Page 12 of Sweet Madness

“And you,” Ben turns to me. His eyes harden. “Be that charming Shaw Banning I know you’re capable of and show her some good old-fashioned Western hospitality.”

I snort.

Then I stand back and watch them say their goodbyes, and their teary eyes don’t escape me.

Shit.

Rubbing my chest, I turn away. I need a fucking drink. What the hell is wrong with me today?

They break apart with a quick kiss on her forehead before my cousin climbs inside the car. With one last nod my way and a sad look on his face towards his honorary niece, he drives off.

Here we go.

It’s just me and her from now on.

“I don’t do tears,” I grumble as I head toward my truck.

Her silence makes me glance over my shoulder. Her chin lifts defiantly, but her eyes betray her hurt feelings. “I don’t do turds,” she snaps, handing me her small clutch as if I’m her fucking server.

Her smile vanishes, replaced by a look of annoyance that now dominates her expression.

“Noted,” I grunt.

We walk side by side to my truck, where I open the passenger door and gesture for her to climb in, playing the part of a gentleman—a role no one has ever assigned to me before.

Once she’s safely inside, I quickly stow her bags in the back and slam the door, then jog to the driver’s side. Once inside the truck, I turn the ignition and roll down the windows. It’s the end of July, and although it’s hot as fuck outside, I always drive with the windows down, enjoying the smell of the air and fresh grass.

My passenger princess eyes the A/C but doesn’t ask me to turn it on.

As we drive silently, a faint, almost imperceptible hum comes from her. Glancing sideways, I notice her twirling a loose curl, revealing a small tattoo on the inside of her index finger—tiny dots and lines forming a mysterious design. Where have I seen that before?

“Like what you see, Cowboy?” she asks, amused.

Cowboy.

I almost laugh.

Almost.

I refocus on the road ahead. “What gives you the impression that I’m a cowboy?”

I sure as fuck don’t have their famous charm and hospitality.

“Your truck smells like horses and hay,” she sniffs the air. “I’m guessing you live on a ranch.”

“I’m guessing you don’t approve?” I say. She’s an heiress. She’s used to luxurious places and expensive things. This entire situation must feel like a nightmare to her.

“You guessed wrong.”

Keeping my eyes fixed on the road, I mutter, “I doubt this town or the truck meets your standards, princess. Girls like you…”

“Girls like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” I feel her turn in her seat, her annoyed gaze on me. She’s a spitfire. She reminds me of both her parents, Arianna and Sebastian Kenton. I remember how they used to be ballbusters back then, and little Miss Kenton is living up to her last name right now.

“Rich girls with a taste for the good things in life,” I grumble.

Silence follows my comment. For a second, I think she’s ignoring me, but then she whispers, sounding… sad. “How long till we get to wherever it is you’re taking me?”

A pang of guilt claws at me. I hurt her. My comment hurt her. Fuck. It hasn’t even been an hour, and I’ve already fucked this up.