The Cowboy's Christmas Gift. DONNA ALWARD
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Название: The Cowboy's Christmas Gift
Автор: DONNA ALWARD
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472071545
isbn:
“Oh. My. God.” Kailey repeated and leaned forward. “He’s waiting for you, isn’t he?”
“Shh. Not so loud!” Carrie hissed urgently. “I don’t need it broadcast through the bar, you know!”
“Shut up! You’re going to do it? You’re going to go home with him?” Her eyes lit up. “You go, girl! It’s about time!”
“I don’t know,” Carrie said miserably. “I mean, he wasn’t exactly the epitome of friendliness the other day. And then we started talking and dancing and...” She met Kailey’s gaze. “There’s definitely something. But he’s my boss. It would probably be a huge mistake.”
“Sweetie, you could stand to make a mistake now and again.”
“I know. I’m dull.”
“You’re careful, and I get why.” Kailey put a hand on Carrie’s arm. “Look, I think he’s a stand-up guy and so does Quinn. Go. If you change your mind, it’s no big deal. One of us should find out if he’s a good kisser, and he didn’t look twice at me. If he’s dynamite, I can be jealous later.”
“What if he...we...”
Kailey’s blue eyes met Carrie’s, serious now. “Then you take precautions.” Kailey picked up her purse, rooted around for a moment, and then she slipped her hand across the table and tucked something into Carrie’s palm. Carrie knew from the rough edge of the square packet that it was a condom.
For the first time, Carrie wished she was as sexually confident as her friend. She didn’t know how to do this.
“How long is he waiting?” Kailey asked.
Carrie checked her watch. “Another few minutes.” She looked at Kailey. “You’ll be okay?”
“Of course. Don’t worry about me. I’ll probably give Quinn a lift home anyway. Go.”
Before she could change her mind, Carrie got to her feet and chugged back the last of her liquid courage. Then she grabbed her purse, took a big breath and smiled at Kailey. “Wish me luck,” she said, and she saw Kailey’s lips form the words good luck but didn’t hear her over the new song that started up.
Anxiety and excitement threaded through her veins as she wound her way through the bar to the door and stepped outside into the cold air. Maybe he’d gone already...
But there he was, leaning against the fender of his pickup truck, his arms crossed over his chest and his cowboy hat shadowing his eyes.
Then he saw her and he smiled, uncrossing his arms and pushing away from the truck. Carrie’s feet took her one step forward, then another, and another...until she was at the truck and he was holding the door open for her.
She’d actually come.
Duke hadn’t expected her to. Carrie struck him as the buttoned-down type that maybe got out now and again with her girlfriends to cut loose but wasn’t out on the prowl. She was too sweet. Too reserved. Her friend Kailey was more on the vivacious side and good for a laugh. But it wasn’t Kailey he’d danced with. It wasn’t Kailey who’d captured his attention.
It was Carrie, and her sun-streaked hair, big eyes and sad smile. His response to her had been instant and exciting, and before he could think better of it he’d made his proposition. Once outside, though, the cold air had brought him to his senses. He was ten kinds of fool. She wasn’t some girl hanging around a bar on base, looking for a good time. She was Carrie Coulter. Freckle Face. His employee, for God’s sake. What a dumb idea.
He looked over at her as he turned on the heater and put the truck in Reverse. The way her jaw was tensed, she was as nervous as he was. He’d waited for her because he’d said he would, but he hadn’t truly thought she’d take him up on his offer. He’d never actually made that sort of proposition before, and he’d figured he’d blown it. Watching her come out the doors and into the parking lot had set his heart racing. His confidence had taken quite a beating lately, but maybe he had more going for him than he realized.
Either that or Carrie Coulter was desperate.
He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. More desperate than he was? Not likely. What a pair they made. Secretly, he was glad to be out of the bar. The noise had been overwhelming and instead of relaxing, he’d found himself tensing up. Just trying to hear the conversations going on around him took all his focus. Now he was sitting here, away from the crowd, and neither of them was saying anything.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, turning her head to look at him, chafing her hands together.
“Nothing,” he answered, but judging by the look on her face, she didn’t believe him. “I really didn’t think you’d come.”
“I had second thoughts. And third and fourth.”
Intrigued, he checked the road and then glanced back at her again. “But you came anyway.”
“Let’s not analyze it to death,” she suggested, and he chuckled again. Dammit, he enjoyed her. He liked how she shot straight from the hip without trying to impress, liked the way she smiled and really liked the way she smelled when she was snuggled close in his arms—like shampoo and fresh air and some sort of light perfume, all of it magnified by the heat of her body against his.
It was one thing to proposition a woman on the dance floor and another to wait and then spend fifteen minutes in a vehicle, prolonging things to close to half an hour. It gave a person way too much time to think, and so it was that as Duke turned down the side road leading to Carrie’s house, he felt compelled to let her off the hook.
“We don’t have to do this, you know.”
Her head snapped to the left and he felt her gaze burn into the side of his head. “You don’t want to?”
Damn. “It’s not that. It’s just...I don’t want you to feel pressured if you’ve changed your mind.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. Why the heck was he so nervous all of a sudden? Nervous wasn’t generally part of his vocabulary. He normally made a decision and got on with it, no second thoughts, no reservations.
Until two months ago. Until the IED had changed everything. He’d gone from being 100 percent sure of himself to questioning every single decision. He didn’t even know why he felt like such a failure. The explosion hadn’t been his fault. He’d merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She didn’t say anything, so he let out a breath and said, “You’ll have to tell me which mailbox is yours.”
A few hundred yards more and Carrie pointed with her finger. “The next one,” she said quietly, and he slowed, his headlights sweeping a swath of light across her front lawn as he pulled into her driveway. Her truck sat beneath the protection of a carport next to the bungalow, a model only slightly newer than his with rust spots around the license plate.
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