Chapter 14

The next day, Quinn’s mood fluctuated from happy to cranky to brooding because she couldn’t stop thinking about Rock and what their future did, or didn’t, hold.

She’d messed up an order, adding caramel sauce to a coffee when the customer had requested whipped cream, and poured a cup to overflowing as her thoughts wandered. Her mood shifted from pensive to giddy, and she was sure she probably looked like an idiot, walking around the coffee shop all morning with a grin on her face one minute and a scowl the next.

Despite her moodiness, she was surprised at how quickly the day had flown by.

She wasn’t even tired. Although she should be.

She’d stayed up late the night before, trying to focus on a book, but actually obsessively checking her phone for a message from Rock.

He’d texted her a little after eleven, telling her he couldn’t get her out of his mind and he had to see her.

Ten minutes later, he’d been at her window and snuck into her room again. They had spent the rest of the night in her bed, and on her floor, and against the wall of her closet.

Another smile spread across her face as she thought about that first moment when he had climbed through the window and had his hands and mouth on her before she even had time to think. At least that time, she’d locked the door before he’d shown up.

“You sure are in a funny mood today,” her coworker Carrie said as she stacked the counter with a fresh supply of paper cups to replenish the ones they’d used that morning. “You either seem kind of sad or ridiculously happy.”

Quinn shrugged. “It’s a weird day. Busy then slow. But I’m fine. Just trying to stay busy.”

Carrie gave her a sideways glance. “Yeah, sure. This funny mood wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain hockey-playing cowboy that I’ve heard you’ve been seen around town with lately, would it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She playfully swatted her with the towel she’d been using to wipe the counters, then headed to the storeroom to get another box of coffee stirrers.

She came out a few minutes later and glanced at the clock, anxious for the last ten minutes of her shift to be over. Her car had been giving her fits again, and Rock had offered to pick her up after her shift ended.

Her body tingled at the anticipation of seeing him again.

The coffee shop was practically empty. An older couple sat by the window, quietly chatting, and one of their regulars had her laptop and a stack of notebooks spread across her normal corner table.

The only other customer was a dark-haired guy who had been at the same table for several hours. He wasn’t a local, at least not one she recognized, but his hipster outfit pegged him as a city guy. Not many of the men in Creedence wore skinny jeans, a vest over a V-neck T-shirt, and loafers with no socks. His hair was cut in a current style and had product in it, and the stylish frames of his glasses looked expensive.

The shop was one of the few places in town that offered free Wi-Fi, so it wasn’t unusual for customers to spend a few hours at a table with their computers. But something seemed up with this guy. He’d been to the counter for a refill three times already, and he’d ordered a different pastry each time, which wouldn’t have been so unusual if she hadn’t seen him sneak one of them into the trash after taking only one bite.

Maybe he was a picky eater or hadn’t liked the pastry, but he’d also kept sneaking furtive glances at her, and she’d seen him cozying up to Carrie, chatting like old friends with her coworker.

He did smell good though, she noted as he approached the counter again and held up his empty cup. “Any chance I could get another refill?”

“Of course,” she said, taking his cup. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new in town?”

“Nope. Just visiting. But I am intrigued with the local sights.” He offered her a flirty grin.

Uh. Was that some kind of pickup line?

“Colorado is a beautiful state.”

He leaned his hip casually against the counter. “And it’s got some beautiful women.”

Yep. That was definitely a pickup line—not a very good one, but a line just the same. And how was she supposed to respond to that? Say thank you?

Best to ignore it.

She passed him the refilled cup. “Here ya go.”

“I’m Gavin, by the way.” He held out his hand.

She took it, noting that his handshake was firm and confident. “Quinn.”

“Nice to meet you, Quinn. I’ve been watching you the last few hours.”

Watching her? Um, creepy.

“Not in a weird sort of way.” He cocked one eyebrow in a way she assumed was meant to be suave or debonair. “But you know, in an interested sort of way. I’ve bought three pastries from you while I tried to figure out how to meet you and invite you out for dinner.”

