He shuffled around the hood and got in, the truck shifting beneath his weight. His arm slung across the back of her seat. She chewed her lip and eyed him. Eyed his beautiful profile, his T-shirt—Texas Bar Association, but old and faded—and plaid hanging open, perched atop the lip of his belt buckle, and shivered. Her arms and stomach were suddenly cool in the halter top she wore, and she rubbed them, even though it had to be eighty-five degrees or hotter still. But as she tried to reconcile this rugged man with the magazine cover, she couldn’t do it. The two images seemed separated by a world. One Tyler was standing on a gorgeous Grecian overlook in a Versace shirt or similar, the other Tyler was sitting in Ennis County, Texas, at a drive-in, with a truck loaded down with farm supplies. How had he ended up on the farm with custody of his children, out of the spotlight, while his wife had gone on to live such a glamorous life?
He eyed her in return as if sensing her stare, his brow crinkling as he took in her face. She looked back to the movie she was no longer watching. This wasn’t a serious thing she and Tyler had going on. She had no business concerning herself so deeply about him. So why was she?
Because youlike-like him. The words threaded through her mind.
“Cold?”
She shook her head at his one-word question, let her gaze once more flit up to him. She shouldn’t feel chilled. His eyes dipped to her arms. His brow crinkled further.
“I’m fine.” She focused back on the screen.
But he rustled around beside her, dumping Reese’s Pieces and Junior Mints onto the dash, the truck jostling, and even though she kept her eyes trained forward on a scene that eluded her considering she gazed into space, he reached around her.
“Lean forward,” he ordered softly by her ear. It did nothing but induce more shivers, more excitement for one of his toe-curling kisses or that intense stoking of heat she felt when he loved her body.
She did, his face mere inches from hers, as his plaid dropped behind her, and he draped it over her shoulders. Warmth enveloped her, dregs of his body heat lingering in the fabric, making her goose bumps more sensitive against it, as his cedar scent—she now knew was 250 dollars’ worth of Truefitt & Hill luxury men’s shaving supplies from sharing the same bathroom as him—filled her nose and the faint hint of his body odor mingled with the scent that was unique to him, his palms on her shoulders straightened it out, then pulled it across her chest, his knuckles grazing her breasts.
Her eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, then rose to his gaze. His brown ones gazed back at her, still riveted with concern. Men didn’t offer their shirts unless they like-liked a woman.
“Something wrong? You okay?”
She laughed and deflected, like she was always good at doing. Had he realized he’d touched her breasts? Or maybe he was comfortable enough with her that he hadn’t noticed. Which definitely meant there were roots attaching themselves.
“I ought to be asking you that. What happened with your son?”
This time, he seemed more prepared for the topic. He didn’t stiffen at her question or stalk off to the concession stand to buy another pile of junk food they couldn’t possibly eat—impulse buys, she smiled. He mulled over her question, his hand fiddling with his shirt on her frame as if tucking her in, then pulled her against him as if they spent all their nights in such easy warmth with each other.
He took a deep breath. His eyes searched hers, impassive, perhaps weighing whether or not he wanted to talk about it again. Perhaps formulating what he’d say.
“Sure you wanna know?”
She nodded.
He stared out the windshield at the movie and chewed his cheek. “A kid insulted Seth’s momma so he threw some punches and tipped his canoe over.”
She stiffened, then nestled into him, that slight twist of unease in the pit of her stomach still clenching, her treacherous body wanting to relax into his embrace, like they’d sat together moments ago with easy chatter.
“Is he okay?”
“Got a split lip.”
“He clearly loves his mom,” she replied. Was it the right thing to say?
No reaction. Then he huffed an ironic laugh, as if to himself more than anything. “He doesn’t even know her. That’s a sore spot for him. Because he really wishes he did, and…” Tyler shook his head as if trying to conjure the right words but failing. Chewed his cheek. “I don’t know what to tell him.”
He fell silent, as she sat against his heat and tucked her knees back up on the seat, felt the comfort of his heavy arm draped around her, and slid her hand around his stomach as she rested her cheek in the crux of his shoulder.
“Why not tell them the truth?”
He stiffened. A glance at his lips showed a white line. Either angry, or refusing to speak.
“She’s not someone I’m allowed to talk about to anyone.”
Not allowed to talk about? A celebrity would be the likeliest bet, then. Someone famous had a lot at risk with their public persona, and it was growing clearer by the second that his ex didn’t want the world to know she was a mother. Or perhaps doesn’t want the world to know she’d nearly killed her babies.
“But my kids are smart. They’re figuring it out. And they’re gonna hate me for keeping it from ’em.”
His teeth seemed to grit harder. He looked…furious. Yet his arm around her was gentle.