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“Hey,” he said back as he stepped into the room. “I wasn’t trying to wake you, just checking on you. I hadn’t seen you in quite a while.”
She pushed herself to seating. “What time is it?”
“Almost five.”
“Oh, wow.” Celia swung her legs off the edge of the bed and stood. “I didn’t intend to fall asleep, much less sleep so long.”
“I wouldn’t blame you for being tired. You’ve had a lot happen over the last few days.”
She waved one hand as if dismissing his words.
“I was thinking about ordering something for dinner. Anything sound good?”
She watched him a moment before speaking. “You want to know what sounds good to me? Getting out. We’ve had little more than fast food for days. I’d love to go somewhere, sit down, and enjoy a meal.”
“Sure.” A slow smile spread across his face. “You up for a little adventure with your meal?”
Celia narrowed her eyes. “That depends on what you consider adventure and how much it might hurt.”
“Sweetheart,” Bubba took a step closer and lifted one hand to cup her cheek, “I wouldn’t suggest anything that would hurt you. The last thing I want to see is you unhappy.”
A look crossed her face he didn’t know how to interpret, then cleared.
“I still don’t know what you mean by adventure.”
Bubba couldn’t help but grin. “Ever ridden a motorcycle?” He had a good suspicion she hadn’t. She never had back in high school, swore they were too dangerous, and she’d never get on one.
A look he recognized as apprehension appeared on her face as she bit her lip. “No. but um.”
“Want to ride with me?”
Celia’s face flushed pink. She stared up at him with wide eyes but said nothing for a long moment. Then looked away.
“I—that wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”
Bubba gave her a half smile. “I know. The invitation still stands. I’d love to go for a ride, but I don’t want to leave you here alone, not until something is settled with your dad and that fuckwad who beat the shit out of you.”
“Troy,” she reminded him almost absently.
“You keep telling me his name as if it matters. After what he did to you, he doesn’t deserve me knowing his name, unless it’s because I need it for his headstone.”
She looked at him again, eyes wide.
“Yes, I’ll ride your motorcycle with you. Like I said, I’ve never been on one before so you’ll have to tell me what to do.”
“No problem, sweetheart.” He skimmed her outfit. “You’ll want to change though. Jeans would be good and those boots we got today. The ones with the heels. The hair is good, but if you want to pull it back, put it in a low pony or the helmet will hurt.” He didn’t tell her he’d chosen those specifically, so she’d have something to ride in. “Something to think about while you change. What do you want to eat?”
He turned and left, pulling the door shut behind him as he headed for the laundry room. He needed to dig out his spare helmet for her. Bubba found himself grinning. Celia was coming out of her shell, and he loved it.
ChapterSixteen
Nervous anticipation raced through Sissy. What had she been thinking to agree to get on the back of a motorcycle? That was a stupid question. She knew exactly what she’d been thinking. Cole. And making him happy. There was a lot she would do to make Cole happy, especially after the way he'd come to Mississippi and rescued her.
Hell, who was she trying to fool? The only reason she hadn’t been willing to do more to please Cole in the last ten years was simply because he wasn’t there. Still, she had thought about him.
Sissy hurried to change clothes. The last thing she wanted was for Cole to get angry because she took too long. As she stepped into the hallway after pulling on the boots Cole had gotten for her that morning, it occurred to her to wonder why she was so worried about Cole getting angry because she took so long. That wasn’t like Cole. It was like Troy, and even more like Daddy, but Cole wasn’t like that at all. She shook her head and wondered how long it would take her to get over the knee jerk reactions to do things to keep someone from getting mad at her.
In the clothes Cole suggested, she went to find him. Cole was standing in front of the kitchen sink, a wet towel in one hand and a helmet in the other.
