Still, once something as scarring and life-changing as what Carver had done to her happened to a person, something as simple as a doorbell could cause all kinds of fight or flight reflexes.
Things like that changed a person, and Winnie had never felt so out of control as she did in that moment, going to answer the door and expecting to see another cowboy standing there. After all, she’d been expecting Carver too. They were supposed to be going to pick up his tux from the tailor the day he’d ended thingswith her.
Winnie made it into the living room and paused as she faced the still-closed front door. Her breath shook in her lungs as she inhaled, and she dang near choked on it.I am not that woman, she recited to herself.This is not Carver.
A couple of knocks landed on the wood. “Winnie, sweetheart, it’s me. I know I’m early, but I figured it would be okay.”
The sound of Ty’s voice, even muted through the door, got her feet moving again. She practically ran to the door, her skin-tight jeans pulling along her calves as she did. Winnie yanked open the door, and she had no idea what Ty would see when he looked at her.
A panicking mess of a female? Most likely.
Someone he couldn’t get along with no matter how hard he tried?
Oh, come on, she thought through the chaos in her head.You guys got along fine at last night’s potluck.
Even though Ty had voted for the German chocolate brownies, which so weren’t as good as the mint ones, Winnie still liked him.
“Hey,” Ty said. “Are you okay?”
Winnie realized she wasn’t breathing, and she sucked at the air. “I don’t know,” she gasped out, one hand reaching for the doorframe to anchor her.
Ty stepped up and into the house. “All right, well, hold onto me, because you look like you’re about to fall over.” He encircled her in his arms, bringing her flush against his chest and holding her there.
Winnie’s arms did the natural thing—they went around him and clutched him tightly too.
“Shh-shh-shh,” he went, making soft noises with his mouth. “You’re okay, Winnie-girl. I got you.” He backed her up a slow step at a time until he could get the front door closed, and that broke the spiral Winnie had fallen into.
After all, Carver had not entered the house on that fateful date in February.
Winnie stepped back, pure foolishness now filling her. “S—Sorry,” she said. Her hands flitted about, touching her cheek—that felt too hot—and then sliding through her hair. She’d probably ruinedthe curls by now, and she had no idea how to explain what had just happened to Ty.
He said nothing, and several seconds clicked by while Winnie continued to calm down. She finally managed to take a breath and get her thoughts to quiet, and she looked up and met his gaze.
He gave her the most perfect thing in the whole world—a smile. “There you are.”
“I…I guess I did get lost there for a second.”
“Nervous about going out with me?” he asked, his voice low in both volume and pitch, almost like he was trying not to scare her.
“A little,” she admitted. She spun on her heel and picked up her purse from the end of the credenza. As she faced him again, she decided to rely on her mouthiness—something she’d blamed herself for in the past.
“When my fiancé came to break up with me,” she said. “It was only six days before our wedding date.” She gestured to the door behind him. “He rang the doorbell, and I knew there was something wrong the moment I opened the door.”
Ty’s smile faded into that trademark frown that drew his eyebrows down and in.
“He was already packed. Truck idling. He said he didn’t love me and couldn’t marry me. And then he just left.” She snapped her fingers and told herself she wasn’t the problem. After another breath, she calmed even more, found her center, and this time, casually brushed her hair back off her face.
“When something like that happens, every time the doorbell rings, my heart stops for a moment.”
Ty took a step toward her and reached out one hand. His fingers brushed hers in a non-verbal way of sayingI’m sorry, Winnie.
“I made it to the door, but I don’t know. I was in full panic-mode by then,” she said.
“Have you ever not made it to the door?” he asked.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I’ve ignored the doorbell many times in the past ten months.”
His eyes came up from where he’d been watching her hand, the tips of his fingers just barely playing with hers. “This only happened ten months ago?”