“Oh. Well, I…”

“Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you by making you turn me down. I heard that you’re already dating someone.” He glanced at Carrie, who had obviously been listening but was now completely absorbed in cleaning the coffee machine.

“Thank you.” What the heck was she thanking him for? She didn’t know what else to say.

“Hey, you can’t fault a guy for trying, right? Although it sounds like the guy you’re dating isn’t someone I want to mess with. He’s big, right? A hockey player?”

She glared at her coworker.

Blabbermouth.

“He plays for Colorado, right? What’s his name? Stone? Rock? James? I think I heard somewhere that he lived up in this area. He got hurt recently, didn’t he? How’s he doing?”

A funny feeling tingled at the base of Quinn’s spine. This guy was suddenly asking a lot of questions. Her body stiffened, and she took a small step backward. “Where did you say you were from again?”

Before he could answer, the object of his inquiries walked in the door.

Quinn’s breath caught. Rock had on jeans and a light-blue T-shirt that emphasized his tan skin and stretched across his broad, muscled chest. He wore cowboy boots and looked hot as hell as he sauntered into the coffee shop, a flirty grin on his face. A grin just for her.

But the easy grin fell away when he saw the dark-haired guy standing at the counter. Not just fell, but plummeted. It was replaced by a look of anger, and he drew his shoulders back, making him appear taller and even bigger than he already was as he strode toward them.

What the heck? She didn’t see Rock get angry very often. And the sudden shift of mood caught her off guard.

Was he jealous?

The guy must have seen the change of expression on her face, because he turned his head, but instead of looking scared or terrified, which would have been any normal person’s reaction if they saw a huge, pissed-off guy stalking angrily toward them, he almost seemed excited to see Rock.

His eyes gleamed, and his cheeks appeared to flush slightly. In fact, the way he looked at Rock showed a heck of a lot more interest than he’d just shown in her when he was talking about asking her out to dinner.

What was that about? Seriously, the guy was practically salivating.

“Hey, Quinn,” Rock said, his body tense as he eyed the other man suspiciously. “What’s going on here?” His voice was hard as steel, his shoulders were pulled back, and his broad muscles strained at the seams of his shirt.

His eyes flashed with fury as he glanced between her and the other man.

Was he angry at her?

Her back stiffened. “I was just serving this gentleman a refill on his coffee.”

“Gentleman, my ass.”

“Rock.” Her voice came out in the same tone she used with Max when he said something that was impolite.

The man held out his hand. “Hi. I’m Gavin. I’m a big fan.”

A big fan? What?

Rock ignored his outstretched hand. “I know who you are. And I’ve got nothing to say to you.” He glared over at Quinn. “And I hope you don’t either.”

Gavin didn’t seem bothered by Rock’s rude behavior. “You look pretty good, Rock. How are you getting along with your injuries? When do you think you’ll be back with the team?”

Rock disregarded the comment and gave Quinn a callous glare. “Have you been talking to this guy?”

“What?” What in the world was going on? Why was Rock acting like this? And how did he even know who this guy was? “What do you mean? Of course I’ve been talking to him. I made him his coffee. He’s a customer.”

“He’s no customer. He’s a reporter. Works for the Denver Herald or something. And I guarantee he’s not here for the coffee.”

Dang it. A reporter. She should have known. She knew something was up with the guy.

The reporter wasn’t fazed by Rock’s behavior at all. He kept asking questions, like a dog with a bone. “That was a pretty big hit. Are you pressing charges against the guy?”

Rock didn’t answer, his lips pressed tightly together as he glared down at the smaller man.

“Come on, man. Give me a break here. You gotta tell me something.”

Rock flexed the muscles of his fingers as he took a step closer, towering over the reporter and glaring down at him. “I have plenty of things I want to tell you, starting with what you can do with your questions, but I’m going to stick with ‘no comment’ and ask you to leave.”

Gavin looked around the mostly empty coffee shop. “It’s a free country. And like your friend said, I’m a customer.”

Rock’s hard stare flicked between the reporter and Quinn. “I’ll be in the truck,” he growled, then stomped from the shop, letting the door slam behind him.

“Geez. What’s his problem?”

