She smiled. The kind of smile that wrapped around him like a soft, familiar blanket—one he still wanted to bury himself in.
“Thanks. I’m going to need it. I’m sure there will be more-qualified applicants, ones that have some experience doing this sort of thing,” she said.
But none that look like every man’s fantasy.
“You need anything before I go?” she continued. “I thought I’d pick up a pizza for dinner on the way back. You still like pepperoni and sausage?”
She’d remembered. Five years, and she still remembered what he liked on his pizza. Five years apart, when they could have been together.
“Yeah. Guess I’m kind of stuck in my ways.”
She’d been good to him these last weeks, even if she wasn’t good for him. Having her close but not closer would be difficult, but he didn’t want to think about her leaving, not yet. Yesterday, long-denied feelings had come roaring back, reminding him that the fire he’d been playing with had turned into an inferno.
And he didn’t know what to do about it. Or if he should do anything about it.
The hurt she’d inflicted ran deep. It would be best if he kept things platonic, took the help she offered, and healed. If he said it enough times, maybe he’d listen to his own advice. Because when she was near, looking as good as she was, being as sweet as she could be, his hearing went bad.
“Sure you’ll be okay by yourself?” Her brow crinkled in worry.
“I’ll be fine. Tom’s coming by to check on my progress. Billy will likely stop by after school. Only thing I need is a healed foot.”
“It will heal, but it will take time.”
He’d been exercising a lot of patience by keeping his distance from her, but his patience seemed about spent.
Turning, she gave a quick glance around as if checking to make sure everything was in its place. After that first day, he’d done his best to keep the room in order. It was bad enough she was doing the laundry, and her cooking was improving. He didn’t want her cleaning up after his mess.
“Okay, then,” she said as if satisfied there was nothing more to do. “I’ll be going. Thought I’d leave a little early in case I hit traffic near the city.”
“You remember the rundown on the different interviewers?” From the list she’d downloaded and showed him, they’d been mostly stock contractors and former rodeo riders who were now part of the rodeo committee overseeing the big event. There had only been one woman stock contractor, still a rarity in the rodeo business, among them.
“Yup. I wrote it all out yesterday so I wouldn’t forget.”
She certainly didn’t look or sound like the scared young woman who’d once allowed her father to intimidate her. She stood before him every inch her own person.
He had to admit she’d been helpful, despite a few incidences. And the pain in his heart was all it would cost him.
“Believe in yourself, Libby, and everyone else will too.”
She tilted her head to the side. “It’s taken me some time, but I’m getting there.” A wave of her hand and she headed out, the clip of her heels beating out a tune on the wood floor. He couldn’t wait for pizza.
Chapter 12
Libby should have felt good as she turned down the long gravel drive to Chance’s house, a pizza box sitting on the seat beside her. She’d interviewed with five people, and she thought she’d done okay with all of them. Three of the contractors Chance had prepped her for had been among the interviewers, and those meetings had gone particularly well. She’d given them her ideas for highlighting the horses and bulls by name along with the cowboys who would be featured at the rodeo. And she had suggested including a tidbit about each of the star stock to make the event a little bit more about the competition with the animal than just between the wranglers. They might even be able to highlight the individual matchups once the draws were set and hype them on the website.
She’d been asked back next week for another round of interviews, one which would include the chairman of the stock show. She was one of two final candidates.
But that good vibe she’d been feeling since Denver had evaporated in the parking lot of Franco’s Pizza when she’d read the text message Chance had sent several minutes before: Come home now. Don’t call. Just get here.
She’d sped the whole rest of the way.
As she drew closer, the tires crunching gravel, her heart skidded to a stop along with her car. An automobile sat in the driveway—without its driver.
Her insides bunched up like a tangled chain. Libby threw her Ford Fusion into park, turned off the engine, and opened the car door all in a split second.