An image of another time, another “this” they’d done in Chance’s old beat-up Ford pickup, burst into her thoughts, crackling through her mind with vivid intensity. So vivid she could almost feel his body pressing on hers, his gentle touch, his—
“This way.”
He strode off ahead of her, his long, lean cowboy silhouette a dark object against the gray night sky. She followed, breathing deeply to slow down her runaway pulse.
The black Ford F-150 he stopped at was a beauty—sleek, polished, and expensive. Clearly top of the line. It spoke volumes when compared to his old dented red one. Volumes about how far he had come. He yanked open the passenger door and stood, gesturing for her to enter.
“I won’t bite,” he said.
Heat rushed up her back as she thought about the veracity of that statement given some of their more passionate moments, but a glance at his tensed jaw and rigid expression pushed those thoughts, gratefully, from her mind.
She slid onto the butterscotch leather seats. He closed her door and circled to the other side, slipping behind the wheel into the driver’s spot. New-car smell permeated the air. The interior of the extended cab was as well appointed as her father’s top-of-the-line Lincoln. Wood-grain dashboard, built-in GPS screen, more dials and buttons than a private jet. She took a shallow breath and waited for him to speak, because she didn’t know how to begin. How to say what she had to say. How to ask what she had to ask. How to fix what seemed more and more unfixable with every passing minute.
Chance was staring straight ahead as if the side of the building doused in soft yellow light from the overhead parking lamp was more interesting than anything she might have to say.
“What are you doing here, Libby?” he said with a growl akin to a panther and producing a similar chill.
“I live in Cheyenne, in case you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget. That’s why I haven’t been here the last few years. But I honestly thought you were still at school back East.”
“I finished up my MBA and came home this May. For good.” She shifted so she could see his face, get a better bead on his emotions, but his stoic expression revealed nothing.
He snorted and slid back in the seat. “So you’re living with dear old Dad.”
It was painful to admit, but she should be beyond caring what he thought.
“I’m working for Brennan Motors.” Her father had begged her to step in and help with one of his three car dealerships. She’d resisted as long as she could, but with the job market the way it was, she’d had no choice. She was starting on Monday.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“I don’t know. Why doesn’t it?” she said, irritated, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She needed to just ask him. Get it over with.
“Hell, Libby, you ever make a decision on your own?”
She was about to make the biggest decision of her life. And she couldn’t refute that her father was a big part of it. But just because her father approved this time didn’t mean it wasn’t her decision.
Chance continued to look straight ahead as if looking at her might turn him into stone or something. Not that he wasn’t as cold and hard as one already.
He hadn’t been like that back then. He’d been tough, a bit rough around the edges, but surprisingly tender and supportive. With him she’d felt they could take on the world. When she’d found out all he’d been through, she’d ached to make it better. Thought she could. Thought their love could conquer anything. Then reality hit.
“My father is part of my life.” A part Chance never could accept. “But I didn’t come to talk about him.”
“What the hell did you want to talk about? How you walked out on me, on us? ’Cause that’s something I sure would like to hear about.” He stole a quick glance in her direction and then returned to staring at the wall.
Libby hoped she wasn’t shaking as hard on the outside as she was on the inside. Sitting next to him, she could see the tensed muscles of his outstretched arm, tan and sculpted, as his large fingers grasped the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. His stubbled jaw was set, and she caught the subtle movement of grinding teeth. Her sidelong glance traveled down to his muscular thighs, used to hugging a bucking horse with enough strength to last eight tension-filled seconds. She’d been so familiar with his body once…she’d felt his weight and strength in her dreams, vibrant and real. Now, it was a stranger’s body. Hard, muscular, solid, and foreign.
She gritted her teeth and girded for the truth. He deserved an answer. If only she had one he’d accept.
“I was young, Chance,” she said.
“You were of legal age. Old enough to make your own decision. But I guess this was just some stunt, on your part, to get to your father. I was just the poker you used to provoke him.”