“Three,” He grits out, “Sleep in your own bed.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the look he throws my way has my teeth snapping together.
“Four, do not fucking walk in on me in the shower.”
Okay, that’s fair.
“Is that all?”
“Don’t push me, Elena.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “I hear you,cowboy.”
“Fine,” He grunts and picks up the piece of paper I wrote all my sizes down on earlier, “I’m going into town. Don’t touch my shit and stay inside the house for fuck’s sake.”
“Yes, sir,” I nod sharply.
His nostrils flare but then his eyes do a run down me and I swear I feel them, like a physical touch. I don’t care what he says or how he denies it. He finds me attractive, and he hates it.
I don’t blame it. If he were the reason my whole life was up in smoke, I’d hate it too.
Watching him leave through the kitchen window, he walks like the very ground has wronged him, stern and heavy, his shoulders tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He unlocks his black ’87 chevy, the truck old but clearly looked after. Gravel and dust kick up from the back tires as he puts his foot on the pedal and peels down the long drive, disappearing over a crest of a hill, but plumes of dust remain hanging in the air in his wake.
I’ll start on a plan soon; I have an inclination of what to do but there’s moving parts I need to oil and old contacts I need to figure out a way of getting hold of.
A full war is on the horizon, and losing is not an option.
CHAPTER 9
Ipull the truck into a vacant spot outside the only clothing shop in Sierra Valley. It’s family-owned and has been for generations, and while the stock is minimal, it has what people need to get by. If the folk need more, they order it or head into the city a couple of hours away.
A little bell over the door jingles as I push it open, the smell of something floral and airy meeting me inside. It’s quiet, but that’s expected on a Tuesday afternoon. The women’s section isn’t hard to find, but when I get there, I’m lost to it all.
I’ve never shopped for a woman. Ever.
I look down at the sizing on the piece of paper.
Size six in pants, and four in tops but a size eightin skirts and size six if it’s a button up. What the fuck? What’s the difference!?
Size seven shoes, bra size thirty-six D.
I’m staring at these numbers and letters with no clue where to even fucking start. Is it code? The fuck am I looking for?
The sea of clothing before me all looks the damn same.
“Knox?”
I turn to see Tess with a stack of folded clothing in her arms, her swollen stomach acting like a kind of shelf for her to rest them on.
“Oh thank fuck,” I sigh, “Help.”
Her brown eyes widen a touch, but then she places the stack of clothes down and tucks a blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?”
We went to school together; she’s a few years younger than me and inherited this place when her mother retired a few years back. Her husband owns the only automotive garage in a fifty-mile radius around here, so the whole town knows who they are.
“I have–” I pause as I try to come up with some kind of excuse for why a woman is staying with me. If I don’t give one, half the town will think I’m getting married by tomorrow morning. That’s the thing about small towns; everyone knows your business. You could tell your secrets to a wall, andsomeone will still find out.
“My cousin is staying. She had to, uh, leave where she was really quick, so needs some clothes.”
