“Kidnapping’s illegal,” I snap. Of course he knows this. Now he’s just being an ass on purpose.
He gives me a hard look. “Do I look like I take no for an answer?”
“They have a word for that,” I say dryly. “And it’s not a nice word.”
“Jesus, Rose. I’m not a rapist.”
I know that. I shove the memories back. Angel is nothing like those other men. If I said no, he’d let me go. If I meant it. If. My problem is that I want Angel, and we both know it. He pushes my sexual buttons in the best possible way, and my body is more than willing to be tamed by my bad boy cowboy.
“I brought you flowers,” he continues, as if we’re two friends having coffee. As if the papers and the fight over the house don’t matter. “I figured maybe you could put them on the front porch.”
Keeping one arm firmly around me, he fishes in his saddlebag and produces a little plastic-wrapped potted rose. Tiny and delicate, its miniature pink buds shake with each step the horse takes.
What on earth am I supposed to do with a baby rose plant?
He should be glad I’m not licensed to carry, because I’m suddenly in the mood to shoot his ass. I make his dreams come true, and he wants to bring me flowers?
I shove his forearm. “Let me down. You can’t ride into town and kidnap me. Wrong century.”
“I can do whatever I want,” he states, not bothering to point out he’s already done just that. Also, since he owns just about everything and everyone around me, he probably can. There’s not an inch of give in him when I dig my nails into his forearm, either.
“You don’t want to fall off, darling. Sit tight, hear me out, and then I’ll let you go.”
“I didn’t take you for a roses kind of a man,” I mock. “And here it is, not even Valentine’s Day.”
“You liked the roses on your porch. Those yellow ones. I’ve been thinking,” he continues. “You can plant this rose somewhere new, get it started right. Or, if you really have your heart set on that particular house, I’ll give it to you. I still need the water for the ranch, but you don’t want that water. You want the house. Tell me where to put it, and I’ll see it done. You want it here on Main Street?”
“Excuse me?” It’s alternate universe day. It has to be.
He guides the horse to a stop. Our epic kidnapping journey has lasted approximately one block. I can still see the bar and our avid audience.
“Take a look,” he says and swings down off the horse with me in his arms. I have no idea how he makes that look so easy. “I’m not putting you down until you look.”
“I sold you my share in the ranch,” I tell him.
He makes a rough sound. “Rose—”
“It’s all yours.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t get it. I don’t have shit without you. Take a look around you.”
Since he’s determined, I look. As far as scenic views go, our current location wouldn’t rate even a one on a scale of one to ten. It’s a rectangular square of dirt and tumbleweeds, hemmed in on one side by the mini-mart and on the other by Lonesome’s second bar. There’s nothing behind the lot but more dirt, more tumbleweeds, and the wide-open range. The whole thing screams vacant except for the picnic table parked incongruously in the middle of the lot.
“That’s my favorite table,” Angel says gruffly, his mouth brushing my ear. “I’m thinking about having it bronzed. Maybe putting a plaque on it.”
Amazing.
Angel does have a sentimental side after all. While I’ve been storing up memories of our time together, he’s been collecting the furniture we had sex on. I guess everyone remembers in his own way, although I’m betting the residents of Lonesome would prefer the plaque to skip the exact details of what we did on that table. I think about the cowboys down the street. Okay. So some of them would rather not know.
“Check it out,” Angel says, setting me on my feet.
Now that I look more closely, I spot the long tube on top of the table. It looks awfully like the one I used to carry around my architectural drawings for Auntie Dee’s house, but I know that one’s stowed away in the trunk of my car.
Angel uncaps the tube, gives it a hard shake, and unrolls a set of plans. “I got an architect to look at your plans. He’s recreated them, but we’ve worked in a few changes. I’ll put in a foundation here, and he’ll have Auntie Dee’s dismantled and then he’ll use the pieces to build your new place here.”
“I already sold you my share in the ranch,” I remind him. “I don’t want your gifts. I wanted to do this on my own, Angel. I have my pride, too.”