I didn’t miss that she’d yet to tell me her name. Her reluctance, given the way I was instinctively responding to her, might’ve been a good thing.
I cleared my throat, oddly anxious. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone made me nervous. Maybe the female sheriff two towns away who’d booked me for suspected grand theft auto six years ago. She was real pretty. Strong. But she’d also carried a firearm.
Despite all the warning bells, the good, excited kind of nerves had me wracking my brain for a way to ask eyelashes and dimples for her name again without coming across as eager.
“Would you like a tour?” I drawled. “I make an excellent tour guide,” I continued, purposefully layering on the charm. Man, I was rusty.
She glanced at me, her eyebrows raised in question.
“Of the mountain?” I clarified, keeping my tone easy, gesturing to the road in front of us. “I could drive you around, show you where everything is so you don’t get lost anymore.” Then I added with a wink. “Though I wouldn’t mind rescuing you again.”
“What? Now?” She was inspecting me like I was unhinged, apparently immune to the charisma I was throwing her way. Or maybe it was going over her head.
“Sure.” I shrugged. “The loop isn’t too big.”
“Um . . .” She squirmed. “See, I would. But right now I have to pee like a hooker with a UTI. So if we could go directly to the lake house, that would be ideal,” she explained, her tone conversational.
I firmed my mouth, schooling my expression so I wouldn’t smile again. I didn’t think she was trying to be funny. She just said funny things. Funny and charming. Likely, they wouldn’t be so charming if she weren’t so goddamn gorgeous.
“If there’s no food at Weller’s place, I have a cooler behind your seat with a sandwich.” I slowed and turned on my blinker. We’d arrived at the gravel road circling the lake.
“No. No, thank you. I can’t take your lunch.”
“I already had lunch, that sandwich is for emergencies.”
She turned in her seat, giving me her full attention. “See, now I should carry an emergency sandwich. Good job. What a great idea.”
I cocked an eyebrow at her tone and set my jaw, my defensive hackles rising unexpectedly. Her voice gave me the impression she was surprised I was capable of good ideas. It was the kind of tone city people used down here when they ordered a large coffee and called it a “Venti Americano.” I milled this over, plus her earlier words about backwoods Appalachia, and came to the conclusion she thought I was a hick.
Now, I admit, we have our fair share of hicks in Green Valley, Tennessee. We have hicks, hillbillies, rednecks, bumpkins, and the occasional reclusive yokel. But I was none of these things. Usually people making assumptions didn’t bother me. I wasn’t one to get needlessly twisted over the little things.
But coming from Miss Dimples, the unflattering assumption bothered me plenty. I didn’t much like being dismissed or patronized.
“Yes, ma’am. Real genius idea. And I thought of it all by myself,” I deadpanned, lowering my eyelids so I could squint at her. “And I dressed myself this morning, too.” I paired my last statement with a smirk so she’d think I wasn’t irritated, though I was irritated.
She hesitated for a moment, studying me, clearly not sure whether or not I was serious. I saw the wheels turn and her wince when she put two and two together. She heaved a great sigh and buried her face in her hands. “I promise I’m not usually this awful. I’m just tired and hungry and have to pee.”
I chuckled, rubbing my chin as I pulled into Hank Weller’s drive. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it, since you won’t even tell me your name.”
Real smooth. Guilt her into it. Nice. I shook my head at myself. I’d never had such trouble with a woman before, especially not when I was trying. Even nowadays they were offering their number before I’d offered my name.
“It’s Sarah.” She spoke from behind her fingers, so her words were a little garbled.
“Sarah? Nice to meet you, Sarah.” I cut the engine.
“No, it’s—” She lifted her head, her attention snagging on the building in front of us. “Where are we? Why did you stop?”
“We’re here.”
“We’re where?”
“At Hank’s place, at the lake.” I tilted my chin toward the cabin. Well, it used to be a cabin. Hank’s parents made some serious improvements over the years. Now it more closely resembled what my brother Cletus called “a McMansion.”