The Texan’s Bride(39)

She opened the closet and saw a row of color coordinated shirts; white, pale yellow and light blue—all solid colors, no plaids or prints or checks. Next to the shirts were three pairs of Wrangler jeans and two pairs of slacks, black and khaki. At the top were two Stetson boxes and at the bottom two pairs of boots, black and brown. He had this same wardrobe at the house. What did this say about Cadde? That he was organized and knew what he wanted and what he liked. Yeah, that described him. He wasn’t wishy-washy or indecisive.

Her father had told her ever since Cadde was a kid his focus had been the oil business. Through the years that had never changed. And his personal life was much the same. She’d bet that he bought his clothes at the same store, wore one brand of boots and jeans, wore a certain kind of Stetson and had his hair cut at the same place. Cadde Hardin was a creature of habit. He was orderly and had probably never been late for an appointment in his life.

As for her, she’d been lobbying for change since she was seven. And inside a mall she could have a ball. She wondered if Cadde had ever been in a mall. She’d guess not, because the image didn’t fit. His territory was an office or an oil field.

One white shirt was pushed to the end of the rack and she pulled it out. It wasn’t pressed and she wondered why. Then saw the tear on the sleeve. Even though she knew it was too big for her, she slipped it on and rolled up the sleeves, the rip disappearing in the folds. Buttoning it up, she thought it would be perfect to sleep in, soft and comfy.

The entry door opened and she tensed, a reflex action she couldn’t control. “Cadde,” she called.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I brought supper.”

She hurried into the living room and Cadde just stared at her, a bag in one hand.

The silence stretched. She became self-conscious and rushed into speech. “I hope you don’t mind I borrowed your shirt.” She tugged at the hem that came almost to her knees. “Rosa didn’t expect me to spend another night and she didn’t pack anything to sleep in.”

“No, it’s fine.” He walked into the kitchen and placed the bag on the table.

What was wrong? He wasn’t this stiff or unfriendly this morning. Maybe he was just tired.

“How are you?” he asked, his eyes on her.

“Fine. No infection, but I have to see the doctor again next week.”

“And Mirry?”

“Oh, Cadde.” She sat in one of the wood chairs, feeling more self-conscious than ever. “She looks bad. Gavin had to do a lot of repair work and Mirry’s in terrible pain. I could hardly stand it. I want to take her home, but that’s probably not going to happen for a while.”

“She’ll get better. Give her some time.” His voice relaxed and so did Cadde.

Jessie felt the tension in the room tiptoe away. “What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken fried steaks, baked potatoes and salads. I got us the same thing so you don’t have to eat off my plate.” He pulled take-out containers from the bag.

She tilted her head. “That’s no guarantee.”

He lifted an eyebrow but the only sound that came out of his mouth was, “Mmm.”

She stood and made ice water for them to drink. Opening the lid on her salad, she asked, “You sent Barbara out for food again.”

“No, I went.”

“How did you go?” She took her seat and poured ranch dressing over her salad.

“In my truck.”

She looked up. Had he seen the smudge? Was that the reason he was so standoffish when he’d first arrived? “Do you have an extra pair of keys?”

“Yes, but I didn’t use them,” he replied, opening the containers. “I came in here earlier and you were asleep. I got my keys out of your purse.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t even heard him.

Cadde grabbed forks and knives out of a drawer and sat across from her. “Funny thing, there’s a discoloration on my steering wheel. Have no idea what caused it, but it wasn’t there last night.”

“Oh.” Feigning innocence was the best plan, she decided.

“Any thoughts on how it got there?”

“Okay. Okay. I ate a hamburger for lunch and got mustard on the steering wheel. I rubbed it off immediately. It’s only a tiny smudge.”

“You ate in my truck?” he asked in a horrified tone, much as if he’d been asking if she’d killed someone.

She leaned over and whispered, “Is it against the law?”

He tensed and then his face relaxed into a grin. “No.”

“I’ll try to get it out tomorrow. Whatever to make you happy.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He cut into his steak. “I can live with a smudge.”