Читать книгу The Cowboy's Christmas Gift - DONNA ALWARD, Donna Alward - Страница 12

Chapter Four

For a girl who was looking a bit worse for wear after her night on the town, she sure wasn’t giving an inch. He already felt out of his depth, and now he was expected to host some sort of social event at the ranch? It didn’t help that Carrie was being stubborn and he had to sweeten her up somehow. It was his first real test at Crooked Valley and he didn’t want to blow it.

“Of course I don’t expect you to plan it,” he replied, trying to smile at her. “Maybe you could just tell me what I need to do. Make me a list or something.”

“A list? Really?”

“Sure, why not?” He raised an eyebrow. “Rather than stand in your kitchen, which is charming by the way, why don’t I take you out for breakfast?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I usually find the best thing for a hangover is orange juice, bacon and eggs cooked in the bacon grease. The diner still serves that stuff, right?”

She looked tempted. It was a good sign.

“Come on, Freckles. You don’t have to go to work. Let me treat you to breakfast and you can tell me all the stuff I need to do before this big weekend coming up.”

“I need to clean my house....”

“How dirty can it be?” he argued. “You’re the only one here to mess it up. It’s just breakfast,” he challenged her. “Not a proposal of marriage.”

“You’re aggravating.”

But her voice had softened and he could tell she was wavering. He grinned. “So I’ve been told.”

“You’re buying?”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do in exchange for your help.” But her question really did make him think. How hard were things for Carrie? Other than her night at the bar, there was nothing in her life to make him think she was extravagant with her money. The house was plain and her truck was old. And a night out with a friend did not constitute extravagance. Everyone deserved to get out once in a while.

“I guess I could. I am kind of hungry.”

Score. He nodded at her. “Great. You might want to just wash your face before we go.”

Her lips dropped open and her eyes registered dismay. “My face? What’s wrong with my face?”

He slid his index finger under his eye. “You melted a bit during the night.”

She spun on her heel and disappeared into the bathroom. Two seconds later a squeal erupted, echoing off the bathroom tile. “I look like a raccoon! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought I just did.” He walked down the hall and glanced in the bathroom. She ran a cloth beneath a stream of water, wrung it out and scrubbed at her eyes.

“This is why I don’t wear eyeliner,” she groused. “Or much makeup at all. I never remember to wash my face before bed and then I get up looking like...” She broke off the sentence. “Well. Looking like this.”

What he thought was that she didn’t need makeup to be beautiful, but he wouldn’t say that because after last night it would take on importance that he didn’t want. Or maybe he did want it but he shouldn’t, which came out to practically the same thing. Mouth closed. Boundaries set.

“Okay. I think I’m okay now. Oh, wait. I need to brush my teeth. They’re fuzzy.”

He chuckled. “The rum really got to you, huh.”

She avoided his gaze. “I’d actually prefer not to talk about last night.”

“Fine by me.” Talking about it would create one of two outcomes. Either they’d argue or they’d pick up where they left off. He didn’t want the first and he was telling himself he’d better not indulge in the second. Last night he’d been carried away. It had been nice talking to someone. To hold her close, to feel so alive. Truth was, since his accident he hadn’t felt that kind of vitality. In the end it wouldn’t be smart carrying on with her, though. She worked for him, and he definitely couldn’t afford for her to quit.