Rode Hard, Put Up Wet: Cowboy Romance (Rebels & Outlaws 2)

The fact that something was wrong wasn't hard to figure out. She was showing it right there on her face, for anyone who cared to look. Philip Callahan was trying to restore the mood, and he wasn't going to do something as stupid as ask what was wrong.

But he wasn't going to do something as stupid as ignore it, either, or pretend that it wasn't a bad mood, because clearly the lady was upset. Why? Well, that would come later.

But she didn't tell him for a while. Not for a long while. Instead, she frowned at his jokes, seemed to altogether ignore anything else he said, and generally she seemed pretty down. Was it something he'd done?

That wasn't altogether clear. He hadn't done anything intentionally. Callahan had honestly thought—anticipated without necessarily expecting—that she would be quite pleased with how the whole thing had played out.

Women have a funny way with men expressing their manliness. They don't like it to be too overt, and they like the hell out of it when the guy has to eat humble pie—only in a manly way. Which, to the best of his ability to say, he had done.

But for some reason, she didn't just have the opposite reaction. After all, that would have made sense, at least for some women and in some circumstances. She didn't like the violence, maybe. Sara hadn't liked roughness, and it wasn't inconceivable that someone else might feel the same way.

But that had usually manifested in sympathy when he took the fall. She wouldn't get mad with him for it.

Or maybe he was reading the situation wrong. Maybe she was upset because he hadn't been aggressive enough? Because he'd embarrassed her by losing?

One look at her told Callahan how stupid that idea was. She didn't seem like the sort of girl who wanted a guy that would kick assess and take names, and what's more, she didn't seem like she was particularly upset that he had lost the fight.

She was upset about something, but for all that he could tell, she wasn't particularly reacting to the fight having occurred in the first place. There was no reason to, from Philip's perspective. Unless you just wanted to try to lighten the mood—which he did.

There was no world in which she was upset about the fight. She was upset about something else, which opened up a whole wide world of possibility. Whatever the hell it was that had gotten her upset, he couldn't begin to guess.

But the fact that she was? That much was indisputable. Not debatable. She was avoiding anything to do with him, it seemed like. Acting weird. And whatever the reason, he wasn't God damn happy about it.

This was supposed to be a day where the two of them went out, celebrated a little, and finished off with their business coming to a close.

Once they were past the money stuff, maybe they could move forward with something else. Especially now that he'd finally figured to pull his head out of his ass and admit to himself that there might be something there.

But no. Now they were having some kind of stupid fight, and for what? For nothing at all, near as Callahan could tell. Just because they could.

He takes a deep breath and a step back and tries to slow down. No way. Whatever it was, if it was bothering her this much, so much she was acting like a totally different person, then it was a big deal.

He just wasn't seeing the big picture from her perspective. Whatever it was that was getting to her, it was something that they'd have to figure out together. Because Callahan wasn't an idiot, but he wasn't a genius, either. He needed help figuring shit as much as the next guy, and two heads were always better than one.

They finish the meal in silence. There's only so much a guy can take, in the end. Only so much one side can push and push and push without the other half budging, before you have to say, 'fine, alright.'

If she wanted to talk about it, then she'd talk about it whenever she was ready. Until then, she didn't want to talk about a whole hell of a lot of anything, and that was her right. But it didn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense from where he was sitting.

They slipped into the car and he turned the engine over and got the truck out of the parking lot before he spoke.

"Morgan? Y'alright?"

She doesn't answer. He looks over at her, and she's looking out the window. A hand on her knee doesn’t get a response. Whatever the hell it was tha

t he did, she must be pretty unhappy about it.

The sun's just starting to set properly, streaks of purple and pink jumping off the clouds. Any other day, he might stop and just want to stare at it, but right now Philip's got other concerns. He barely notices the sky at all.

"Morgan?" She looks over at him. "I don't know what's wrong, but if it's something I did, then I apologize."

She looks back out the window. No response. He shrugs and then settles himself into the car. If she's going to act like that, then there's nothing to be done about it. She'll do what she wants to do and in the end he's just going to have to deal with that however the hell he wants to.

They slip onto the interstate, the falling sun leading itself into twilight, which then falls into darkness. The city's a solid few miles out of the ranch, and not close to the factory build site either.

It takes near forty minutes to get back, and under normal circumstances he'd probably be on auto-pilot by now and forget to go to the build site at all. She'd be annoyed about it, maybe, but it would be totally understandable. After all, how often does he go back home compared to going someplace else?

But he doesn't slip into the comfort of easy driving. His mind is still razor-edged, his thoughts unable to escape the situation that he's stuck in.

Why on earth she's mad at him, he couldn't begin to say. She's mad about something. Mad at him about something.