Brianna giggled. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Lucky you. He could have been driving. Here, come this way.” Ellie gestured to the back of the station where some folding screens were set up for privacy.
Brock started to follow them, but David stopped him. “Sorry, man. HIPAA.”
Brock paused, then calmed down. “I’ll wait here,” he told Brianna.
She smiled back. “You’d better.” She winked and by God, she made a bright red blush spread up Brock’s neck.
Ellie checked her abdomen out. An ugly red splotch covered a good part of it. “Damn, girl, he got you good.” She grabbed a packet of topical ointment off a metal rack against the back wall and tore it open.
“It was an accident.”
Ellie looked up at her through her lashes as she smeared cold ointment over the burn. “That’s not what your boyfriend says.”
“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Can I have him then?” Ellie grinned and Brianna felt the most surprising stab of possessiveness.
“Just kidding,” Ellie added. “No need to jump.”
“I didn’t jump.”Did I jump?
Ellie grabbed a roll of gauze. “The burn’s not bad enough for a covering, but it is in a bad spot that might get irritated otherwise.” She taped a big square of gauze over Brianna’s belly. Then she reached for more packets and gave them to Brianna. “That has some topical anesthetic in it, should take care of you if it starts hurting again.”
“Thanks, Ellie. Next cup of caramel macchiato extra whip is on me.”
Ellie grinned as she stood up. “My fave. I’d better take you up on that quick. With any luck, you won’t be a barista much longer, right?”
Brianna smiled back as she pulled her dress back into place. “God-willing and the St. Vrain don’t rise. Thank you.”
Brock stood up as soon as they came back to the front. He was alone. “How are you?”
“Like I said, just fine. Where’s Jake?”
“Back with Rachael.” They walked out of the station, but instead of turning right toward the pavilion, he turned them left toward the main stage. More cottonwoods lined this side of the venue and the shade was welcome on the already hot day.
“Where are we going?” Not that she minded—Brianna was in no hurry to face Jerold or Rachael or anyone else who’d witnessed her being called white trash.
But it was true. It would always be true. Her parents and her brother made sure of that. Even if she was mostly raised by her uncle and aunt and worked in their coffee shop and had nothing to do with dealing or the dispensary that came after. Brianna Taylor would always be considered white trash.
It was only a matter of time before Brock found out her story and thought of her that way too. Would he regret standing up for her? God, no one had ever done that for her, not like that.
So in the meantime, she would take all the time with Brock she could get. Just as long as it didn’t interfere with her fiddle playing.
Eyes on the prize, Bri.As much as you want to maul him right now, he’s temporary. Music is your future, your ticket out of here and you know it.
Brock stopped them under one of the trees. “You still have about ten minutes before you need to be back there and I wanted to check in with you.” He looked her up and down and that red flush crept back up his neck. Watching it heated up Brianna’s insides as well.
“I’m all right, I promise,” she said quietly as she set her fiddle case down on the grass. “At least physically. Inside? I’m mortified.” What did Rachael really think of her? Was she just being nice?God, what a mess. Brianna fought hard not to cover her face.
Brock smiled softly. “You have nothing, and I meannothingto be ashamed of, Brianna. That guy is intimidated by you and he’s taking it out on you like a goddamned child. Anyone can see that.”
“He called me—”
“I don’t give a damn what he called you, Brianna. He’s an idiot.” Brock’s eyes practically glowed in the shade of the tree. “I know what you are, and it isn’t trash.” He grinned. “You are the world-renowned fiddler Brianna Taylor.”
Before she could respond, Brock wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips against hers.
