinds graced the square window, a picture of a sandhill crane taking flight hung over the bed, and a small flat-screen TV sat on a dresser that matched the end table. The queen bed with a white duvet dominated the room. The bathroom was tiny; the toilet was positioned between the tub and the counter. The one sink unearthed memories of brushing my teeth while elbowing Ansen out of the way and Mama yelling at us that the bus was coming.
A blissfully normal memory. I didn’t get those too often.
My wife positioned the food. I got a cup of soup with large hunks of something floating at the top, and the pickle spears were placed between us. She’d already dug a fried pickle out and slumped in her chair, legs spread and chewing.
When she saw me staring, her chewing paused. “What?”
“Nothing.” I bit back my grin. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“I did.” She continued munching.
I sat and inspected the soup. “What’s in this?”
“The secret ingredients are cream and butter. Lots of both. The dumplings are made of flour and milk. Then there’re potatoes, celery, carrots ’n’ shit. Those don’t really matter. The dumplings are the only reason anyone eats it.”
I took a hearty spoonful. Savory flavors wrapped in buttery creaminess burst over my tongue. “Is this homemade?”
She nodded and snagged another fried pickle egg roll. “Remington Durant, one of the owners of Rattler’s, uses his grandma’s recipe. Word on the street is that Beverly, the owner of Main Street Diner, was pissed when Durant started serving this.”
“Rivalry of the recipes?”
Delaney polished off her pickle and grabbed another. I’d never seen her eat with abandon. I enjoyed seeing the real her. Getting to know the real her.
Texas Delaney had been full of manners, was my biggest cheerleader, and was, of course, gorgeous. Coal Haven Delaney was real, down to earth, and had a lot of responsibilities stacked on her slim shoulders.
And she was hot as hell.
I hadn’t spoken about much of my life to Delaney before tonight. The few times I had said something to Wilson or Briony, their aghast responses had clammed me up. Delaney hadn’t batted an eye. She was angry on my behalf, but not embarrassed. She didn’t act like knowing me then might’ve ruined her social standing.
I’d known my friends hadn’t grown up like me and weren’t interested in that life. But I’d forgotten somewhere along the line that while there were several things wrong with how Ansen and I had lived, it didn’t mean anything in regard to my character or how I should’ve been treated.
Fuck her.
Delaney’s simple response had said it all. Fuck my high school girlfriend and how she thought I should consider letting her go to prom with another guy and then come back to dating me.
“Not so much a rivalry,” Delaney answered, yanking my mind back to the soup. “Beverly claimed that Grandma Durant got the recipe from her in the first place.”
