She hadn’t seen Tennessee laugh that much before.So she decided she liked those people, whoever they were.
Then she’d gone and waited in her truck with a hot chocolate she’d made at Rosie’s house and carried with her in a thermos, because Rosie always had made the best hot chocolate in the family.
When she’d seen Cat Lisle Carey come out of the pizza place arm in arm with Helena Patrick—interesting, she’d thought—she’d eased herself out of her truck, grabbed her heavy, wool blanket from the backseat, and had gone to settle herself on Tennessee’s front porch.With her cleaning supplies in tow, of course.Since she was here for very virtuous reasons.
It felt like a kind of late-winter Christmas carol to sit there with the quiet of the night all around her.It was cold, but the wind wasn’t particularly high, and she liked that.She almost felt that if she listened hard enough, she couldhearthe way the stars shined down.Bundled up, she felt as if she could have stayed outside forever, though she knew better than to try.
And then she’d gotten the distinct and extreme pleasure of watching Tennessee walk toward her in the dark.
He was surefooted, which was no surprise.He walked on the ice and the snow as if he didn’t notice it, his lean, muscled body hidden away behind his winter coat, and the hat he wore tugged down on his brow.Not a cozy knit hat, like hers.But one of those wool cowboy hats that men around here wore in the winter.
She could feel her body react to that.To him.She was surprised she didn’t steam up the front porch.Sometimes she thought that there had to be something wrong with her, that she could feel as intensely as she did about this man when he didn’t seem to notice.
But that was the thing about last night.She’d spent all day thinking about very little else.She’d gone over every moment.
Hedidnotice.She was sure of it.
He just didn’twantto notice, was the thing.If she had to guess.
But if Matilda had spent any time at all over the course of her life concerning herself with what people wanted, well.She would have been someone else.And she had no desire whatsoever to be someone else, because she greatly enjoyed being herself.
Particularly right now, she thought, with quite a bit of satisfaction, because his house smelled like him.She took a deep breath and then she padded over toward the fireplace in her socks, carrying her bucket with her.And without a glance in his direction, she set about spraying the floor in front of the fireplace, and everywhere else that wasn’t covered by one of his throw rugs.Each of them dark and richly colored.
She got down on her hands and knees, and methodically, efficiently, scrubbed it all up.Wherever she’d sprayed.
Then, aware of Tennessee in her peripheral vision but not committing herself to look at him directly, she stood up and looked around the room instead.“Where are all those towels?I’d be happy to run some laundry for you.I’ll bring the other towels back up the hill when I deliver the puppies to their new homes.”
“You’re not running my laundry.”
She did turn and look at him then, and as always, looking at him full on took her breath away.He had shaved at some point, so there was no impediment—she could look at that remarkable jaw of his all she liked.He looked grumpier than usual, or maybe sleepier.
And he was looking at her the same way he had last night.As if she was completely off her rocker.The good news was, she was used to that look.She got it all the time.
“You did me a huge favor,” she argued.“I want to do one for you in return.”
“The favor you can do me, Matilda, is to leave my house and not return.Ever.”
She’d been getting some mileage out of ignoring the things he said and doing as she liked, and so she had a split second of indecision then.She wondered whether she should continue along that line.As it was effective, and to her mind, entertaining.
But instead, this time, she let herself blink.She let her eyes go a little bit wide.Not exactly forlorn, but not solemn, either.
“That was very mean,” she said quietly.
And then she just looked at him.
She watched him… seem to be absolutely unable to take that on board.
Tennessee was still over by his front door.He had taken off his coat, yet was regrettably not dressed in a T-shirt and gray sweatpants, both of which she imagined would haunt her for years to come.Tonight he wore jeans and a flannel, which was a typical uniform around Cowboy Point.
Even his socks looked deliciously masculine to her.Thick gray wool and no visible holes, of course.
He pressed his palms against his eyes for a moment, and he looked something like tired when he dropped them.And Matilda knew exactly why he was tired, didn’t she?That was her fault.She really should have felt guilty.
“I’m sorry,” he said.“I’m not trying to be mean.I am trying to figure out how I’ve seen more of you in the past twenty-four hours than in the previous… I don’t know, decade?”
“Good luck?”she suggested.
“It seems to me you have an agenda,” he replied.
