Rock Chick Redemption (Rock Chick #3)(20)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Hank stil didn’t say anything.

“I cry when I watch Terms of Endearment which I’ve seen, like, a dozen times,” I went on.

Hank stayed quiet.

I took a shuddering breath. “Every time Shirley MacLaine comes out and has that fit at the nurse’s station about getting Debra Winger her medication,” my throat closed at the memory and I swal owed hard, “It gets me.”

“Are you tel in’ me you’re cryin’ because you’re thinkin’

about a movie?” Hank asked.

I shook my head.

“Then why are you crying?”

Final y, I looked at Hank.

Then, don’t ask me why, but I whispered, “Because you’re being so nice to me.”

For a second, before he could hide it, his head jerked a fraction and his face changed. I didn’t get a chance to read it before it went away and his eyes went perfectly blank.

What I could read scared me, in a lot of different ways.

“Has someone not been nice to you?” he asked and I could tel his voice was careful y control ed.

“Let’s just go.”

He watched me for a while, one arm stil wrapped around my back. Then, he let me go. I thought he was going to give in, but I was wrong. He leaned over, slid an arm behind my knees and grabbed my shoulders then he lifted me up.

“What are you doing?” I kind of screamed, throwing my arms around him to hold on.

“We’re takin’ a carriage ride,” he said, carrying me while climbing into the carriage.

This was no mean feat as I wasn’t exactly dainty. Uncle Tex toting me around was one thing; Uncle Tex was Paul Bunyon come alive. This was plain crazy.

He settled me in the seat without apparent effort and sat beside me.

The driver rushed to his perch and we took off.

“There’s just no shaking you, is there?” I asked Hank, my tears gone, I was beginning to feel… I didn’t know what I felt.

Hank pul ed me into his side. “Nope,” he answered.

I crossed my arms and tried to pretend I wasn’t feeling whatever it was I felt. Whatever it was felt nice and I couldn’t give in to it; I had too much to lose if I did.

Then I looked up at him. “Is my makeup ruined?” He looked down and smiled. “Yep.”

Shit.

* * * * *

I fixed my makeup the best I could with the bandana and my hand mirror and we rode through Denver. After awhile, I settled into Hank’s side and relaxed. I couldn’t help it, he was solid and warm. Denver was beautiful as I watched it passing by on the clop and the carriage rocked soothingly. Even the most tense, stressed-out neurotic would have relaxed.

After another while, Hank’s hand came to my chin, he tilted my head up and he kissed me.

It didn’t take awhile for me to kiss him back, I just did, right away.

He was a great kisser and, on close inspection, I realized he had a bottom lip that even rivaled Springsteen’s.

That shot straight through my heart and my soul.

“Boy, am I in trouble,” I whispered, looking at his mouth.

His hand went to the side of my head. “Yep.” Shit.

* * * * *

I sat in Hank’s 4Runner watching the streets rol by as he drove me to the hotel.

The date was over.

I was trying not to cry again.

It was the best date I’d ever had. It could even be the best date in the history of the world (or at least it had to make the top ten).

I wanted another one just like it. I wanted a dozen of them. I wanted a lifetime of them.

I was only going to get this one.

I should count myself lucky, some women never had a single date like this.

I didn’t feel lucky.

The car stopped and I noticed it was parked in the street.

I glanced around.

We were not at the hotel. We were in a neighborhood.

From what I could tel , a nice neighborhood.

I looked at Hank. “Where are we?”

“My place.”

“What? ” I shrieked.

He ignored me and got out.

I stayed rooted to my seat.

This is not happening, this is not happening. I chanted in my head.

My door opened.

I looked at Hank again. “Take me back to my hotel.” He reached in, undid my seatbelt and grabbed my hand, pul ing me out of the SUV. “I gotta walk my dog.” We were several steps up his walk when I halted, yanking on his hand. “You have a dog?”

He stopped too and looked back at me. “Yeah,” he said I loved dogs.

“What kind of dog?”

“A chocolate lab.”

Shit.

I loved labs.

“I’l wait in the 4Runner,” I said.

He tugged my hand, pul ing me behind him.

“Whisky, I have to get back to the hotel,” I was trying to yank my hand out of his. I was trying but not succeeding.

He ignored me and kept walking to the house. One story, brick, nicely tended yard but you could tel no woman lived there. There were no pots for flowers and there weren’t any festive autumn decorations in sight. I would definitely have put out festive autumn decorations if I lived there.

I was trying not to think about other things I would do if I lived there when Hank stopped at the door and dropped my hand.

“Whisky…”

He unlocked then opened the door.

A chocolate lab bounded toward us.

“Oh my God!” I yel ed and crouched low. “What a cute dog!”

And he was cute, adorable.

The lab jumped on Hank and he commanded, “Down.” Then the lab stopped jumping and head-butted Hank in the thighs, got an ear scratch and then came at me. He knocked me on my ass on the front stoop and started licking my face.

“I hope you don’t use him as a guard dog,” I said, trying to scratch his ears as he jumped al over me.

“I think you can kiss whatever makeup you had left good-bye,” Hank noted.

I couldn’t help it, I laughed.

Hank went into the house while I got up and played with the dog and he came back with a lead.

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Shamus.”

I clapped at Shamus and he came to me and sat on my feet while Hank put the lead on him. The minute the lead snapped into place, Shamus knew the dril and was aching for it. He headed for the sidewalk, snuffling the ground.

Hank grabbed my hand and we fol owed the dog.

After half a block, it hit me and I said, “This is not fair.”

“What?” Hank asked.

“Don’t play innocent with me, Hank Nightingale. You know what. The dog.”

Hank dropped my hand and slid his arm along my shoulders.