“It’s fine.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “I’m not sore at you. I mean, last night was an eye-opener, that’s for sure. But I understand wanting to be someone different, not wanting to be judged based on your past. I understand your perspective, it makes sense.”
His empathy showed me he understood. He grinned wider, making my stomach do one of its trademarked Ranger-Jethro-induced somersaults. “I like you, too.”
But . . . I held my breath, waiting for the word. Just when I thought maybe he wouldn’t say it, he did.
“But you have a lot going on, and I don’t want to add to any of the demands on your time.”
“I see,” I breathed out, feeling hollow, rejected, and keeping my eyes studiously on the lid of my mug.
Somewhere, someone was doing voodoo on my heart. It hurt so much I could barely draw a full breath.
I didn’t realize until that moment just how much I liked Ranger Jethro. But now it was too late. He’d decided I wasn’t worth the headache, and he was letting me down gently.
“So maybe we could be friends? Or acquaintances, whichever you prefer.” His tone was so light, so undemanding and magnanimous. It made me want to slap his face. I wanted to ask him how and why he cared so little, when his previous actions led me to believe he’d cared so much.
“Friends or acquaintances,” I echoed, trying both the words on and hating them.
“I don’t mind driving you, seeing as how we’re going to the same place every morning. But I understand if you’d like to drive yourself, or have one of your security guys do it.”
Now he didn’t want to drive me? But . . . that was our thing. That was how we’d met and connected.
I felt lost.
Crap.
I was going to cry again.
But not in front of him.
I turned my face to the window, rested my elbow against the door and tucked my hand under my chin. “Sure. Yeah. That makes sense. I’ll have Dave take me. No worries.”
He was silent for a full minute, then said, “I guess it’s settled.”
I nodded, though I didn’t look away from the window.
And those were the last words spoken between us.
CHAPTER 12
“Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.”
― L.M. Montgomery, The Story Girl
~Jethro~
News of my date with Sienna spread through the valley faster than a dumb idea at an Iron Wraiths MC meeting. I couldn’t go anywhere without folks eager for the scoop, questioning me. Even Reverend Seymour stopped me outside Sunday service.
“What’s she like?” he asked in a hushed tone. “Is she tall? She looks so tall in her movies.”
“She seems real nice,” his wife added, coming out of nowhere and startling me. The woman was stealthy. “I talked to Diane Sylvester and she said Kip said she signed everybody’s napkins. Did you get a signed napkin?”
Reverend Seymour gave me a kindly but prodding smile.
“She is nice,” I agreed, not adding that Kip Sylvester and the rest of the people at the restaurant had not been nice. They’d acted like a herd of assholes.
“So . . .?” The Reverend nudged me.
“Sir?” I kept my tone polite, though I couldn’t help but clench my teeth.
“You think I should invite her over?” Mrs. Seymour asked, her eyes impossibly large and hopeful. “With your momma gone, there’s no one to invite her over. I could ask Jennifer Sylvester to make a banana cake.”
Oh no. Not the banana cake.
Lord save us from Jennifer Sylvester’s magical banana cake. It was award winning and inescapable. Everyone bought one for special occasions from the Sylvester’s bakery, and always raved like it was the cure for cancer, impotency, and boring conversation.
Meanwhile, I hated the taste of bananas.
I shook my head stiffly. “No call for that.”
Mrs. Seymour looked frustrated. “Aren’t you going to see her again? Deveron Stokes said—”
“Now when were you talking to Deveron Stokes?” Reverend Seymour interrupted, frowning at his wife.
“Excuse me.” I used the Reverend’s rebuke as means to escape, ducking away and hurrying to catch up with my brothers across the grass parking lot.
Keeping my head down, I ignored the two or three calls for my attention and jogged to where Beau’s car sat idling. Typically, most of us went to church together early on Sundays, taking a few cars, then back to the house for breakfast. Ash and Drew had already left, so had Duane and Jess. Billy, however, was at the mill, working. He was usually working on days I had off.
“Took you long enough,” Beau pestered as I slipped into the passenger seat.
“What’d he want?” Roscoe asked from behind me.