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“You heard him. He wants to turn me into some sort of knight in shining armor. I’m supposed to rescue you.”
“Not a chance.” She stumbled to a halt. Was it possible? Aweek ago, she’d have sworn the idea of Hutch’s buying her a date was ludicrous. But he had. Perhaps he’d taken this dating nonsense one step further. Perhaps now he was angling for a— “Oh, no.”
Ty cocked an eyebrow. “Change your mind?”
“It’s...it’s possible,” she conceded.
“I believe the word is ‘probable.’ Give me a minute to find a wrench and pliers and we’ll have your bed back together in no time.”
He returned so quickly she’d only had a chance to pull on a robe and start gathering up the various papers that had come loose from her scrapbook. He immediately stooped to help. She wished he hadn’t. He knelt too close and smelled too good. And those ripples were bothering her again, too. They strained against his shirt each time he reached for a piece of paper. Ignoring him didn’t help. Nor did closing her eyes. Unable to see, she couldn’t get her scrapbook collected with a speed fast becoming a necessity. Even worse, with her eyes closed, she shut all the delicious sights and sounds inside where her mind could play them over and over in every delectable detail.
“So what’s all this?” he rumbled ather.
She risked a quick peek at what he held. “Just stuff I’ve kept over the years.” She strove to sound casual. With him hanging all over the top of her, she found it difficult. “You know. Feel-good stuff. Like a gratitude journal.”
He frowned at the slip of paper. “‘The rose clipping I gave Mrs. Walters bloomed today,’” he read. “‘It’s great that someone is getting flowers from my bushes.’ That made you feel good?”
“Well, sure...” Her brows drew together. “I wouldn’t have had any roses if I hadn’t let Mrs. Walters take a clipping.”
“But you didn’t get the flowers. She did.”
Cassidy hated when he used logic on her. Did he have any idea how difficult it was some weeks to find the positives in her life? That particular day, the roses were the one bright spot in twenty-four hours of unbearable darkness. “I got to share in the pleasure of them,” she argued. Sort of. At least Mrs. Walters had let her see the pretty yellow bloom when she’d knocked on the door to brag aboutit.
Ty picked up another scrap of paper. “‘We had meat today. Not the kind you have to stew for hours, either. But real, honest-to-goodness...” His voice trailed off. “Aw, honey...”
“Don’t.” She moistened her lips. “Don’t pity me. It’s okay to be poor, you know.” She gave him a crooked smile. “It makes you appreciate the small things.”
“Like having ribs at lunch the other day.”
“Yeah. Like that.”
His mouth compressed. “And like this? ‘Freddie canned me today, but I sure am grateful he let me work for so many months.’ You’re grateful to him? He fired you!”
“But he hired me in the first place,” she pointed out. “He didn’t have to do that. He was very tolerant, especially considering how many dishes I broke. It’s a wonder I didn’t put him out of business through breakage alone.”
“Uh-huh. And for today I suppose you’ll put in there about how grateful you are that Hutch unbolted your bed rails.”
Her chin crept out. “Maybe.” Then she released her breath in a sigh. “No. Idon’t think that’s going to make it into my scrapbook. I’m really sorry about this, Ty. I’ll speak to him in the morning.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He retrieved the final piece of paper and handed it to her before turning his attention to the bed. “Why don’t you let me talk to him?”
“Don’t bother. He’s my son. Ican handle it.”
“I’m sure you can. But I suspect this is one of those occasions when a man’s touch is called for. Will you let me discuss it with him?”
Cassidy hesitated. Boy, oh boy, did she want to refuse. He glanced up at her from his reclining position on the floor. Good gravy, he was big! Big, male, and sexy as the dickens, with a wrench in one hand, acollection of bolts in the other and a smile that promised a sinfully delicious night. She couldn’t remember the last time that particular combination had been in her bedroom. Now that she thought about it, she’d never had anything like Ty anywhere close to herbed.
“You can talk to him,” she reluctantly agreed.
“Why the hesitation? Am I stepping on toes?”
At the reminder, she frowned at her unvarnished toenails, wiggling them as she considered. Was he treading where he didn’t belong? Did that explain her reluctance? Or was it because with each day that passed, he became more and more intricately locked into their lives?
Soon she’d be leaving Texas. The minute she accomplished the one final goal she’d set for herself, she and Hutch would gas up the car Ty disparagingly referred to as a rattletrap, load it with all their belongings and limp eastward toward Georgia. Once there, they’d mend fences with Aunt Esther and Uncle Ben and sink their parched roots into rich, red Georgia clay. There wasn’t room in her plan for a six-foot-four-inch Texas rancher with enticing green eyes and a come-to-bed smile.
Ty climbed to his feet and approached. His huge, steel-tipped boots stopped scant inches from the end of the bare toes she’d been contemplating. “You haven’t answered.”
“I’m thinking.”
