Caro Carson - How To Train A Cowboy

Well.

She couldn’t say anything to that. It was amazing she could even stand, because her bones had just turned to mush and she wanted to drop like a ribbon at his feet.

His voice was a gentle rumble in the night. “I’m trying to figure out why you got out of a warm car to stand in the cold air. Twice, not that I’m counting.”

“I was trying to give you some space. You didn’t plan on being stuck with me all night.” Her voice sounded sad. She tried to put a little spunk into it. “In my defense, this wasn’t my idea. I can take a hint. I did take the hint, in fact.”

“What hint was that?”

“In the parking lot. You were starting the whole ‘I’m sorry’ speech. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to get going now. Nice knowin’ you.’ I understand. You were never obliged to stay with me as long as you did. You could have jumped over that fence anytime you wanted to and left.”

His hands stayed in his pockets, but the muscles in his arms were taut, the muscles in his neck showing his tension. He looked away from her. “That wasn’t it.”

She waited, but he said nothing else. After a moment, she took a step closer to him. “Then what were you saying sorry for?”

He looked back at her with a suddenly fierce expression. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you out of there sooner.”

“Oh.” The look of disgust on his face, she realized, was directed toward himself, not toward her.

“I knew that crowd was going to turn bad. I failed to get you out of there. I was too slow to act on my own intuition, and I put you in danger because of it. Your truck is out of commission now, when it would have been fine if I’d gotten you out of there at the start. You would have been gone before the police arrived. I’m sorry.”

“We were only standing at the bar for a minute or two.”

“Long enough. I saw the argument starting when we were working our way through the crowd. I should have gotten you out that door instead of following you to the bar in the first place.”

Poor Tarzan, always obliged to help the people who wandered into the jungle. She felt a little guilty for soaking up all his protection. She’d done nothing except admire his body, his voice and his profile, while he’d been trying to keep her safe from fists and bullets, literally trying to save her life.

She turned to lean her back against the door, too, shoulder to shoulder with him, so he’d know she wasn’t afraid that he was going to physically attack her or anything like that. “It wasn’t your job to predict a fight or even to get me out of the bar. It’s my turn to apologize. I know I’ve given you the wrong impression all night, and I’m sorry for that, but I’m not actually the helpless type of female.”

“I know that.”

“I don’t think you do.” She glanced up to find him looking down at her.

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “The first words I heard you say were ‘go to hell.’”

Her laugh of surprise was a single puff of white that floated away in the night air.

“You damn near made it over that fence before I could get a hand on you to help. This has nothing to do with whether or not I think you’re helpless. You’re clearly not.”

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