Page 11 of Forbidden Cowboy
“Thank you.” My knees dig into the ripped leather seat. I grasp handfuls of Earl’s faded plaid shirt and yank him into a sitting position. He slumps against the back of the seat like deadweight. A groan rumbles up his chest, followed by an incoherent mumble-jumble. But he’s still passed out.
“Come on, Earl, help a gal out.”
“You can’t be serious.” Levi is over my shoulder. “There’s no way in hell you’re getting him home by yourself.”
“You got a better idea?” I lightly slap Earl’s cheeks. “Come on. Wakey-wakey.”
“I’ll do it.”
I glare over my shoulder. “Do you even know where he lives? You come to town as often as the plague.”
“I was born and raised here just like you. I ain’t forgotten where the town drunk lives.”
“Y’all take my pickup.” A set of keys rattle on the table beside my takeout bag of wings. “Out the back door.” Bucky points down a dark hallway where the bathrooms are located.
“Alright, you drunken fool.” Levi lifts me out of the way in a swift motion and hauls Earl out of the booth like the beer belly of a man is weightless.
I meet his gaze with a glare.
“Are you going to grab his other arm?”
I cross my arms over my front. “Are you sure you want my help?”
“I’m helping you, darlin’. Lead the way.”
With a half-irritated and half-appreciative sigh, I hook Earl’s other arm over my shoulder while muttering, “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. I would never fall in love with a Wilde. Especially not an asshole like you.” I snatch the bag of wings with my free hand.
Levi’s arm reaches across the front of Earl, and his gentle finger lifts my chin. The tiny gesture sends heat flaming through my body like wildfire.
I’m a liar. I didn’t only fall in love with a Wilde. I’m still in love with him.
“I wasn’t always an asshole.”
I know that. Deep down, I do. But the last thing I wanted tonight was his pity. “Are you sure?”
His jaw tightens. For a second, I think he’ll retract his offer to help me. Maybe it’s for the best. But without another word, we drag Earl out the back door. Bucky’s old rusted jalopy awaits us.
“I don’t know why the old man doesn’t buy a new truck.” The passenger door creaks and groans when Levi heaves it open. “Lord knows he has the money.”
“Maybe not everyone’s looking around the corner for the next best thing to abandon for the good thing they have now.”
“This rust bucket is not a good thing.” Levi hoists Earl into the front seat and shoves him into the middle.
I swat Levi out of the way and climb in beside Earl. “I was talking about you.” I slam the truck door in his face.
It’s a five-minute drive to Earl’s pale yellow-sided house. Besides the scrap piles overgrown with weeds and broken shutters, the place isn’t bad. It isn’t great. But the issues appear to be mainly cosmetic.
We dump the drunken fool on the couch. The springs must be busted because his deadweight body sinks into the cushions. I leave the bag of wings on the cluttered kitchen table.
Silently, Levi and I mosey back inside the truck.
Levi turns over the keys, and the hunk of junk sputters. “Come on.” He twists the keys again.
A sputter and chatter.
“I’ll check the battery.” Levi clambers out of the truck and pops the hood. He rattles and clangs under the hood for five minutes before he opens my door.
“The battery’s dead. We’re walking. Unless, of course, you’d like to call one of your sisters for a ride.”