diner. “I’ll get a salad.”
“I’m pretty sure their salad dressing has as many calories as a burger.”
“Okay, then I’ll get a burger. I’ve been hauling lumber all morning. I can cheat a little.” Because he knew it would irritate her, he curled his arm up, flexing his bicep. “Muscles still in fine shape.”
She rolled her eyes so far up in her head it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck there. “Work on your humility muscle.”
He lifted shut the truck-bed door and hooked his arm with hers. “Come on, Cowgirl, I’m hungry.”
“You know, if anything, you should be calling me cow woman. Though I prefer Mel. Or rancher. Ms. Shaw if you’re feeling particularly proper.”
He grinned down at her, not letting her pull her arm away. “ Ms. Shaw ,” he drawled. “That does have an interesting ring to it.”
“It’s my name,” she grumbled, struggling to get out of his grip as they crossed the street.
“Right, but Ms. Shaw…well, it brings to mind a teacher. Hair in a bun. Glasses.”
“Sorry, I don’t have old-guy eyes like you.”
“I’m not old. You need to get over my reading glasses.”
“ You brought up glasses. And you’re seven years older than me. That means, when you were graduating high school, I was still in elementary school.”
He scowled. Having reading glasses did not make him old . And if he was a little touchy about being seen as old, it was only because his whole livelihood was a young man’s game, and even he had to admit he wasn’t young anymore.
But he wasn’t old, and if she was going to try and irritate him, he was going to return the favor. “Well, you’re not in elementary school anymore, Ms. Shaw, are you?”
She glared at him, but in that under-the-eyelashes way that tended to remind him of the morning he’d kissed her. That hard-assed gaze she’d leveled him with before initiating that kiss. Kiss. What a lame word for the ass-kicking it had been.
He might have ended that possibility, but it didn’t mean he didn’t regret it. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t mind repeating—
“He bothering you, Mel?”
Dan scowled at one of the cops who’d been in the diner with them the other day. The one who’d made the asshole comment.
Fucker.
“Nothing I can’t handle, Al.”
Before Dan could get a word in edgewise, he felt a sharp rap to the back of his knee, so he buckled mid-step and stumbled. Mel pulled her arm out of his and sauntered ahead of him, that low, husky laugh enveloping the air.
“See?” she said, patting Al on the back as she stepped inside the diner.
“Watching you, buddy. Mess with her, you mess with me.”
“You’re not my type,” Dan muttered, following Mel in the diner, half expecting the asshole to follow and start a fight.
But he didn’t, and Mel waved him over to a booth while she talked to Georgia at the counter. There were a few customers, mostly older men wearing overalls or coveralls. All covered in dirt and grease, even on the ones who looked too old to do much of anything with either.
Mel slid into the booth, a glass of water in each hand. “Did you order for me, Ms. Shaw?”
“Yup. A spinach salad with a super-healthy balsamic dressing. On the side. No cheese.”
That sounded about as appealing as eating cardboard, especially when Georgia hurried by carrying two greasy-looking hamburgers.
“Stop lusting after the beef, Sharpe. I got you a damn hamburger.”
“Thank God.” He might have cried if he’d actually had to eat a spinach salad. Or sneak-ordered a hamburger and somehow snuck it back to his place in his pocket or something.
Before he could say more, a tall guy stopped in front of their table. “Mel,” he said, sounding surprised.
Her whole body stiffened, and her face went completely blank, like a switch had been flipped. The only sign of any kind of emotional reaction was that she swallowed before she looked up, and put her hands very carefully in her lap. “Tyler.”
Her lips
“I’m pretty sure their salad dressing has as many calories as a burger.”
“Okay, then I’ll get a burger. I’ve been hauling lumber all morning. I can cheat a little.” Because he knew it would irritate her, he curled his arm up, flexing his bicep. “Muscles still in fine shape.”
She rolled her eyes so far up in her head it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck there. “Work on your humility muscle.”
He lifted shut the truck-bed door and hooked his arm with hers. “Come on, Cowgirl, I’m hungry.”
“You know, if anything, you should be calling me cow woman. Though I prefer Mel. Or rancher. Ms. Shaw if you’re feeling particularly proper.”
He grinned down at her, not letting her pull her arm away. “ Ms. Shaw ,” he drawled. “That does have an interesting ring to it.”
“It’s my name,” she grumbled, struggling to get out of his grip as they crossed the street.
“Right, but Ms. Shaw…well, it brings to mind a teacher. Hair in a bun. Glasses.”
“Sorry, I don’t have old-guy eyes like you.”
“I’m not old. You need to get over my reading glasses.”
“ You brought up glasses. And you’re seven years older than me. That means, when you were graduating high school, I was still in elementary school.”
He scowled. Having reading glasses did not make him old . And if he was a little touchy about being seen as old, it was only because his whole livelihood was a young man’s game, and even he had to admit he wasn’t young anymore.
But he wasn’t old, and if she was going to try and irritate him, he was going to return the favor. “Well, you’re not in elementary school anymore, Ms. Shaw, are you?”
She glared at him, but in that under-the-eyelashes way that tended to remind him of the morning he’d kissed her. That hard-assed gaze she’d leveled him with before initiating that kiss. Kiss. What a lame word for the ass-kicking it had been.
He might have ended that possibility, but it didn’t mean he didn’t regret it. It didn’t mean he wouldn’t mind repeating—
“He bothering you, Mel?”
Dan scowled at one of the cops who’d been in the diner with them the other day. The one who’d made the asshole comment.
Fucker.
“Nothing I can’t handle, Al.”
Before Dan could get a word in edgewise, he felt a sharp rap to the back of his knee, so he buckled mid-step and stumbled. Mel pulled her arm out of his and sauntered ahead of him, that low, husky laugh enveloping the air.
“See?” she said, patting Al on the back as she stepped inside the diner.
“Watching you, buddy. Mess with her, you mess with me.”
“You’re not my type,” Dan muttered, following Mel in the diner, half expecting the asshole to follow and start a fight.
But he didn’t, and Mel waved him over to a booth while she talked to Georgia at the counter. There were a few customers, mostly older men wearing overalls or coveralls. All covered in dirt and grease, even on the ones who looked too old to do much of anything with either.
Mel slid into the booth, a glass of water in each hand. “Did you order for me, Ms. Shaw?”
“Yup. A spinach salad with a super-healthy balsamic dressing. On the side. No cheese.”
That sounded about as appealing as eating cardboard, especially when Georgia hurried by carrying two greasy-looking hamburgers.
“Stop lusting after the beef, Sharpe. I got you a damn hamburger.”
“Thank God.” He might have cried if he’d actually had to eat a spinach salad. Or sneak-ordered a hamburger and somehow snuck it back to his place in his pocket or something.
Before he could say more, a tall guy stopped in front of their table. “Mel,” he said, sounding surprised.
Her whole body stiffened, and her face went completely blank, like a switch had been flipped. The only sign of any kind of emotional reaction was that she swallowed before she looked up, and put her hands very carefully in her lap. “Tyler.”
Her lips
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