She parked beside the truck and cut her engine, taking a deep breath to bolster her courage and wishing—as she had so many times since June—that things hadn’t taken the turn they had.
But wishing didn’t make any of it go away, so she picked up the file she’d brought with her as her excuse, and got out of the truck to climb the five steps onto the porch.
The front door was open, and through the screen door she could hear music playing. Softly.
She recognized the singer. Chris Isaak. He was one of her favorites, and she hoped that maybe he was one of Tyler’s favorites, too, and the fact that they shared similar musical tastes was a good sign.
She knocked on the screen’s frame, feeling her tension level increase with each rap.
Nothing stirred in response. Chris Isaak just went on singing about the wicked things people do.
Maybe she hadn’t knocked loud enough to be heard over the music. She tried again with more force.
“Hold on,” she heard Tyler call, his unmistakable baritone sounding as if it were coming from the living room to the right of the front door.
Then he came into sight from that direction.
He had on a white T-shirt, a pair of jeans with a tear in the knee, and he was in his stocking feet.
He was hardly dressed for company, yet he still looked good enough to make Willow recall one of the reasons she’d been so swept off her feet by him in Tulsa. The man exuded a raw sensuality that made the woman in her sit up and take notice.
She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have the same effect on him. The way he squinted his eyes against the light made it look as if he’d been sleeping.
“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” Willow said, as that thought occurred to her.
“No, no, it’s okay,” he assured her, blinking a few times as if fighting to keep his eyes open. “I just had one of these headaches I get, and the pills for them knock me out.”
“Maybe I should come back another time.”
He waved away that notion with one big, blunt-fingered hand. “Nah. It’s fine. Headache’s gone.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and then took his hand away and finally seemed to really look at her.
“Willow. Willow Colton. From the feed store,” she stated.
“I know,” he answered. But then he gave her the once-over and smiled that one-sided smile. “You look different than you did yesterday, but I still knew you.”
From yesterday, but not from June…
She tried not to let that bother her.
Tyler stepped back from the doorway. “Come on in.”
Willow hesitated a moment, feeling all the more awkward because she’d awakened him. But in the end she decided that, since she already had, she might as well do what she’d come for.
“If you’re sure.”
“Positive. I’m glad for the company. Gets kind of lonely out here.”
Willow accepted his invitation and went in.
It was cooler inside than out, and the scent of leather was in the air. Maybe from the cowboy boots that stood beside the wide, elegant staircase that faced the door.
Tyler didn’t seem to mind being shoeless in front of her because he didn’t move to put the boots back on. Instead he just closed the door and pointed toward the living room.
“Let’s go in there.”
Willow did, with Tyler following behind.
“Excuse the mess,” he said in reference to the fact that lamps were on the floor rather than on tables, and chairs were in no particular arrangement. The only pieces of furniture that were situated with any sort of purpose were the long leather sofa—likely the source of the scent of the place—and a wide-screen television.
“Please, sit down,” he invited. “Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea?”
“No, thank you,” Willow responded. Her throat felt like the top of a drawstring bag with the ties cinched so tight she didn’t think she could get even liquids down.
She did sit on the couch, though. Hugging one end.
“I just wanted to let you know you’d been approved for an account with us and to bring you over our price lists and policies,” she announced, not sounding nearly as relaxed as he seemed to feel.
“Great. I appreciate that,” he said, joining her on the sofa at the opposite end, as if he were entertaining an insurance salesman.
Willow opened the file folder she was clutching in a white-knuckled grip, and pointed out a few details about special orders and delivery schedules. It didn’t take long, and once she’d finished, she realized she’d exhausted her excuse to be there.
“Maybe I will have that glass of iced tea, after all,” she said, to give herself more of a reason to linger and put into motion her plan to spend time with him.
“Sounds good to me, too,” he said.
“If you’re sure you’re up to it,” she added.
“I’m fine.”
All remnants of his nap had disappeared, and he seemed as awake and energized as ever, so she believed him.
“Can I help?” she asked as he stood.
“You can keep me company, but I think I can manage the pouring myself,” he joked.
Willow got to her feet, too, tagging along.
As she did, her gaze took a dip to his derriere, and she realized her own memory hadn’t done it justice.
But that was the last thing she needed to be thinking about, so she forced her eyes to behave, and made small talk to occupy her mind.
“When I was a teenager my job was to make our deliveries. Mr. Harris would have me come in as far as the living room while he signed the receipt. I’ve never seen the rest of the house, though.”
“I’ll give you the grand tour,” Tyler promised. “But be warned, there isn’t much to see. Before this I lived in a studio apartment, and I was only there when I wasn’t chasing rodeos. So I didn’t have a lot to bring with me to fill this place up.”
They went through a large, empty dining room before they passed under an archway to get to the kitchen. The very white kitchen. Walls, cupboards and appliances were all sterile, hospital white, and there wasn’t a single other color to break the almost blinding, institutional effect.
Apparently that fact wasn’t lost on Tyler. As he went to the refrigerator he said, “You just about need sunglasses in here.”
“Just about,” Willow agreed.
Tyler poured two glasses of iced tea and asked if Willow wanted sugar in hers. When she declined, he handed her one of the glasses and then they set out for the tour of the house.
He was right about there being nothing much to see. There were four bedrooms, three baths and a recreation room upstairs; another bathroom, a den and a library to go with the kitchen, living room and dining room downstairs. But room after room was bare, except for beds in two of the bedrooms, and a few unpacked boxes here and there.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t bring much with you,” she said as they returned to the living room. Tyler had pointed in the direction of the sofa with his chin, inviting Willow to sit down again.
“I know,” he said with a laugh