“Mel, I’m sor—”
“If you apologize, I will punch you.” The last thing she needed was his pity on top of his rejection. Just the thought made her skin crawl and her overheated body cool.
“The normal response to an apology is, ‘that’s okay’ or—”
“There is nothing for you to apologize for. We had a momentary lapse in sanity. It’s over.” And because she was tough and strong, she’d swallow her pride and keep going. “But I am sorry for how I barged in here this morning. Taking my foul mood out on you was not fair or conducive.”
“Conducive.”
“Yes. Conducive.”
“Did I…break you? Because apologies and talk of being conducive is really strange coming from you.”
“No. I’m unbreakable.” Or at the very least, she hid her breaks until they went away. “Now, are you ready to go buy a truck or what?”
He was silent, that green gaze steady on her face, dark eyebrows drawn together as if she were some equation he was trying to figure out. She didn’t budge, didn’t blink—much like the llama, she merely accepted his scrutiny. Until his features smoothed out and he nodded.
“Sure. Let’s go buy a truck.”
The llama method worked. She’d have to employ it more often.
*
Dan was not in the habit of not knowing what the hell to do. At first, it had seemed like a novelty. Hey, something to learn, something to challenge him. Make him forget all the shit he’d left behind. A new escape.
But not knowing what the hell to do about everything sucked. His career, ranching, Mel—not one thing made sense.
He was lost. And he was being carted around by this woman—who didn’t make any sense to him. Not because she was irrational, or hard to read, but because he didn’t know how anyone could possibly be as mentally tough as she was.
She had not been happy that he’d put the kibosh on angry sex. Hell, he hadn’t been happy about it, but instead of getting upset, instead of giving him a piece of her mind, she’d shut it down. Hadn’t let him apologize.
She’d apologized.
Gone on as if that kiss was simply a stumble on an otherwise narrow and forward-moving path. But only she knew where the path was going. and he didn’t have a clue.
He glanced at her profile: jaw set, eyes squinting at the road, hands tight around the steering wheel. How could she be wound so tight all the time and not ever break? Mel considered herself unbreakable, and maybe she was. Maybe she was made from sterner stuff than he’d ever known. Like those damn mountains, beautiful and distant.
“What’s your full name?”
Her “what the hell is your deal” looks were almost comical at this point. The way her head jerked back, as if she was allergic to his questions.
But maybe if he could know her better, he could understand how she did it. Handled all this. Maybe he could emulate it. Maybe he could find a way not to cave or run away when the hard stuff came.
“What do you mean my full name?” she demanded as the landscape transitioned from wild and stark to a city. It still wasn’t a city like he was used to. But Chicago and Minnesota boasted no mountains.
“What’s Mel short for? Melanie? Melissa? Mel…Melicent? Melhard-ass?”
She rolled her eyes, and he noticed that her hands on the wheel loosened. He grinned.
He might not have it all figured out, but his general ridiculousness relaxed her…when it didn’t piss her off.
“It’s just Mel.”
“Mel isn’t short for anything?”
“No.” She stared hard at the red light. Always staring so hard at everything. Concentrating. Working. She made him tired. “I was named after my great-great-great-grandpa who started the ranch. I’m the oldest. I was going to be Mel Shaw regardless of the outcome.”
“Not even Mellie?”
Any humor at the question was gone. Her tone was flat. “Sorry to disappoint. There is no secret feminine side of me.”
“Now, on that, I beg to differ.”
“I’ve castrated cows, Sharpe—think about that before you differ too much.”
“You’ve castrated cows, you probably pack a mean punch, but you sighed when I kissed you, sweetheart.”
“I kissed you, meathead. About took you out in the process too.”
“Can’t argue that.” He waited a beat until she snuck a glance at him, then grinned. “But you still sighed.”
“It’s best if we don’t talk about it.”
“Is it?” he mused. He kind of liked how her cheeks got a little pink.
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
She leveled him with a sharp look, or as much of one as she could muster before returning her gaze to the road. “Are you rescinding your moratorium on angry sex?”
“Rescinding my what?”
She huffed. “You know what I mean.”
“Fine, and no.”
“Then kiss talk is off-limits.” She pulled the E-brake a little soon and the truck jerked to a stop. “Look at that. Here we are.”