“Depends what it is.”
An almost-smile. “Fair enough.” He leans on the door, forearm resting on the window frame, close enough that I can smell that sandalwood and leather. “Promise me you'll have a good time tonight.”
I blink. Of all the things I expected him to say. “Why?”
“Because you spend a lot of time taking care of everybody else. You deserve a night that's just for you.” His eyes trace down me one more time, slow, like he’s finally allowing himself to take a good look at my body. “Just be careful. There isn't a man in that bar tonight who’ll be able to take his eyes off you.”
My heart skips.
Before I can find a single word in response, he taps the roof and walks back to Journey, swinging up into the saddle in one easy motion. He tugs his Stetson down as he turns back toward where Jonah's still practicing in the amber evening light.
With my heart still racing, I put the car in reverse. Pull out onto the road and roll the windows down to let the warm evening air in.
I’ve spent the better part of my time at Wild Rose convincing myself that Walker Rhodes being a know-it-allasshole was nature's way of balancing the scales. Good-looking, sure. Insufferable enough to cancel it out. Fine.
Him in surly cowboy mode I can handle.
Him in protective softie mode?
That Ican’thandle. Not even a little.
I must have daddy issues after all, because I’m finding that side of him is too damn hot. Not just in a panty-melting way. A heart-melting way too.
He might be grumpy, but he’s got a big, fierce, loyal heart. He worries about the people he loves.
Not that he loves me.
But I think he might truly care about me, in his own way.
As I drive out through the Wild Rose Ranch gate, a Walker Rhodes song comes on the radio.
I let it play.
Chapter 13
Property of Walker Rhodes
WALKER
The house is too quiet.
Jonah’s not here.
Sadie’s not here.
It’s silent. Empty.
When I first came back home to Marble Falls, I welcomed the quiet. The emptiness. My life felt too loud and busy and this was a welcome change of pace.
But the pendulum has swung too far the other way, and the silence now feels suffocating. The emptiness has turned into a weight.
I think about texting Sadie. I want to ask her how her night is going. I want to tell her I miss her.
But that would be fucking pathetic, so I don’t.
Instead, I spend the evening doing what I usually do. Make dinner. Sit in the studio with two fingers of whiskey I haven't touched, staring at the Martin guitar in the corner like it owes me something.
That guitar is a collector’s item, worth a fortune. It was my gift to myself after making my first million. I figured with how much use that guitar would get over my lifetime, the actual cost would work out to pennies per play.
