Page 6 of Knox
Her wallet. Not a gun. Not a knife, nothing that might actually harm her. And oh, please, let the ground open up and swallow her right now, here, and let her vanish forever.
“Thanks.” She took the wallet.
“Are you hurt?”
She glanced up at him. For the first time, she got a good look at her pursuer-slash-hero. He wore a grim line to his mouth, surrounded by the stubble of cherry-brown whiskers and dark brown sideburns that, in the light of the carnival, seemed flecked with red. But his eyes, oh his eyes. Blue-green, the color of the forest, deep and penetrating. As if she could run into his gaze and happily disappear.
His voice threaded through her, as if it might be made of rawhide, designed not to break, to weather time and elements, as sturdy as the land he probably worked. Because yes, he wore cowboy like a second skin, the no-nonsense aura of hard work and get ’er done, and given the way he’d sung to his bull, he knew his way around animals.
He even stuck his thumbs in his belt buckle, letting his hands land there, nailing the cowboy persona down in spades. Probably used those wide shoulders to rope in culprits, to wrestle steer, and now her imagination had run away with her, but seriously, under that black T-shirt and jean jacket she guessed he might be all hard-work-hewn body, washboard abs, and powerful arms.
Which he now crossed over his chest, as if trying not to follow his question by skimming his hands over her body to check for broken bones. Instead, his eyes did it for him—and not in a way that would make her step back, but with concern etched into his hard jawline.
“Do I need to go back there and put some hurt on anyone?”
He wasn’t smiling, and she couldn’t tell if he was serious—maybe. Which sort of unrooted her for a moment.
Um… “No. I tripped. There was this little ledge at the bar and I reached over for the container and…I don’t know. Fell back. And my wings went flying, and I bumped into this guy and…” Now she just wanted to cover her face with her hands and slink away.
“You’re okay, then?” He unwound his arms, glanced back at the beer tent. Waved his hand to someone standing outside on the pathway. The someone headed back into the tent.
She nodded. “I’m just…” Oh, who was she kidding? It wasn’t like she could hide the craziness from him, not after he’d chased her down and kept her from being—what,eaten? maybe slimed—by a mad bull.
“I sometimes panic about…I have issues—”
“Like not wanting some strange man to grab you? That feels pretty normal to me.”
And then he smiled, something soft, his mouth lifting up on one side, and it was so charming, the fist in her chest simply let go. Left her free to stand there in the semi-light, to smell the spring air, listen to the carnival music, and realize that maybe, right now, she was safe.
“Knox Marshall,” Cowboy said and held out his hand.
“Kelsey. Jones.” She slipped her hand into his. What she suspected—a working man’s hand. Muscled, lean, and calloused.
She waited for a flicker of name recognition on his face, and when she got none, her chest unknotted a little more.
“Your dinner is in the dirt back in the tent.” He gestured with his head toward the tent. “Can I get you something to eat?”
His suggestion raked up the savory redolence of fried cheese curds, french fries, cotton candy, and popcorn.
“I think their kitchen is closed,” she said. “We’d ordered from the restaurant in the arena, but I had…um, plans, so I couldn’t pick it up right away, so they left it out in the tent.”
He didn’t follow up her stutter on the wordplans, and she didn’t want to fill in the blanks.
It would only raise eyebrows, and besides, she’d changed her life. Tonight had simply been a fluke. A throwback response to old wounds.
“I could offer you some…fair food?” He glanced toward the carnival, and her stomach totally betrayed her, roaring to life at his suggestion. She pressed her hand against it and gave him a wry look.
“Maybe we could tame that beast with some high-calorie, bad-for-you cheese curds?”
She smiled then. “I’d sell everything I own for cheese curds.”
He laughed, and it found her hollow spaces.
And then she was walking down the semi-shadowed path with a near stranger, evidence that yes, she had outrun her demons.Really.
The path led them into the carnival area, a midway filled with games, food, and thrill rides—a rollercoaster called the Comet, a whirly named the Enterprise, another ride aptly named Extreme, resembling a giant hammer with a carriage that spun in a circle while swinging around a massive arm. Blinking lights, screams, and the sense of carefree trouble gave the night a sweetly dangerous mix.
“I’d probably lose my lunch on any of these,” Knox said, eyeing the rides.