“I doubt it. Why wait until morning to knock? Better to hit-and-run before he got caught and thrown off the property.”
Sawyer made a good point. “Is that how you do it?” she asked just to be snarky. It was kind of a rotten thing to say, especially after he’d flown to her rescue.
“I call ahead, make an appointment.” His lips ticked up. “And if that doesn’t work I go in for an ambush.”
She didn’t know whether he was joking. But somehow she didn’t see Sawyer skulking around someone’s house, hiding in their azalea bushes. He was more Robert Redford inAll the President’s Men, following the money. Not some skeevy guy with a paunch and suspenders, stalking celebrities with a big-ass camera lens while they slept.
Jace brought the skeevo around front and started to load him into the back seat of his vehicle.
“Last chance to give your side of the story,” the photographer told Gina, then nudged his cuffed hands at Jace. “Here, give her my business card.”
“No can do,” Jace said and pushed the camera guy’s head down so he wouldn’t hit it on the door.
After Jace drove away, Cash went home.
“You want coffee?” she asked Sawyer, who looked like he’d been up for hours: clean-shaven and dressed in his usual jeans, T-shirt, Stetson, cowboy boots.
“Yep.” He led the way into the cabin and hung his hat on a wall hook that had been there before she’d moved in.
“I guess Candace is going through with it…She’s really divorcing Danny.”
“You already knew that. Why? Did the photographer say something? Because you know divorce filings are public record, right?”
“I know. Candace also put out a statement.” Just the same, hearing the prowler yell it at her with such vitriol… well, she felt guilty, like it was her fault. “I’d hoped to talk to her, convince her that this whole thing is ridiculous. I’m really tempted to call Danny. Maybe there’s still time to fix this.”
Sawyer put his hand on her shoulder. “If her own husband can’t convince her of his innocence, how do you expect to? I don’t know anything about the state of their marriage, but let’s put it this way: I believed you and we’ve only known each other a few weeks. What does that say about the Clays? As far as talking to them: Like I said yesterday, nothing good can come of it.”
Gina let out a frustrated sigh. “I want my life back, Sawyer. I want the Clays to have their lives back. And him”—she nudged her head outside to where the intruder had been driven off by Jace—“he won’t be the last member of the paparazzi to show up at Dry Creek Ranch. Mark my words. They’re like roaches. There’s never just one.”
He rubbed his chin and sat at the kitchen peninsula. It was really too narrow for stools but Gina had stuck two she’d picked up on Amazon there anyway. She flicked the switch on her fancy new coffee grinder.
When the noise from the grinder stopped, Sawyer said, “You need to call my mom today. Fill her in on your morning visitor.”
She’d already planned to, though it left a sour feeling in her stomach. Wendy would undoubtedly find Gina new accommodations. For everyone involved, including Gina, it was the right thing to do. But leaving Dry Creek Ranch…she had friends here.
And there was Sawyer, also a friend. But something more complicated than that.
“I texted her as soon as I found the bloodsucker in my yard. But you’re right, I should tell her everything that happened.”
“You can call her while we go to pick up my Range Rover,” he said.
“Okay.” She scooped the ground coffee into the machine, filled the reservoir with water, and turned on the switch. “You want breakfast?”
She didn’t wait for him to answer, just grabbed the basket of fresh eggs from the fridge that Aubrey had brought over the other day and started making an omelet. There was a bell pepper in what passed for her pantry and she began dicing it. The familiar task, along with the sound of the knife clicking on the wooden board, instantly helped to calm her nerves.
Sawyer watched as a companionable silence fell over them. It was as if sitting in her kitchen, the simple domesticity of it, was the most natural thing in the world between them.
“Maybe you should stay at my place for the next few days,” Sawyer blurted.
She suspected he was as surprised by his offer as she was. On the heels of sleeping together, a woman less realistic than Gina might misconstrue the invitation. But she knew it for what it was. He was offering safety from the paparazzi, nothing more.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, though the offer was tempting on many levels, least of all escaping the press.
“If you change your mind, you’re welcome to stay.”
Gina noted that he hadn’t insisted and wondered if he was relieved that she had declined his invitation.
She found the omelet pan in one of the cupboards and popped a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. Throughout breakfast, both of them steered clear of mentioning their night together. What was there to say about it, anyway, besides the fact that it was probably the best sex Gina had ever had? Which really wasn’t saying much. She’d never been that into it. Now that she’d had a taste of Sawyer, she was probably ruined for all time.
