He nodded stiffly, but he didn’t say a word to stop her as she rushed from the restaurant.
The sky was filled with cumulonimbus clouds, or thunderstorm clouds. They were tall, wide and heavy, shaped into clumps; if they floated down and settled over the land, they could pass for snowcapped mountains. The tops were smooth and flat with points at each side, like an alien spaceship had landed, and the bases were dark and ragged as precipitation was produced. Rain was possible tonight. Actually, rain was highly probable. Hail and tornadoes were possible.
Since she’d ridden in Brett’s sedan, she had to walk the four-block stretch to the inn. Not usually a problem for her. In brand-new cowgirl boots? A huge freaking problem. Blisters had already formed on her pinkie toe and heel.
The chilly breeze caused goose bumps to sprout over every inch of exposed skin. She should have worn a jacket, but she hadn’t wanted to cover up her new outfit. She looked good, dang it.
As she marched forward, her head high, she felt as if shackles of an unchangeable past were falling off her. Her dad’s rejection. Jazz’s infidelity. Neither was her fault. Neither was her shame.
Next, shackles of unreasonable ideals and expectations concerning her appearance fell. Before she’d known the perceived ideal of beauty, she’d been happy with her appearance. Why had she cared what anyone else thought? Happiness wasn’t found in other people, especially people she didn’t know or even like; happiness was found inside herself.
Finally, shackles of worthlessness fell. Her worth wasn’t based on someone else’s actions. How a person treated her did not speak of her value but of theirs.
I’m Dorothea Freaking Mathis. There’s not another one out there. I’m one of a kind.
A raindrop splattered her forehead, the opening act. Thunder boomed, and the clouds released their bounty. A deluge poured over her, quickly soaking her hair and clothes. Laughing, she twirled. I’m free!
Then her teeth began chattering, ice seeming to sheen her skin and absorb into her bones. She rushed the rest of the way to the inn.
A car she didn’t recognize was parked up front. Princess’s family? Dorothea’s newfound exhilaration received a quick kick in the nuts. As she entered, the bell tinkled, but no one noticed her, giving her time to scan the lobby.
A husband and wife in their early thirties stood off to the side, talking to a stone-faced Daniel. Two little kids, probably under the age of ten, sat on the floor, playing with an excited Princess. Oh, yes. The family.
“—morning when I made my coffee,” the mom was saying, “I’d tell the kids Splenda makes everything better. So when we decided we were ready to take on the responsibility of a pet, they begged us to name her Splenda, because she made everything better.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “Thank you for keeping her safe for us.”
“Why isn’t she wearing a collar? Or chipped?” There was no emotion in Daniel’s voice. He looked cold and hard, nothing like the flirtatious charmer she’d come to know.
“Anytime we go out, we make sure she’s wearing a collar. Someone could have taken it off her to use her as...” The dad coughed into his hand, probably to hide his tears. “Afterward, she could have escaped. Or, if no one found her, whatever attacked her could have gone for her throat.”
“We’ll get her chipped, Mr. Porter,” the mom said. “I promise you.”
Daniel faced the children and finally spotted Dorothea. Their gazes locked. For a moment, his mask fell away, and it was like a bandage had been ripped from a festering wound. Raw agony obliterated his calm facade.
She experienced a visceral reaction and covered her mouth with her hand, afraid of what she might say if she didn’t.
The couple noticed her, too, and introductions were made; their names never registered. She moved to Daniel’s side and twined her fingers with his. He held on to her as if she were the only life raft on board a sinking ship.
“The storm is going to worsen and last for several hours,” she said, and offered the family a room, free of charge.
For the safety of their kids and Princess—Splenda?—they agreed and thanked her profusely.
As soon as they were settled in their room, Dorothea locked the front door and flipped the sign in the window to Closed. She led Daniel up the stairs to her private chambers.
Outside, the storm continued to rage. The barrage of raindrops hit the tin roof, creating a melody she usually found soothing and even magical. She pushed Daniel onto the edge of the bed, and he sat without protest.
“I’m going to make you a cup of golden milk.” Something her mom used to make her whenever she’d come home from school crying because someone had called her an ugly name.
No response.
No matter. She bustled around the kitchen, gathering turmeric and ginger powder, cinnamon, nutmeg and cardamom. After measuring the proper amounts, she mixed the spices into a pan of hot coconut milk and honey, then added half a teaspoon of virgin coconut oil to enrich the flavor.
“How was your date?” he asked. Once again, there was no hint of emotion in his voice.
“Brett and I...we decided we’re better off as friends.”
Some of the tension drained from him. “You mean you decided.”
She frowned. How did he know?
“Did he make you pay for your food?” he asked.
Again she wondered how he could know. “He did. Why?”
“I read people. He’s a penny-pincher. I’m not. If you were mine, I’d pay for everything. It would be my honor. My privilege.”
A dangerous bolt of heat shot through her, a mimic of the lightning strikes outside. “If I was yours, you couldn’t pay for anything without letting the entire town know we’re dating, and that you would never do.” She handed him a mug and, with a gentle nudge, said, “Drink.”
He obeyed, his eyes widening with surprise. “This is good.”
“Even better, it’s good for you.”
“Don’t tell me it mends broken hearts.”
“Why? Does yours need mending?” she asked softly, figuring he would either shut her down, as Brett had done, or switch to a safer topic.
Instead, he told her, “Yes. Yes it does.” His shoulders rolled in, making him appear dejected, but even that couldn’t detract from his appeal. Not with those sharp cheekbones, long black lashes and a nose that might have been broken once or twice.
“I’m sorry, Daniel.”
His big hands gripped the cup. They were a workingman’s hands, big and rough, but they looked just as comfortable holding a delicate piece of porcelain as they would look holding a jackhammer. Or a woman’s breasts...
She sucked in a breath. When would her mind accept the fact that Daniel wasn’t the man for her?
“I know how to deal with loss. My mom. Friends. Soldiers. Hell, my innocence.” He pressed his lips together, and she thought he’d stop there. Then he shuddered and added, “Why is the loss of a dog killing me?”
Can't Hardly Breathe (The Original Heartbreakers #4)
Gena Showalter's books
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