Page 41 of Then You Happened
I bristle at the truth in what he just said . . . and lie. “I trust you.”
“Nice try, but lip service isn’t going to do shit. You won’t give trust, but you expect it. That there is a problem.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t?”
“No.” I raise my voice and stand on my tiptoes to reinforce my denial and hope that it hides the fact that I’m on the defensive. Really, I want to refute everything he’s saying simply because he’s right.
“Then we’ll do this another way,” he says and takes a step back, his words confusing me. “You’re doing this all wrong.”
I bark out a laugh of disbelief and pretend the condescension in his voice and the rebuke doesn’t sting. “What do you mean I’m doing this all wrong? The ranch? You’re the one doing everything wrong,” I say calmly while my pulse pounds in my ears.
“Define everything.”
“The horses. The schedule. The—the . . . just every
thing.”
“You mean the schedule you refuse to talk to me about? That schedule?” His chuckle grates on my nerves. “Why don’t you tell me specifically what I’m doing wrong with the schedule and then explain to me how you normally handle it so I can correct the error in my ways?”
I want to stomp away and leave him to enjoy his sarcasm all alone, but I end up narrowing my eyes and glaring at him instead.
“You changed the routine.”
He swears under his breath. “How would I know I changed it if you never gave me one to follow in the first place? Let’s see. I’ve tended to the horses, I’ve put in calls to past associates, trying to cash in IOUs to get some of them out here to look at us as a breeding partner, the stables are getting a much-needed facelift, and the farrier was out here today. For not knowing the routine, I’d say I’m doing pretty damn fantastic. Forgive me if I’m not adhering to your routine, but they’re always easier to follow when they aren’t imaginary.”
“You can add knocking that condescending smirk off your lips,” I say and hold my hand out for him to give me the scoop back.
“Should I use my invisible pen to add it to the imaginary schedule?”
“It’s time for you to go and work now and to stop badgering me. I’ll get you the lists and schedules and whatever else you want by tonight,” I say, making the offer purely to get him and his charming smile out of my face because it’s so much easier to ignore my dreams when he isn’t in my line of sight. “Is that acceptable?”
“It’s fantastic.”
“Jesus,” I mutter.
“Just face it, Knox. You’re head over heels in love with me.” He finally smiles, dimple winking and those eyes lighting up as he takes a step toward me, holding the scoop to his chest. “You can’t be near me because you want me, and you can’t talk to me because you get all flustered and tongue-tied.”
“There is nothing about you I find attractive,” I lie.
He places the scoop in my hand but doesn’t let it go when I try to take it. “It’d be much easier and a whole lot less distracting if I could say the same of you.” He lets go of the scoop and dips the tip of his hat in an aw-shucks kind of way. “But I’m not one to lie.”
Our eyes hold across the short distance as his comment floats through the air and fades like the dust specks dancing in the sunlight.
“That won’t work, you know?” I say.
“What won’t?”
“You trying to charm me every time you want something. I know your kind, Jack Sutton, and I’m not impressed by them.”
“Is that so?” He shifts on his feet and adjusts his hat before re-crossing his arms over his chest. “And what kind is that?”
“A man who uses his good looks and smooth words to get his way with people. A man who turns on the charm to disguise it.”
His eyes darken and then narrow. “Just like you’re the woman who keeps living her privileged life . . . fiddling while Rome burns down around her?” he counters, making me want to scream that he knows nothing about me or how I live or what I’ve been through for the last year. A small part of me is shouting about how that was his point, but I tell the voice to shut up. “And if by good looks and smooth words, you’re implying I’m like Fletcher, I suggest you not infer that again.” That muscle in his jaw feathers in contempt.
“I’m not the woman you think I am.”
