She didn’t make any crying noises. The teardrops simply slid from underneath the palms slapped over her eyes, some landing in little dark dots on the grimy gray shirt she wore underneath her jacket.
She took a deep, shuddery breath, slowly let it out, and even more slowly removed her hands from her eyes, wiping most of the tears as she went.
Underneath the fringe of hair, her red-rimmed eyes held his gaze. “I’m exhausted and hungry. Your act of gallantry took me off guard.”
“Gallantry?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
She didn’t waver. “You’ve always had it in you.”
Only for her. Just another one of the inexplicable ways she affected him. No one else, not even his own damn sister, had ever tugged at his conscience like Delia.
“What else do you need?” he repeated, hoping to hurry this along, assuage whatever damn conscious he had, and get the hell away from her. Then he could pretend this little corner of Shaw land didn’t exist until she was done hiding from whatever she was running away from.
“I imagine that’ll do.”
“Do” was not exactly comforting, but she was not his responsibility, no matter how many times he’d felt she was.
“The bathroom works. The water pressure sucks, but we got it going for… Well, anyway, it works and you’re the only one using it right now. So.” So. That was it. He’d gotten her some food, told her the pertinents, and now it was time to go, oh, anywhere but here.
Anywhere but here or to the living room, where a bottle of Jack stood completely unguarded except for a snoring, paralyzed father.
“Are you waiting for a thank-you?”
Caleb inhaled sharply. He wasn’t waiting at all. So why was he standing stupidly so many feet away from the door?
Delia ran a finger over the edge of her bangs, touching her tongue to the corner of her mouth and cocking a hip in one fluid, sensual movement.
It was purposeful, and he knew that. It did not change the fact every nerve ending jumped to life, a buzzing static that whispered beautiful woman to all the parts of him interested in such a thing.
“I’m sure I could muster one up, but I think I’ll grab a bite to eat first.” She sauntered toward the box, her eyes never leaving his, the practiced, self-satisfied smile that curved her pretty mouth full of promise and teasing.
She plucked a granola bar out of the box and unwrapped it. Slowly. Watching him through her hair as she brought it to her mouth and placed her lips around the tip.
It was all designed to make him think of sex. He saw it for what it was, for what she was trying to do—control the situation by any means necessary—but his mind was really no match for his dick. At least when it came to reaction. When it came to action, well, his brain was smart enough to keep his hands at his sides.
It helped that her hand shook a little as she took the bite. That everything about her, except that mouth, was too sharp. She needed food, and everything else crackling in the air was secondary to the fact that she was literally starving.
Clearly she was running from something, and, sweet Christ, Delia had a legion of things to run from. Things he couldn’t allow to touch the ranch right now. So, shelter, food, that was it. The end of what he owed her.
I saved your life.
You ruined it.
He wondered if she remembered that exchange, if she still felt that way, because the fury of the aftermath was seared on his brain the way all bad memories branded to it. It’s in you. You ruined it. All the times he had let people down because even his best wasn’t enough.
“Stay out of sight. The last thing I need is someone thinking I’ve got you shacked up out here.” He supposed if any of the Rogers sisters were shrinking violets, the town of Blue Valley might have rallied around them. It was not exactly a secret that Graham Rogers beat his wife and daughters, no secret they’d been poor or hungry.
The way he heard it, before he’d been quite old enough to understand, the town had tried to get Delia’s mom out, to give the Rogers help, and every door had been shut to them until all anyone could do was pretend the Rogers girls could take care of themselves.
“I keep forgetting. Caleb Shaw. Gone straight.”
Didn’t he wish? As it was, he was having lunch with Mel to “discuss the state of the ranch.” Translation: discuss his continued failure. But that was none of Delia’s business.
“Gone straight. Yes, I have. Don’t forget it. I won’t be sucked into whatever this is. You have what you need to keep you alive. Now, find a way to get back on your own two feet. And the hell away from here.”
She had the gall to laugh. All raspy and…sexy, damn it.
“Sweetheart, please don’t ever be under the impression that I’m here as anything other than a last resort. But, as you’re the one who started this whole mess, it seems very poetic.”
Ah, so she did remember the exchange.
“You have a week.”