style="font-size:15px;"> Her head tilted slightly, just enough to send her hair falling over her shoulder in a just-so motion that made him want to reach out and run the tips of his fingers through the strands. “Well, that’s a surprise.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s exactly what I’m doing sitting here. Feeling sorry for myself.”
“Whiskey’s not the answer.”
“You mean there’s an answer?” Those pretty hazel eyes widened, her voice deadpan. “One that doesn’t begin with ‘you just have to take it day by day’ or ‘God has His plans, even if we can’t understand them’?”
Hoyt knew those answers. Had lived them himself and dealt with the endless comments designed to be helpful and supportive. First when his mother had died of cancer, and later, when his father’s bad business practices had come to light.
Instead of offering comfort, they’d been intrusive and taxing and designed to make the person saying them feel better, not the recipient.
He knew he had a reputation for being a cold, sullen jerk and he could hardly lay all that at his old man’s feet. But he had definitely honed those personality traits after his father’s actions had come to light.
Why talk to people when they really didn’t want the truth? Each person’s own version of events was far more interesting. And why make any effort to quell the gossip when the ones engaging in it were perfectly happy to keep whispering behind your back?
“No, I don’t think there is an answer,” he said. “And I know for a fact God’s plans and how you take your days are not answers to that question.”
“On that we are agreed.” She lifted her whiskey shot and clinked it against his glass where it sat waiting on the bar. Liquid sloshed to the edges but she was obviously still steady enough not to spill. “Let’s toast on it.”
He lifted his shot glass, tapping it gently to hers. “To a lack of answers.”
“Cheers.”
Hoyt took his shot and braced himself for a second round of coughing—and the opportunity to settle his hands once more on the slender arch of her shoulders—but she held her whiskey. Her eyes did narrow into a determined squint, but she held on.
And why did he think that was sexy as hell?
She was a mystery to him. A woman who he’d known most of his life, had always found pretty enough and interesting enough, yet he’d never ventured even one single step in the direction of those waters. He wasn’t the serious type in his relationships and he sure as hell didn’t want forever.
Hoyt’s own father had done a piss-poor job of convincing everyone he wanted forever and instead had done his level best to ruin whatever legacy his time on earth might have produced. Hoyt and his brothers and sister had lived with that truth, each learning to deal with it in their own way.
For Tate it was laughter. For Ace it was taking ownership of everything and everyone. And for Arden it was playing little mother and earth mother, all in one fell swoop.
He was the one who ran away. First with his emotions and later to his time in the service. When he’d come back, he’d settled on a single truth that had served him well: as a denizen of one of the smallest towns in the entire state of Texas, he knew better than to go peeing in the good, upstanding citizen pool of 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.
