Bang the Blower (Country Roads 3)

She recalled them without much effort. The last time she was in his bed, he’d asked her to leave, told her he needed to get a good night’s sleep, and she’d left him with a promise. He’d never have to worry about her outstaying her welcome again.

If only she’d known then how eventually, no thanks to their current living arrangements, he’d make a liar out of her.

“I remember that about you,” she grumbled, tossing the covers over her head and rolling over to her sore left side. “You never wanted to cuddle in the mornings, and you often skipped foreplay. Man, you made some woman a happy wife, didn’t you?”

“I’m not married yet, and you know this.”

“How would I know anything about you, Hank? We lost touch. We didn’t write or call. If memory serves me correctly, I didn’t get a postcard, never sent an e-mail.” She took a deep breath and decided against picking an extended argument. She thought about reaching for the pill bottle located next to her bed but decidedly preferred a clear head, something she hadn’t desired often since her accident.

The discomfort was often more than she could bear, but managing her pain was easier with distractions. Hank provided an alternative to drugs, although she wasn’t sure if he was the lesser of two evils.

In terms of addictions, she felt confident she could beat a potential pill problem. A Hinman dependence was worse than any substance abuse imaginable. After all this time apart, Julie was certain of one thing—she’d never kick the habit.

“You’ll work with your physical therapist this morning.”

“I just got here yesterday afternoon. I can’t—”

Hank yanked the coverlet away from her head. “I don’t remember asking you if you wanted to work with Don—he’s your PT, by the way—and I don’t think I said please. Get your pretty little ass up and meet him downstairs in thirty minutes. The two of you should be done by noon. I’ll meet you out by the track around then.”

“I’m not racing!” she shouted, slapping her palm against the mattress.

“I see some things never change,” Hank said, glaring at her hand. “I never said you were sliding behind the wheel today. I just said I’ll meet you around twelve.”

She grunted, flipped over, though it was more like a slow roll, and buried her head under the pillow. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, aware her muffled voice made her sound like a helpless child.

“Because you would do the same for me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I wouldn’t, Hank.”

“Yes you would,” he assured her, caressing her back. “And I’d love you for it.”

“Humph, you wouldn’t know love if it looked you square in the eye.”

Hank slowly removed the comforter she used in order to hide. Then, he gently lifted the pillow. She stared into a soft gaze, one rarely found in a Hinman.

“I think I would.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and left.

About that time, the jingle jangle of spurs alerted her to the man behind a cowboy’s walk. Duke Hinman entered her room seconds later. “Rise and shine, gorgeous,” he sang, raising the window overlooking the barnyard. “We’ve got a surprise for you down at the stables.”

“I don’t like surprises,” she grumbled.

“And I have a hard time with grumpy women.”

“I’m serious.” She should’ve added that she owned her share of issues with domineering, egotistical cowboys.

“Okay, I’ll play along. Best I remember, you loved to be caught off guard. When did that change?”

“You have to ask?” she questioned him, using her hands to move her legs to the side of the bed.

He pointed toward her lower body. “You know you’re pretty damn lucky. Be thankful for what you’ve got and for what you didn’t lose.”

“Why, because a doctor told me I’d never walk again, and I beat the odds?”

“No, because you lived to come here and argue with me. A lot of women would pay to be sitting right there staring at me right now.”

“I worry about you, Duke. You lack confidence, self-esteem, and a cowboy’s cocksure attitude. How do you get by?”

“I ask myself that very question every single day.”