She’s toeing out of her cowboy boots, hanging on to the doorframe for dear life, when I remember I have a dryer full of clean clothes.
“I’ve got a sweater or something here for you.” Rummaging around in my clean clothes, I find an old Dee’s Sweets sweatshirt I bought when the bakery in town first opened. I grab that and a bath towel.
She blinks, trying to focus on the logo when I hold it out to her. “You bought merch from Elodie?”
Elodie’s the quiet baker who owns Dee’s Sweets. “I’llbuy all of her merch if it keeps her open. No offense, but your dad didn’t let the guys have the good desserts unless we paid for them. Elodie gives regulars ten percent off.”
A giggle bubbles out of Campbell. “Daddy can be such a cheap bastard. And everyone thinks Elodie’s so sweet, but she upcharges so she can make it seem like locals get a discount.”
Disbelief swells in my chest. I scoff. “Not Elodie. She’s too timid to tell Pete Creighton to leave when he smells like he’s slept in piss for a month and stares at her tits.”
“But she’ll tell her cousin, Deputy Palmer, and he’ll come and remove Pete.” She smirks. My astonishment must be scrawled across my face. “She’s devious, churlish, and she can be underhanded if it means a few extra bucks.”
“You don’t like her?”
Campbell recoils and nearly loses her balance. Confusion lines her brows. “She’s one of my favorite people.”
I bark out a laugh. Campbell’s always full of surprises, and usually, I don’t like it. But right now, this is the most honest I’ve seen her. She’s not acting out for show, being the center of attention. She’s got crusted vomit on her, and she needs to sleep it off.
I gesture to the washing machine. “Just toss your stuff in. There’s a bathroom on the main level. Go through the hallway by the office and take a left. It’s right there. There’s a guest room next door, so go on in when you’re ready.” I scratch the back of my neck. I haven’t had a woman in my home, other than my sister-in-law, and it wasn’t supposed to beCampbellnaked in my shower, or sleeping between my sheets.
She’s my guest, and I have a guest room. That’s all.
Her nod’s shaky. She twines her fingers together and scrunches her toes into the rug. She looks so fucking young and vulnerable. What would’ve happened if I hadn’t stopped in tonight? How has she survived this long without getting hurt or taken advantage of?
She fiddles with the ends of her hair, grimaces when she touches some dried strands, and drops them. “Thank you.”
“I have chores in the morning, and I gotta run to the distillery.” Then I have a meeting at Hawthorne with Iverson in the afternoon. A nice, busy day after the shit night I’ve had. “I’m going to get a later start since I had to watch out for you.”
“I didn’t ask you to.” The flare of irritation infuses color into her cheeks. Good.
“But you needed me to.” I hold her defiant stare until she drops it. “So you can give me a call to give you a ride to your car, but I can’t promise I can get here right away.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Fuck’s sake, Campbell. You can’t do anything on your own, so quit trying.”
Hurt swims in her eyes.
I’m a bastard. I really meant to tell her it’s okay to ask for help. That’s not how it came out. I can’t quit pointing out all the many ways she crawls under my skin.
“Call me when you need a ride to your car, and I’ll get back when I can. Night.” I rush from the mudroom and into the kitchen. I gather water and some over-the-counter pain meds to put in the guest room while she’sin the shower as a way to forget how luminous her big gray eyes are. How they draw a man in.
Nothing will wipe how she felt tipped over my shoulder and how silky her hair is. I’m not attracted to Campbell Hawthorne. Obviously, she’s gorgeous. Full lips and fuller hips. Powerful legs that make a guy think about having his head between them.
Good thing I’m not a guy driven by base desires. Or it’d be fucking torture to think about how she’s started the washing machine, and that means she’s buck-ass naked in the next room.
CHAPTER TWO
Campbell
Fuzz fills my mouth and my head when I wake. I groan before cracking an eyelid open. What room am I?—
The mortification of the night comes rushing back, and I pull a pillow over my head. The comforting smell of fabric softener dulls the faint alcohol smell still clinging to me.
Why did I drink too much?
Stanford fucking Baldwin. The love of my life, who fucked my cousin and is now marrying her. And they want it to be a happy family adventure!
