The crunch of gravel has me spinning back toward the drive in front of the house. Thoughts of babies fade with the familiarity of the truck idling mere feet from me.
That uncontrollable patter of my heart has me wanting to run, but also stay put at the same time.
It’s him.Nash.
The past eight months have been a duck-and-run-for-cover mission. The few times we’ve crossed paths since River’s party last summer nearly had me vomiting on my shoes in embarrassment as my nerves fired with untameable panic.
I may not remember that portion of the night when Nash danced with me, but he does. River was the one to tell me about my brutal confession of my love for the man who stole my heart when I was ten years old. For that night, I felt like the old Betty. Like there were so many possibilities ahead of me, so I pounded shot after shot with the girls and pretended.
When River told me I’d made a fool of myself, I was mortified.
I’ve never told a soul how long I’ve been pining after Nash. He was the initials inside the hearts I drew in my notebooks and the reason I put on pretty dresses for Sunday dinner. No boyfriend has ever compared to the fantasies of Nash in my head. He has consumed my every thought and owned my heart since the day we met, and no one knew but me.
“Hey, Betty.” His gruff voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
Slipping my hands in my back pockets, my gaze rakes over his wild, dark umber hair and the perfectly sculpted beard, cropped close to the bottom half of his face. I blink several times, unsure how long I’ve been standing here like a deer in the headlights. “Um, hi, Nash.” Yanking my hands free, they aggressively run down my bare thighs, the humidity higher than usual for April. My clothing feels wet against my skin, or maybe I’m just sweating profusely, staring up at the most handsome face I’ve ever known.
It was warm enough that I had to pull the cut-off shorts out early. My fitted tee does little to hide the pump of my chest as he takes another step closer.
You need to breathe, Betty.
“The place looks nice.” He cocks his head toward the house, his hands slipping into the front pockets of his perfectly fitted jeans.
There’s no stopping my gaze from raking down his powerful thighs wrapped in denim. I’m practically salivating imagining what it must have been like to have his body against mine on the dance floor. Pressing my eyes shut, I inhale deeply, forcing my focus to the trees in the distance over his broad shoulder.
Forcing a wide grin, our eyes lock. “Uh, yeah. Hoping it’ll be ready for opening weekend.”
“It’s not now?” Nash’s brow knits as he seems to search the grounds for answers.
“Uh, no. The furniture just started arriving today. It’ll all be here by Thursday.” The mundane nature of the conversation allows me to breathe. My muscles uncoiling, no longer fearing he might bring up that night.
“Damn,” he waves his cream cowboy hat, running his fingers through his thick, dark hair.
Taking a discreet step back, I slip my hands into my back pockets once more. My fingers are too eager to run through his hair, too. “What’s going on?”
“Garrison said I could stay here for a few days. Looking at a couple of their calves for training.” There’s nothing but the cold clip of business in his tone. His jaw working as if trying to find another solution.
“Here?” I nearly choke. “Like in the house?”
“Yes. In the house.” The words are clipped, a hint of annoyance creeping in. He was never one to pretend to stay calm when his plans went awry.
“Uh, well, there are no beds yet. Um, just in my room. There are couches, though.” My voice quivers. If Tate or Gray said he could stay, then I’ll need to find a way to make it work. I don’t want them firing me before the place even opens.
“You live here?” he questions.
“Uh, no. No, I just—” a heavy sigh releases from me, Nash looking away as if annoyed we’re still standing out here in the sweltering wet heat. “I stay when I need to.”
“No worries. Couch is fine,” he grunts, turning back to his truck and pulling an overnight bag free.
“Right, uh. You can let yourself in.”
“Right. Okay. Bye, Betty.”
He moves around me, my eyes pressing shut again, trying to force breaths into my lungs.
He’d been so normal. So unaffected—I think. But dammit, I couldn’t even get out complete sentences half the time.
Embarrassment causes my chest to pump faster than it should. My heart can’t handle being under the same roof as Nash tonight. Likely not ever.
