Chris looked at the kitchen floor as he leaned against the counter.
“Dad, we’ve been over and over this—”
“I just think you’d have a different outlook if you came home, Gwen, sweetie. I feel terrible for letting you leave like you did. I wish I had never suggested you go back out on the rodeo circuit. If you came home, you’d see you don’t have to do that. We’ve got everything all sewn up.”
“I don’t have a home anymore, Dad. I’m trying to rectify that right now. How else can I get the money I’d need to pay Roger back?”
A different, deeper voice spoke this time. “Darlin’, there’s a way around that. We just need to sit down and talk about it face-to-face.”
Roger Bedford.
Chris’s eyes flashed and Julián felt a corresponding wave of possessiveness to match what was showing in Chris’s eyes. Because they didn’t want her to think they were standing there eavesdropping, Julián began pulling dishes, glassware, and flatware from the kitchen cabinets and drawers for the meal.
“Is someone else there with you?” Roger asked. “You never did tell me who you were staying with.” Julián glanced up and caught Chris’s frown at Roger’s proprietary tone.
“I’m staying with friends at the Cook Ranch.”
Good answer, love. Julián had a feeling that if she shared more information that it would only further complicate matters. As much as he wanted to help her financially in this situation, he was smart enough to realize how much it pissed her off to have people horning in trying to save her, and telling her what to do in the process.
“What friends?”
Gwen skipped a beat before answering, and Julián wondered if it was because she was sipping her margarita or if she was counting to ten so she didn’t bite that guy’s head clean off.
“A fellow competitor I’ve known for several years on the rodeo circuit and a brand-new one I’ve only just met. Don’t worry, they’re very protective. I’m in good hands. Not that I don’t know how to take care of myself.”
A grin crossed Chris’s face as he rubbed the diminishing knot on his forehead.
“All of this is unnecessary, darlin’. You being away from home. Going out on the road.” His cajoling tone rankled Julián.
“It’s my only option, Roger. And stop insisting I ‘come home.’ I can’t until I get my home back. I appreciate the offer to stay with you at your ranch but that’s not my home.” Julián sensed aggravation in her tone. “Daddy, it smells like supper has been brought in from the grill and I’m starving. I’ll talk to you next week?”
Sounding resigned, her father replied, “Okay, honey. We’ll let you know when we can come for a visit—”
Irritation was clear in her tone when she cut him off. “Okay, Dad. Bye, Roger.”
“Bye, darlin’—”
She ended the connection on his last syllable, the internet calling service making its distinctive “end call” sound effect, followed by the sound of the laptop closing. She was done for the evening.
Chris and Julián glanced at each other and Julián put his finger to his lips. It sounded like she needed to be allowed to let off steam. Chris nodded. Julián smiled, thinking that Chris had been quieter in the last three days than he had been all last year.
“Everything okay?” he asked when she moseyed barefoot into the kitchen muttering to herself with her half-empty margarita glass.
Her lip pooched out as she nodded. “Everyone insists on babying me and rescuing me. I am a grown woman and I can take care of myself.”
He couldn’t deny that he wanted to do the very same things but he didn’t dare admit it. Chris wisely said nothing and opened his arms, understanding in his eyes.
He’s learning.
Chris whispered to her, “Sorry, dar—I mean, sorry, Gwen.”
She pulled away from him and frowned. “I don’t mind if you call me darlin’, Chris.”
Chris hesitated but continued. “I heard him call you that.” His lip curled as he said it.
“You picked up on that too? I’ve known him for a couple of years since he bought the place next to the Bucking H but he didn’t start calling me ‘darlin’’ until recently. I like it when you call me that, Chris. Okay?”
“Okay, darlin’. Or I could just call you Elmer Fudd. Bet he never calls you that.”
Gwen smiled up sweetly at him as she slipped her fingertips into his waistband. “No, you’re the only one who calls me that”—she suddenly jerked her hand in an upward motion—“wedgie-boy.”