Special Ops Cowboy. Addison Fox
available women in Midnight Pass.
Reese Grantham was a high school teacher. She was the daughter of—up until recently—a well-respected, career police officer in Midnight Pass. And she was the surviving sibling of a drug addict gone very, very bad. She was a good girl and you simply didn’t mess with women in that category. Especially if you weren’t willing to see it all the way through with a ring, a promise and a lifelong commitment.
So why were those warm, wide-set eyes so compelling? And why did that restlessness that had dogged him all day—hell, all year—seem to have suddenly vanished in her presence?
“One more?” Her lips quirked into a smile as she tapped the bar.
“Not sure that’s a good idea. And I know it won’t be a good idea in the morning.”
“Spoilsport.” She stuck her tongue out but it was through smiling lips, a sure sign she wasn’t as annoyed as her comment suggested.
“You are one ahead of me.”
“Then maybe you need to catch up.” She leaned forward and pointed a finger into his chest. The move should have been invasive—would have been on anyone else and if he’d been in his right mind—but his right mind had gone missing the moment he’d walked into The Border Line and seen Reese Grantham sitting at the bar.
Hoyt closed a hand over her finger, gently closing it so he could press her hand against his heart. “Or what?”
Heat lit up his chest where her hand lay pressed against his T-shirt and he could have sworn sparks were shooting off the place where their hands joined. “That’s a very good question.”
* * *
Reese looked over and tried to avoid goggling at the strong profile and flexed biceps of Hoyt Reynolds. She’d realized pretty quickly that she had a prime view from the passenger seat of his truck and had been shooting him furtive glances on the ride back to her house ever since they’d left The Border Line.
She had no idea how she’d ended up here, but one minute they were sitting in the bar shooting the breeze—and whiskey—and the next he was bundling her up to take her home.
She wasn’t even very buzzed, although she could have sworn she’d seen a sort of glow around Hoyt as he ushered her out of The Border Line. Had her vision gone funny? Or was she simply trying to figure out how a man she’d known her whole life could suddenly look different?
Better, somehow.
And if she were honest, he’d always looked pretty damn fine before.
“Are you sure you can drive?” The words popped out, a nervous filler to the silence that had taken over the truck.
If he’d noticed her watching him, he hadn’t said anything, but did use the question to turn and look at her as they bumped over the two-lane road out of town toward her place. “I had one beer and one shot of whiskey. I’m good.”
“People who drive drunk say that.”
“Yes, they do. But there’s one big difference. I’m not drunk.”
“Oh.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I am not! I only had a beer and a half and two whiskey shots.”
“Which is why you’re going home.”
“Grumpy much?”
She had no idea why she was baiting him. He’d done her a favor—one she’d be fully prepared to acknowledge in the bright light of morning—but right now, all she wanted was...
To rile him up.
Which was ridiculous and childish and not at all like her. Yet, there you had it. There was just something about the way he’d swooped in and taken care of her that chafed. She was a grown woman, and she had a right to a night out to do whatever she wanted. She didn’t need permission. And she didn’t need anyone watching out for her. She was sick and tired of sitting in the home she loved day in and day out, feeling like a prisoner in the one place she’d created to be a haven. So she’d gone out, looking for a nice time and a fun evening and a few hours to forget about her life.
“I’m not grumpy. I’m just not interested in seeing Midnight Pass High School’s favorite English teacher end up in trouble for puking her guts out in the Border Line parking lot. Or worse.”
“My father’s already done worse. So has my brother. It’s a rather high bar.”
Those attractive lips of his—thick and lush—had tightened back to a straight line. “I’m sorry about that. About your father.”
“Why?”
“Some decisions—” Hoyt stopped and, after braking at a stop sign, turned toward her. “Some decisions can’t be changed or reconsidered or amended. But he was once a good man. I know that.”
“He killed someone on your property.”
“So?” He phrased that single syllable more as a question than anything else and Reese momentarily found herself at a loss for words.
Didn’t that bother him? Because it sure as hell bothered her.
Only she didn’t say that. Instead, she focused on his bigger point. The one she’d struggled with for the past two months since her father’s sins had come to light. “Well—”
From her vantage point, she watched as one lone eyebrow lifted as he eyed her from the driver’s seat. “Well what?”
“How can you say that about him? He broke, Hoyt. Broke in two and became a monster. That’s not my definition of a good man. It’s not my mother’s. It’s not even the expectations my father set for my brother and me from the time we were young.”
The anger spilled out, again a product of all those years of trying to be perfect. She’d done as she was told. Had worked hard to be a model daughter. And yet, where had it gotten her?
The object of ridicule and gossip, and, if the quiet suggestion earlier that day while she selected a cantaloupe at the market was any indication, questions from the PTA asking if she was fit to keep her teaching job.
When Hoyt said nothing in response, just accelerated through the intersection, Reese realized she’d overstepped. And goodness, why had she gone there? Here he was being nothing but nice and she’d tossed out those little bons mots like they were candy. Worse, they were the creeping, dissatisfying secrets of her life.
“This your street?” he asked.
At her acknowledgment, he turned down her road and followed her directions to the driveway. In moments, he was parked and was already around the car, opening her door for her like a gentleman.
“You didn’t need to do that,” she said, in a lame attempt to defuse this damned awareness of him.
“According to you, I don’t need to do a lot of things. Sit with you at The Border Line. Drive you home. Give a hand to someone who really needs one.” As if to prove his point, he took her hand and helped her out of the high seat.
It hadn’t seemed quite that high getting in, but the drop down to the ground was farther than she thought and she hit the driveway harder than expected, the backs of her heels thudding on concrete.
“Easy,” Hoyt said, shifting his grip to steady her with his large hands.
Working man hands.
Capable hands.
She settled her palms where each of his hands rested on her hips, the moment changing with all the finesse of a spring storm.
The attraction that had simmered all night, kept at bay with her frustrations and embarrassment over the public nature of her family’s downfall, suddenly had no place to go. Instead, all the pain and anger she’d bottled up for two long months—hell, for nearly a decade—needed a place to bubble up