Hank did not squeal his tires as he drove away from Grace’s apartment, and he didn’t flip the bird at an SUV that cut him off as he pulled onto the main drag. Nope. He was a model freaking citizen, obeying every speed limit and stopping extra-long at every stop sign. He didn’t even run the yellow light on Route 287 as he turned left toward home.
Just past the Dumas city limits, he pulled into an empty gravel lot and got out. Then he very calmly hiked his leg back and slammed his bootheel into the side of the pickup with a satisfying crunch. That was the nice thing about driving a junker. What was one more dent when you direly needed to kick something? He considered doing it again, but his foot might go right through the rusty side panel, so he slapped his palms onto the side of the box instead, hard enough to sting.
You stupid son of a bitch.
He’d had one chance—one, goddammit—to show Grace that he wasn’t still rolling through life like a barrel of rocks, crashing and smashing and never looking or thinking ahead. Not three hours ago he’d told himself this would happen if he rushed her. Then the minute he got his hands on her, he’d gone brain dead and done exactly that. And just like he’d figured, she’d found a reason—and a damn good one—to doubt his intentions.
He ripped off a few of Gil’s favorite curses as he dropped his elbows onto the edge of the pickup box and buried his face in his hands. The deed was done. Exceptionally, mind-blowingly well done, but still. How was he gonna convince her this wasn’t one more of his legendary wild hairs? Sure, he could say he’d thought of her every damn day for the last three years. Claim he’d known then that she was the best thing that could ever happen to him.
And she would believe him…why?
Maybe the Grace he’d known in high school would have fallen for that load of crap. Not that it was crap, but how would she know? He hadn’t given her any reason to think otherwise. And this was no infatuated girl. He was dealing with a grown woman whose best friends and role models all belonged to the take-no-shit club.
He pushed himself upright and stared out over a dark prairie dotted with the lights of a few scattered houses and ranch buildings. What he needed was advice…and he knew a guy who’d managed, against all odds, to woo the most difficult woman of the bunch.
The trick would be making him talk.
* * *
Cole showed up at ten thirty on Saturday, minus Shawnee. “They’re roping this morning,” he said. “Then she’s gonna catch a ride out here with Grace.”
From anyone else, it might have been a leading comment. Why is Grace coming to dinner? Cole was just stating the facts.
Hank waited until Cole had finished reinforcing the heavy iron hinges for the loading chute gate—Try to sag now, you two-ton piece of shit—and they had hoisted the monster back into place. Then he said, “If I swear on a stack of Bibles never to do it again, can I ask you a question?”
“Is this about Grace?”
“Yeah.”
Cole grunted. “You really have wised up.”
“I’m trying, but how do I prove it to her?”
Cole propped an elbow on the gate, frowning. “Why are you asking me?”
“When I left Texas, Shawnee was swearing she would never get married, but here you are.” Hank draped the coiled extension cord over a post to be put away later, not taking any chances on letting Cole escape. “How did you change her mind?”
Cole’s eyes narrowed. “You want to marry Grace?”
The question was like a cattle prod to the base of Hank’s spine, snapping him straight. Marriage? Hell, he was still trying to figure out how to get her to go steady. But they weren’t kids anymore. If he was gonna start something with Grace, he owed it to both of them to know where he wanted it to end, so he took the time to poke around inside his heart and see what he found.
He’d always liked her. A lot. Respected her, even if he’d done a lousy job of showing it. He sorted through a jumble of feelings, identifying each one. Admiration. Pride. Guilt. Protectiveness, from day one. And let’s not forget good old lust. Possessiveness, for sure. His little red-haired girl. When he laid them out, stepped back, and took in the whole picture, there was absolutely no doubt what he was looking at.
Love.
Whoa. But after an initial jitter, his heart settled into a strong, steady rhythm, as if it had finally found its groove, and he marveled at the absolute sense of rightness.
He loved Grace. Probably always had. That would explain why no other relationship had ever stuck. No matter how pretty, how smart, how cowgirl perfect for him, there had always been something that didn’t quite add up, because none of them had been Grace.
He gave himself another minute to enjoy how freaking good it felt to admit that, and wallow in the warm flush of emotion. Lord knew Cole wasn’t in a hurry to get on with their chat.
Finally Hank said, “Yes. I do. But she’s determined to shove me out the door.”
“Then you keep ringing the doorbell.” The stern lines of Cole’s face softened as he remembered. “That’s pretty much all I did. Just kept showing up and letting her know I was gonna be there no matter what. Between her cancer risk, her jackass dad, and not being able to have babies, Shawnee had a lot of whats.”
Damn. Hank hadn’t known that she couldn’t have kids. “That must’ve been tough. You wanted a family.”
“I have one,” Cole said gruffly. “And there are other ways to be a parent. There’s only one Shawnee.”
Geezus. And he’d been worried he wouldn’t be able to get Cole to open up. Hank choked down a massive lump that threatened to cut off his air supply.
“Are we done?” Cole asked.
Hank wasn’t sure if he was talking about the heart-to-heart or the corral repairs, but he nodded yes to both. “I think I can handle the rest.”
Cole nodded back, then to Hank’s shock added, “I like Grace. And you’re not so bad, either. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
He hefted the welder with one big hand and carried it over to his pickup like it was a lunch box. Hank grinned as hope, bright and hot, bloomed in his chest.
If Cole was an example of the kind of miracles love could work, anything was possible.