Chapter Thirty

Saturday morning JohnScott sped toward Lubbock, intending to purchase supplies for Fawn’s place, but all the while questioning if he had any right to court her. He glanced in his rearview mirror. Other than another pickup half a mile back, he had the road to himself.

He attached his cell phone to his car stereo and fumbled with it until Josh Turner’s deep bass filtered through the speakers, and he wondered if Fawn liked country music. He had never asked her. Probably she liked pop, or rap, or something crazy like classical. He scratched his ear. Probably he couldn’t stand whatever music she listened to.

He made a mental list of the supplies he would need to fashion a removable cover for the crawl space. Plywood, two-by-fours, nails, maybe some paint. But the whole house needed to be painted, and he hadn’t signed on for that. So maybe no paint.

He frowned, wondering for the hundredth time if there might be more snakes. Clyde had told him the best way to rid a property of snakes was to eliminate the food source—in this case, mice—and he had done what he could. He’d also removed piles of debris that created nifty hiding spots, and he had cut back tall grass in the corners of the yard. A pile of rocks still remained out back, and of course, the woodpile. If a snake came within a twenty-mile radius, it would gravitate to that rotted wood.

He pulled into the Home Depot parking lot, grateful the store wasn’t busy so early in the morning. He could fetch the supplies and get out to Fawn’s house before the sun rose too high. He entered the store, thinking how she would have iced coffee waiting when he took a break. He’d rather have sweet tea, but he would never tell her that.

After loading lumber onto a flat cart, he pushed the cumbersome load toward the aisle where the nails were found. As he rounded the corner, he almost ran into another customer, and he swerved to avoid hitting him. “Sorry about that.”

“Well, hey there, Coach.”

JohnScott looked up, instantly on guard. “Tyler.” He yanked the cart to the side of the aisle. “What brings you all the way to Lubbock on a Saturday morning?”

Tyler’s gaze traveled slowly across the wood. “Looks like you got yourself some lumber.”

“Sure enough.” JohnScott ran his palm along the rough board. “Now all I need is nails. How ’bout you?” He opted to ask his original question once more before abandoning it.

“Picking up some gear for the ranch. Always needing something.”

“I see.” But JohnScott didn’t see. If Tyler needed supplies for the ranch, he’d have a cart, or at least a basket, or an inventory list to place an order. “Same with our place. Always needing something.”

Tyler’s lips curled away from his teeth, and JohnScott wondered how he got them so unnaturally white. “Now, Coach, your family has what? A couple hundred acres? It’s hardly the same.” His grin lessened. “Is it?”

JohnScott began to comprehend Tyler’s intent, but they weren’t going to debate whose ranch was bigger. He might as well be back in second grade, arguing about Transformers or bicycles or lunch boxes. “No, our ranches are quite different.” He gripped the handles of the cart, signaling his exit. “I’d better get going.”

“I’ll mosey along with you while you find your nails.” Tyler walked next to his cart.

The kid wasn’t drunk this time, but he was up to something.

Tyler motioned to the nail display. “You need a box? Or just a handful?” He reached into a drawer and withdrew two four-inches nails. “What kind of project are you working on?”

Apparently Tyler knew JohnScott had been working on Fawn’s house, so he decided to get it out in the open. “Today I’m covering a crawl space on Fawn’s rent house. She had a rattler under there a couple weeks back.”

“She told me about that snake. Set her off pretty fierce.”

The fact Tyler didn’t mention the second snake proved Fawn hadn’t talked to him. “Yep.”

Tyler shoved the nails back in the drawer. “You seem awful bold, tending another man’s woman. Asking her to church with you.”

JohnScott tensed, surprised Tyler had already heard she went to church with him. It had only been three days. He decided to ignore the comment and focused on something else that bothered him. “She’s not your woman.”

“You’ve seen her lately. I think I’ve left my mark on her, or have you not noticed …”—his boots gritted against the cement floor as he repositioned himself—“her body?”

Fire shot through JohnScott’s rib cage, and he had the urge to hit Tyler. To pound his face over and over until that stupid grin fractured. Until his teeth were no longer unnaturally white, until his mouth stopped talking.

But more than anything, he wanted to get out from under Tyler’s scrutiny, because JohnScott felt his face flush at the mention of Fawn’s body. He was appalled not only by the degree to which he had noticed her but that Tyler had guessed it as well.

He lowered his head. “I’m just helping her get the place fit to live in.”

“I can take care of her on my own, Coach. I don’t mind if you repair the stinking crawl-space cover. It’ll save me the trouble of hiring it out, but after that, stay away from her.” He grinned like a demon. “She’s my property.”

For weeks JohnScott had been questioning his own intentions, his propriety, his Christianity, but Tyler had pushed him too far. “Actually, no.”

“What?”

“You haven’t been taking care of her. I have. But I’m not doing it because I want something from her. I’m doing it because it’s the decent thing to do. So no, she’s not your property. And I don’t think she needs you at all.”

Tyler clenched his fists and took a step toward him.

“Surely you’re not going to fight me in the middle of the Home Depot.” JohnScott laughed even though he wanted nothing more than to hit him. “Tyler, I’ve got no beef if Fawn wants to be with you. I’m not standing in her way, but if you need to fight someone, fight yourself. Fight for her. Show her you want to be what she needs.”

Tyler smirked. “I thought you said she doesn’t need me.”

“She needs a lot, but it doesn’t necessarily have to come from you.”

“So you’re saying you and your dinky job can provide for her as well as my family’s millions.”

JohnScott shook his head. “You don’t get it. She doesn’t need millions. She may think she does, but she doesn’t. She needs a man.”

The fury on Tyler’s face didn’t dampen JohnScott’s determination. On the contrary, it convinced him he hadn’t been wrong to discourage Fawn’s relationship with the guy. And Tyler’s threats didn’t lessen JohnScott’s growing feelings for her, as Tyler undoubtedly intended. Instead, the instinct to protect her clamped onto his heart like a vise, driving him to defend her with the intensity of an offensive lineman protecting the quarterback.

He pushed the cart toward the registers, half expecting Tyler to tackle him from behind, but when he got to the end of the aisle, he glanced over his shoulder, and Tyler had gone.

He took a deep breath, then paid for his items and pushed the cart out the door in time to see Tyler’s truck speeding out of the parking lot.

JohnScott frowned. Tyler hadn’t purchased anything. As far as JohnScott could tell, he hadn’t even looked around. Tyler’s truck stopped at a red light at the corner, and JohnScott remembered the vehicle behind him on the way to town. It could have been Tyler’s—the color was right—but surely not. That didn’t make sense.

He loaded the lumber in the truck and pushed the cart back into the store with a sinking feeling he had made things worse for Fawn. He supposed he would have to explain it to her, but that would be the easy part. Figuring out what to do with the protective instinct exploding in his brain? That would be something entirely different.