His clipped words are dismissive. Like what he did was nothing, but it wasn’t nothing, not to me. He saved me.
“Those guys were...” I swallow hard. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“You should’ve called someone. Should’ve gone with your friend to the bathroom. Shouldn’t have been drinking at all.” Each statement is a slap of disappointment. “How much have you had?”
“Just like two beers. I’m not drunk.”
His eyes flick to me briefly before returning to the road. “You’re drunk enough.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “I can handle myself.”
“Is that what you were doing when I found you? Handling yourself?”
His sarcasm stings because he’s right. I couldn’t handle those men. There was no way I could have escaped on my own. He swooped in like a knight in shining armor.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For messing up your evening.”
He expels a long, frustrated sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, Saintlyn, you didn’t mess up anything.”
I’m mesmerized by the movement. Then I freeze, and it finally hits me.He knows my name.Can I salvage this at all? Probably not. I do the only thing I can do when I’m nervous. I babble.
“Do you do this often? Save girls from drunk men in bars?”
The question comes out sharper than I intend. I blame the beer, the humiliation, the confusing mess of emotions churning in my chest.
“No.”
Just that. Nothing more.
“I don’t understand. Then why’d you do it for me?”
He doesn’t answer, and the truck slows as we near my street. The porch light glows in the distance, warm and welcoming.
Home. Safety.
Everything I should want.
Everything that’s slowly killing me.
Sitting here in the dark with Calder, slightly tipsy, my thoughts swirling, I know I need to make a move. I don’t want to go home yet.
“I remember something,” I blurt. “From before. When I was seventeen.”
Those cold blue eyes cut through me, and something dark flashes in them.
“I fell off a horse at the Parks’ ranch during the harvest festival and broke my wrist.” The words tumble out faster now, the beer loosening my tongue. “You were there. I don’t even know why you were there, but you were. I was on the ground crying, and I thought I was going to die from the pain. And you just appeared. Like you knew exactly what to do.” I’m off the rails now, but I can’t stop. “You were so calm and gentle. You carried me to your truck like I weighed nothing, and you drove so carefully over every bump, and you kept asking if I was okay. I was afraid to be alone, and you stayed at the hospital until my father got there.”
“What’s your point?”
“You didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to help me, but you did.”
“Saint.” His voice is a warning.
“Now that I’m thinking about it, I never thanked you properly. My father rushed me out so fast after he arrived, and then later he told me to stay away from you. That you were dangerous. That the Bishops were...” I trail off, realizing what I’m saying. “It doesn’t matter what my father thinks. You weren’t dangerous that day. You saved me.”
“Anyone with a brain would have helped. You were hurt.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not anyone. Not like you did. You were kind. And even a year later, I haven’t forgotten that kindness.” I turn toward him in the seat. “I’m just confused. Why were you so kind then, but now you’re acting cold and mean?”
