Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(26)
He drags an empty chair across the room with an obnoxious screech and plops into it on the other side of my desk.
“Yes, Winston is a dog.” I gather the paperwork I’m in the middle of completing, pushing it to the side of my desk before sifting through the remaining stack to find Denver’s X-ray results. “Well, it looks like your collarbone healed fine.”
“Told ya so.” He smiles, leaning forward and tapping the paper between us with his finger. “Now you can sign this, and come watch me kick ass at the rodeo this weekend.”
“I’ll sign the form because it’s been six weeks, and I don’t have a legitimate medical reason not to. But I’m not going to sit there and watch you hurt yourself again.”
I can’t. I lost all my senses last time. I don’t know how I managed to watch him risk his life weekend after weekend when we were kids, but just thinking about it makes my palms clammy. And he’s not even mine to lose now.
Mouth agape, he clutches his chest like he’s been stabbed. “Damn, that’s how little faith you have in my riding abilities? I’ll have you know I almost never get hurt.”
“Good. That means I don’t have to worry about you being a frequent patient here.” I bite my cheek and wince as his face falls.
Quickly recovering from my verbal slap, his tongue darts out briefly, leaving his lower lip glistening as his sullen expression turns into a small smirk. “On second thought, I might start throwing myself off the horses. Make a habit of getting injured.”
“Of course you would.”
“You know…I probably need a complete physical. Full body exam.” He makes like he’s about to undo his belt, and I throw a hand up to stop him.
“Great, I’ll schedule you an appointment with Brickham. I’m sure he’d be happy to give you the full rundown. Maybe even a prostate exam.” I nod, pretending to be looking at scheduling on my computer—as if Brickham would ever keep a digital schedule.
“Hard pass.”
I sign the rodeo association’s health form and slide it across the wooden desktop toward him. “There you go. Have fun this weekend.”
“Still think you should come. Red and Cass are going to be there.”
The only good reason I have for skipping the rodeo is knowing I’m playing with fire by being around Denver. But I can’t say that. Knowing him, the admission would make him try harder to get me to engage in flirtatious banter. And for what? So he can have another fuckboy conquest?
“No, thanks. I should really stay home with Mom.”
“Speaking of which…when are you going to quit denying me my lasagna?”
I roll my neck with an irritated exhale. “Forever, Denver. My mom’s confused, and even though she won’t shut up about you right now, it doesn’t mean we need to do dinner. She’ll forget about it—and you—eventually.”
He leans forward, scooching his chair until he’s practically on top of my desk. “Sounds like I need to come visit her while she still remembers who I am. And if she can’t make her famous lasagna anymore, it’s no big deal. I’ll bring pizza. Friday night at seven?”
“No. I don’t want you coming over to hang out at my house.”
“Well, I’m not coming there for you, Hart. I want to hang out with your mom in her house. I’d love to have you join us, but if it makes you too uncomfortable…”
My leg begins to bounce uncontrollably—my stiletto heel tapping against the floor is the only sound in the room for a moment.
“I know what you’re doing,” I finally say.
He raises a questioning brow. “Oh yeah?”
“You’re acting like a sweet, charming guy so you can get another notch in your bedpost. You’re a fuckboy who’s trying to win me over by being kind to my sick mother. I’ll save you the trouble—I’m not interested in sleeping with you.”
He snorts, and those dangerous fucking dimples pull in slowly as a beaming grin spreads across his face. The corners of his eyes crinkle in the dim glow of my desk candle warmer, and he leans in close enough I catch a faint whiff of musky cologne.
Denver Wells wears cologne now?
“Blair, if I were the type to keep notches on my bedpost, we both know yours would’ve been the very first. That’s not what I’m doing here.” He folds his hands on the top of my desk. “Thanks for enlightening me about the kind of person you think I am, though. But you’re wrong—I genuinely want to come visit and make your mom happy. You can be there. You can hide out in your bedroom. You can go out with your friends.”
Side-eyeing him, I think about the genuine smile on Mom’s face when we ran into Denver in the parking lot. She talked about him nonstop for the hour drive home, and even after a full week she’s still bringing him up.
“Why are you so invested in this?”
“Because I’ve lost enough people to know you don’t take shit like this for granted. If your sick mom wants me to come over for dinner, I’m not going to turn her down.”
Fuck. I can’t argue with that.
“Okay…” I sigh. “Okay, you can come over.”
“I’ll come over Friday with pizza. And Saturday you’re coming to the rodeo.” His dark eyes meet mine as he stands, and my stomach flip-flops. I open my mouth to protest it, but he taps his hand on the desk and turns to leave. Looking at me over his shoulder when he reaches the door. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”