Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

“Thank you,” I whisper. Our thighs are pressed together, and she’s cradling my hand in her lap, staring at it instead of looking at me. If I weren’t currently feeling my heartbeat in my knuckles, I might consider sliding that hand up her thigh. Her very bare, toned, tanned thigh that’s so temptingly close.

Slow down. You’ve been warned twice about her. Don’t scare her off.

“You ready to go, or do you need to close up first?” I say lightly, easing her into this but well aware that I’m not giving her a choice. It’s a trick I learned from watching my sister-in-law, Allyson, with her son. Don’t give options you don’t want them to pick. Never say ‘you want broccoli or fries’ because everyone will pick the fries. Instead, offer ‘broccoli with butter or cheese’ so that it’s broccoli no matter what.

Willow’s only option is now or later, not never.

“Go where?”

Thank you, Allyson! The psychology tricks she plays on Cooper, and fine, me and my brothers too, worked for me this time because Willow didn’t even try to say no.

“Welcome Wagon tour of Great Falls. I’ll show you everything—the best places to eat, where to take pictures, the best shopping area, where to take pictures, downtown Great Falls, where to take pictures.” I’m not stupid, and I know the key to getting her excited. If photography is her thing, I’ll exploit the hell out of it to get her to say yes right now.

“It’s the middle of the night. I’m not going anywhere but home.”

“Or we could check out all those places, and I’ll tell you everything you could ever want to know about Great Falls. Then we can eat fresh doughnuts, pink with sprinkles, of course,” I say, letting her know I haven’t forgotten her earlier confession, “and watch the sun rise. That’d make great pictures.”

Her light touch traces along the calluses on my fingertips, swirling and teasing as though she’s learning my skin. But I can sense the turmoil inside her, the desire to say yes warring with a need to say no.

“Are you usually this friendly and welcoming with newcomers?” she says behind a shy smile, melting for me by degrees.

Chuckling, I confess, “Not at all. I’m more a ‘silent but deadly’ type, but you’re special.”

Her jaw goes rigid and her eyes narrow. “You can stop whatever game you’re playing.”

She hasn’t moved an inch, but there’s an instant, yawning void between us and I don’t know how I fucked up. She closes the first aid kit and stands, trying to put it back in Hank’s desk.

Elbows on my knees and hands clasped between them, I silently watch her fumbling with the contents of the overstuffed drawer.

She gets the kit situated and shuts the drawer with a slam that feels like an alarm bell going off. Leaning a hip against the desk, her arms crossed over her chest defensively, she locks her eyes on me. They swirl like a mood ring, tortured and thoughtful.

I get the feeling she has no idea how gorgeous she is and has no defense against someone like me other than being enticingly skittish. But I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I won’t be like Joe, thinking that I’m entitled to her just because I want her.

But fuck, I want her.

I haven’t been this instantly attracted to someone in . . . maybe ever. I don’t know what it is about her. She’s more cute than hot, more sweet than sassy, and it’s entirely possible that a rough cowboy like me might not be what she wants at all. But I’m willing to try, again and again, because something in that soft smile tells me she’ll be worth it.

I dig deep, searching for words on demand, which is not something I’m good at by any measure. Studied, practiced, written and rewritten phrases I can do, but turning the jumble of images and thoughts in my head into something that expresses them to someone else in the moment is unfathomably difficult. And it’s why I usually just keep my mouth shut.

“What just happened? I’m not playing games.” I copy her words, keeping my voice steady and low, “but if I said something wrong, I’m sorry.”

I honestly can’t remember the last time I apologized. For anything.

“It’s fine. I need to go help Unc with closing. I’m sure you know your way out.”

Every word is crisp and clipped, and she doesn’t seem to suffer from the same affliction as I do. She is saying exactly what she means, dismissing me as she walks out the door with her head held high.

Total crash and burn.

I’m three cups of coffee in and it’s barely past sunrise. The sunrise I should’ve spent watching Willow snap away on her camera. It was a damn gorgeous one too, with pinks and oranges lighting up the purple sky like blooming fire I wish she’d seen. But I feel like I’m the one who missed out, not her. Because she’s probably at home, warm and snuggled in her bed, and I’m out here in the fields.