“Wait,” Cord’s voice called as she slammed the door shut, but she ignored him, sucking in lungsful of fresh air until her queasy gut calmed.
How could she be so upset about Cord in a bull riding competition, after watching her own brother compete for years?
Must be this stupid diet I started. Too much spinach. Not enough chocolate. My system’s totally out of whack.
She jumped as the door opened behind her and Cord limped out.
“Hey,” he said. “Can we talk?”
Even with a black eye and a swollen lower lip, he was handsome, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“I need to check on Shadow,” she said, twisting the ring on her pinky finger.
“It’ll only take a minute. We could sit on the swing.”
The comfy white porch swing beckoned, swaying in the morning breeze. But swinging together meant having a deep conversation. Last night she’d decided to tell him everything, but now, with her frazzled emotions hanging by a thread, she’d lost her nerve. Maybe she could keep the talk light and playful.
“Okay,” she answered. “At least I don’t have to worry about you kissing me.”
“Was that a challenge?” His lips formed a swollen half-grin.
“No.” She tried to frown, but failed. “You can joke all you want, but you’re still in trouble.”
“I am?” He eased himself onto the contoured wood slats with minimal wincing, and she sat beside him, a comfortable six inches between them as the swing began to move. “You mean I got all these injuries for nothing? I thought you might not want to murder me if I already looked half dead—battered and bleeding.”
“You see, that’s where you messed up. Battered doesn’t get any sympathy. Bleeding would’ve done it, but you already stopped the blood flow.”
“Darn. I’d have sacrificed the truck upholstery if I’d known.” He pushed his glasses up with his unbandaged hand. “I should’ve said this before, but I’m sorry I kissed you in front of all those guests.”
“It was pretty embarrassing.”
“I know. I wish I could make it up to you.”
For a few brief seconds, they sat in contented silence, enjoying the peaceful moment. A gentle morning breeze ruffled her hair as the cicadas sang their dissonant song. Then a brilliant idea sprang into her mind.
“I know how you can make it up to me. Promise you won’t compete in the bull riding.”
Anger clouded his face. “You’re okay with Mason McCaffrey riding, but you think I’m too much of a wimp to ride?”
Maybe it wasn’t such a brilliant idea.
“That’s not it at all.”
“Really?” He stopped the swing, glaring at her. “Then why don’t you want me to compete?”
How could she explain her severe anxiety without making it seem like an insult?
“Because you’re already injured.”
It seemed like a good argument, until he answered, “Your brother once competed with a broken hand, and everyone said he was tough. All I’ve got are broken ribs.”
“Go ahead and ride, then,” she said, hating the wobble in her tone. “Kill yourself, if that’s what you want. It’s none of my business.”
“That’s right. It isn’t.” He turned his head, staring ahead, muscles flexing along his jaw.
“Fine.” Acid churned in her stomach. It definitely wasn’t fine. “If your life isn’t my business, then mine isn’t yours, either.”
He snapped his face toward her. “Meaning?”