Branded As Trouble(7)

“Look, I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t think, which is typical behavior for you, Miz Impulsive, so I’m not surprised.”

“Colt—”

“Just go. I’m tired.” Colt shut his eyes and rolled to his side, giving her his back.

“But…”

“Just go,” he repeated. “Shut the door on your way out. Oh, and have a freakin’ awesome time on your date.”

He heard her shallow breathing as she debated on berating him or leaving him.

Guess which one she chose?

The door snicked softly as she let herself out.

Colt felt neither vindicated nor relieved.



Damn him. Her first real date in forever and Colt McKay had sucked all the fun out of it before she’d even left the house.

India threw the hairbrush in the sink. She snatched the gel from the cabinet and squirted the orange goo in her palms, rubbing it vigorously into her hair. Bah. It didn’t help. She still looked like a porcupine who’d lost a fight with a weed whacker. Plus, she needed to recolor the tips. The fuchsia was fading into a hideous bubblegum pink.

What the hell did it matter what her hair looked like? It wasn’t like they were going to be in public.

She froze. Was that why Blake wanted to cook for her at his place? Because the colorful tats and piercings were what most folks noticed and he was embarrassed by it?

Not Colt.

Why had everything circled back around to him?

Because you hurt him. And not just from shooting him in the butt with the nail gun.

That stupid voice in her head was mistaken. She had not hurt Colt McKay’s feelings by agreeing to a date with Blake. She and Colt were friends. That was it.

Right?

Wrong. Colt’s been more to you than just a friend, no matter how you slice it. And he deserves better than you running off for a date—a date you didn’t want in the first place—with his cousin.

Blast it. Why had India said yes to Blake West? Sure, he was cute, golden curls, a brawny build and a bright white smile. He reminded her of the shaggy-haired surfers she’d grown up with in California. Blake was a cheerful guy, happy to help out his cousins Chet and Remy West whenever they were shorthanded in their construction business. Blake was sweet. He didn’t have a horndog reputation. He was low-key, just the type of guy India wanted.

With one teensy-tiny little problem: when Blake West wasn’t tending his sheep, he tended bar.

India avoided bars and nightclubs even eight years into her sobriety, so hooking up with bartender Blake wasn’t a smart move. Plus, she had a sneaking suspicion as laid-back as Blake appeared, he wouldn’t go for a casual relationship. He was the kind of guy who’d want exclusivity and promises, promises she couldn’t give him or any man.

Could you give those promises to Colt?

Yes.

No.

Dammit! She was not listening to the voices arguing in her head. Colt was her friend. And she was not going to cancel her date because of one ornery cowboy who was being a pain in her butt. He was a guest in her house. Her house, her rules, she could do whatever the hell she wanted.

She picked up her cell phone and dialed Blake’s number. “Hey, Blake. No, Alfredo sauce sounds great. Look. I just wondered…if you wanted to come over here after dinner? Why? Well…” India laughed. “You busted me. That’d be great. I’ve even got a fresh batch of apple dumplings from the diner.” She hoped she still had time to pop downstairs and raid the pie case before Domini sold out. “I might be a little late, just wanted to warn you. Good. I’m looking forward to it too. Bye.”

India grabbed her purse and raced down to the diner to pick up dumplings. She might as well grab dinner for Colt.

Four dumplings, one quart of chicken and wild rice soup, a grilled tomato and cheese sandwich later, India booked it back to her apartment.

She burst into the guest bedroom, startling Colt out of sleep.

“Christ, India. Do you have to scare the livin’ hell out of me every goddamn time you open the door?”

“Sorry. I just wanted to get the food to you while it was still hot.” She set everything on the dresser and spun around to give him a once-over. “Soup is kinda hard to eat laying down. Let me help you up.”

“I don’t need you—”

“Yes, you do. Just hold on.” Threading her fingers through his, she pulled him to a sitting position. “There. That wasn’t so bad. Let’s get you to the chair. Stand up on three. Ready? One. Two. Three.” India jerked, hoping to take some of the strain. But she jerked too hard and he crashed into her.

“Shit. Too fast. I—”

“Hang on.” Oh, he was a substantial guy. She braced her legs and smashed her face into his chest while maintaining a death grip on his upper back.