Chapter 8
1057 Words
Chapter Eight
The tension in the cab could be cut with a knife. Maddie slid a glance over to Blake. He clenched the steering wheel so hard, his knuckles glowed in the dashboard lights. She could swear he was grinding his teeth.
Would you be slippery and wet for me? Hell yes. Her insides were ten kinds of twitchy, and God did she enjoy kissing him. But that didn’t mean it was the right or smart thing to do. Kissing him was reckless, impulsive, and… absolutely pointless.
The most she could ever hope from kissing Blake Sinclaire was an occasional homecoming hookup, which was totally not her style, or a broken heart. Neither were suitable options, so she’d just have to do her best to ignore the electricity zinging around her body every time she was near him.
Like now.
“Stop thinking, Maddie.” His voice held a hard edge.
“What? I haven’t said anything.”
“You don’t need to. Your thoughts are filling up the cab, loud and clear.”
She blew out a breath, crossing her arms. Like he even knew what she was thinking. “Fine, Mr. I Can Read Your Mind, exactly what am I thinking?”
He snorted. “Fine. If you insist. You’re desperately trying to compartmentalize the fact that we have serious chemistry. It doesn’t fit in any of your nicely ordered life boxes.” He turned underneath the Hansen Stables sign and onto the long half-mile drive.
Damn.
Add mind reading to his laundry list of attributes.
She shook her head. “Nope.” Total whopper, but she’d never let him know how close to the truth he’d gotten.
He barked a laugh.
“For all your talk about poker playing, you’re shitty at disguising your thoughts. I bet you lose to your cousins all the time.”
Damn.
Right again.
“Nuh-uh.”
He sighed heavily, shaking his head, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Lie to yourself if you must, Maddie. But don’t insult my intelligence by lying to me.”
Ouch.
There was so much more to Blake Sinclaire than met the eye. No wonder he was in charge of the ranch. For all her teasing him about a poker face, he instinctively got people. At least he got her.
That rankled.
She’d always prided herself on being aloof and unattached. A coping mechanism born out of losing her mom as a young girl, surviving bullying, and then fighting for a place in a male dominated field at a young age. And, with few exceptions, she could keep people at arms’ length. But not him, apparently.
No.
Blake Sinclaire was worming his way deeper under her skin at every turn. And now that she was home in Prairie, there was nowhere to run.
He pulled the truck in front of her father’s modest cabin. It paled in comparison to the grandeur of the Sinclaires’ Big House. The porch light was off, and the house was ensconced in shadow.
She hopped out and made for the porch.
“Maddie, wait.”
His voice stopped her at the top of the steps.
“Let me go first.”
She rolled her eyes. “This is Prairie. No one’s going to jump me.”
He tugged on the sleeve of her coat. His coat, really. “Let me just make sure everything’s okay.”
Irritation flashed through her. “Would you stop treating me like a little lady?”
“Put your defenses down, woman,” he snapped back harshly. “Do you really want to walk in the house and see everything disturbed from this morning?”
Oh.
Her anger dissipated immediately. Of course. There he went again thinking of her. And instead of registering his thoughtfulness, she’d lashed out. Her nerves were completely trashed and all she wanted was to curl up and sleep for days. But that was no excuse.
She let out a tiny sigh, nodding her understanding. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have–”
He held up his hand silencing her in the darkness. “For f**k’s sake. Will you let me help you?”
The words hung between them.
He ran his fingers through his hair, and turning, braced himself on the porch post. “Look. I get it. I’ve been down this road. I know what it’s like to return to an empty home and the person who should be there, isn’t.”
She nodded mutely.
He was right.
She wasn’t prepared for what was on the other side of the door.
“You’ve decided to stay here. Will you at least let me go in and make sure things are straightened?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice to work.
He crossed the porch, and opened the door. A second later a light blazed on, casting a beam of yellow light through the door. She heard him move down the hall to the kitchen. A moment later he returned.
“All clear. I’ll go get your bag.”
She crossed the porch and paused just inside the entrance, trying to imagine the scene through Blake’s eyes.
The house was shabby from years of neglect. Paint was peeling next to the fireplace. The carpet, dirty and worn. The couch, lumpy. She’d never really thought about those details when she’d come to visit. But in the stark light of a solitary lamp, she could see that it hadn’t been cared for in ages.
It wasn’t a home. It hadn’t been since her mother had died. Over the years, it had become her dad’s place.
The thought hit her with the force of an atom smasher.
This wasn’t her home.
Hadn’t been for years.
Deep sorrow thrust upwards, coming to rest in the form of a deep ache in her throat.
Where was her home?
Where did she belong?
She swallowed hard as Blake’s boots scraped across the porch. She couldn’t let him see her all discombobulated like this. She’d already cried on him once this evening. She needed to pull herself together. Taking a cleansing breath, she turned to him.
“I’m sorry, it’s not much. Blankets are in the closet in the hall. Help yourself to whatever you like.”
He nodded. His eyes were deep pools of compassion. If she allowed herself to look at them too long, they’d pull her in like a tractor beam.
She took another deep breath. “I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”
“Okay. But if you need anything at all…”
“I know.” She bit hard on her lip, clamping down on the sudden burst of emotion that filled her belly. “Blake?”
He stayed just inside the doorway, his body taut, his eyes hooded. Electricity breached the distance between them.
“Thank you.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t step toward her, or raise his hand in acknowledgement. Just nodded, his mouth softening at the edges.
She broke the connection and turned toward her bedroom door before she did something impulsive like launch herself into his arms.
- Writer
