Maisey Yates - Slow Burn Cowboy

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, then opened them again, forcing herself to look away from his chest.

He was carrying her towel in his other hand, and right then she realized that she had left it sitting down there on the dock. And also, that her dress was wet and clinging to her skin because she hadn’t thought to dry herself off before she had run away.

Her mouth went dry as he continued to advance on her. And the quivering sensation was back.

“Fine,” she said.

His gaze was hot on her, and far too assessing. She didn’t know what he was seeing. How could he be seeing anything? She couldn’t untangle what was happening inside her, so there was no way he could. And yet, she felt something. Thought she might see something a lot like understanding in his eyes.

That wasn’t fair. Not at all. Because there was nothing to understand. Not only that, if there was, she deserved to understand it first. So she could deal with it. Crumple it up in a little ball and throw it away. Or at least stuff it back down deep inside of herself where she didn’t have to acknowledge it.

“Then why did you just run away from the lake like there was a rabid varmint after you?”

“I told you, I got cold,” she said, gripping her elbows with opposite hands. “It’s cold. And you dragged me into the water.”

He took a step toward her, and she didn’t move. She just kind of stayed there, rooted to the spot, watching him take another step toward her. Then another.

“That’s what happened?”

She was mad that he was asking, because she had a feeling that he knew. That he knew this terrible, strange thing that was happening inside of her that she didn’t want to put a name to. That he knew exactly why she had jumped up and run in the opposite direction like her very life depended on it.

Or, at the very least, her life as she knew it.

She didn’t know why she was still standing there. She should turn around and walk back toward the house. They looked like idiots, her standing there with her dress clinging to her damp skin, and him shirtless in wet swimming shorts, just staring at each other.

He tilted his head back, swallowing, a motion that she was somehow hyperconscious of now. This everyday thing that he did as easily as breathing. Breathing. What the hell was wrong with her that she was noticing his breathing?

He took another step forward. He was close enough that if she raised her arm and reached out, even with her elbow bent, she would be able to plant her hand on his chest. Not that she would. That would be inappropriate.

Or maybe it wouldn’t be. Maybe if she really saw him as just a friend it wouldn’t be strange or wrong at all.

She gritted her teeth, rebelling against that thought.

Of course he was a friend.

A friend who was a man. Something she knew, and always had, but was a little bit more aware of right now. That was it.

He lowered his head then, leveling his gaze with hers. He looked at her. Really looked at her. His eyes searching hers, wandering over the planes and angles of her face. She could feel him looking for the answers that she didn’t have.

She balled her hands into fists, keeping them resolutely at her sides.

Tension stretched between them, long and tight. Then, heat rose in his eyes. So blatant and obvious, making such a mockery of all the vague I don’t even know what’s happening assertions that were jumbling around inside of her that she had to turn away.

She walked in front of him, toward the house, taking a deep breath, then letting it out. Doing her best to keep it rhythmic. To keep her pace slow.

So that she didn’t look like she was running.

Even though she was. She absolutely was.

He didn’t say anything, but she could hear the weight of his footsteps behind her, crunching on the gravel. More than that, she could sense his presence, and that just weirded her out even more.

When they came up to the house, she stopped on the bottom step, flinging her arms to the side and turning to face him, grabbing hold of the railing, forming something of a human blockade. “Thanks for coming by,” she said.

He blinked. “Okay.”

“It’s late,” she said. “And I have some work to go over. Things for tomorrow.” She was lying. “Because, you know, the subscription boxes.”

“Right,” he said.

“And I’m going to go to bed early. And probably, I’m going to wash my hair. I have to do some cuticle thing, with my fingernails. And scrub the dry skin off my feet. I have a pumice stone.” She wanted to grab all those words and stuff them back into her mouth. A pumice stone? She had no idea what was wrong with her. Except, if what had just happened down by the tree was actually sexual tension she had probably killed it forever.

She had just mentioned dead foot skin. She had a feeling that was in the handbook for how to turn a man off permanently.

Not that Finn had been turned on. Absolutely not.

“Okay. Well, I guess I will leave you to your...pumice stone.”

“It’s a real thing,” she said, immediately wanting to brain herself.

“I don’t doubt you. Maybe you should put them in your subscription box.”

She took a step back, up onto the next step. “They aren’t a local thing. I mean, this is a pretty volcanic region, so I imagine you could probably... But, they aren’t specific to Copper Ridge. Which is kind of the whole idea.”

“Right,” he said. “I’ll see you later, Lane. Thanks for the swim. I needed it.”

“Sure. Anytime,” she said, taking another step away from him. “Later.”

He turned away from her and walked to the truck, and she wasted no time scampering back into the house and closing the door behind her. She leaned back against it, pressing her hand to her chest, waiting for her heart rate to go back to normal.

She made her way back toward the kitchen, the silence of the house settling around her. It didn’t feel like a refuge right now. It just felt like a big echo chamber of every stupid thing that had gone on in the past hour.

She heaved out a long, vocal breath, going to the fridge to retrieve her berries. Then she stopped and swore. She caught sight of the calendar that was hanging there, and the girl’s night she had written down on it. Unlike their casual catch-up dinner the other night, this was their official monthly let’s-never-let-life-get-too-busy-for-friends night.

They were all supposed to go to The Grind tonight for their Main Street get-together. She, Alison, Cassie and Rebecca all owned businesses on Copper Ridge’s Main Street and as female business owners they had all bonded pretty quickly.

Usually, she didn’t take a day off on girl’s night, but everything was all jumbled up in her head so her decision-making had suffered.

She could skip tonight. She could legitimately stay home with a pumice stone.

But no, that was a bad idea. If she stayed home alone there would be nothing in the house with her except the memories of today’s events, which she would undoubtedly play on an endless loop, combined with that loose thread. Which she would pull out endlessly until she had finished the damage external events had already started.

She didn’t want to sit at home alone. She didn’t want to feel sad. She didn’t want to feel regret. She didn’t want to feel at all.

So, the alternative was going out. And that was exactly what she was going to do.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE WAS EXCEEDINGLY grateful that she had decided to come into town. Spending time with a group of friends was precisely what she needed to lift the dark cloud that had fallen over her lately. She was being overdramatic. About everything.

Spending time listening to other people talk about their lives had given her some much-needed perspective.