“His problem is creeps like you who follow him to his hometown and try to trick the people he knows into giving you some dirt on him. Our business here is done.” She pulled her apron over her head and tossed it on the counter.

“My shift is over, Carrie,” she said, turning to her coworker, who was acting busy wiping the counter, but who Quinn knew had been hanging on every word of the whole conversation. “I’m going home. I have nothing to say to this cretin, and I’ll assume that you don’t either. Right?”

Carrie shook her head. “No, of course not. I won’t say anything. I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was a reporter. I just thought he was interested in asking you out.”

Quinn rolled her eyes. “I don’t need your help in finding a date either. And you can make it up to me by not giving this guy any more information about me or anyone in this town.” She grabbed her purse from the cabinet under the counter and snatched a blueberry muffin from the bakery case. “And I’m taking this. Put it on my account.”

She turned back to the reporter. “We’re done here. Neither one of us has anything else to say.”

He glanced between the two women as if weighing the chances of getting any more information out of either of them. He must have realized that chance was zero, because he set his cup down on the counter and offered them a shrug.

His friendly features morphed into hostile ones as his lips curled into a sneer. “Okay. Suit yourself. But for the record, I wasn’t really interested in taking some Podunk country girl out to dinner. And the coffee here sucks.”

“Oh wow, now you’ve really gone and hurt my feelings. I really wanted to go out with a slimy little worm like you, but I’ll just have to settle for going to dinner with my hot as hell, rich and famous, hockey-playing boyfriend.”

He smirked.

Shoot. She’d just called Rock her boyfriend. Stupid reporter. Had he deliberately baited her?

Anger boiled up, not just at the arrogant little weasel, but because his comment about her being a Podunk country girl had hit a little too close to home.

She glanced down at the cup of coffee on the counter and considered tossing the remains into his smug, smirking face.

But that would only add more fuel to the fire, and she didn’t want to give him any more ammunition.

Instead, she pressed her shoulders back and held her chin up as she marched out of the shop.

Rock was sitting in the truck, his face a stony mask of fury as she grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

The cab practically radiated fury as he hunched over the steering wheel, the veins in his neck protruding and his leg bouncing on the floorboard in an agitated tempo.

“Were you talking to that guy?” He practically spat out the words. “Giving him a story? About me?”

He was scary mad, but she wasn’t afraid of him. She knew he would never hurt her. Not physically. He had hurt her, of course. He’d broken her heart into a million pieces when he’d broken up with her to go off and have his fancy, big-shot career. When he’d left behind the simple country girl, who Gavin from the Denver Herald had just reminded her she was.

She glared at Rock as she crammed the seat belt into the buckle. Her own anger and humiliation of being duped and insulted bubbling up in her. “Hell no. I didn’t even know he was a reporter. And it pisses me off that you think I would talk to someone about you.”

“Well, it pisses me off to come to pick you up from work and see you talking to a reporter. I hate reporters.”

“Wellllll, I hate it when a guy acts like a jerk and accuses me of doing something I wasn’t even doing.”

“Maybe you didn’t know you were doing it. Those guys are slimy. They get you to answer questions and give them information without even knowing that you’re doing it. What did you say to him?”

“Nothing.” A tiny sliver of guilt rippled through her. She had called him her boyfriend. But Carrie had pretty much already confirmed that fact before the guy had even said a word to her. “I didn’t say anything about you. I didn’t even know he was interested in you until right before you walked in the door.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he acted like he was interested in me.” Acted was the right word, since he’d made it clear that it would be ridiculous for him to be interested in a hick girl like herself. She tried to shake it off, but the words, and the memories of Rock leaving her, still stung.

“Interested in you, how?”

“You know, interested in asking me out.”

Rock’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, and he reached for the truck handle. “Well, that little…” he growled.

She reached out and grabbed his arm. His bicep was hard as a rock, taut with his tightened muscles. “Rock, don’t. Leave it alone. If you go in there and slug him, you’ll only give him more of a story.”

His hand stilled on the truck’s handle, but his body remained tense. “What did you tell him?”

“I said yes. We’ve got plans for Saturday night.” She couldn’t help herself. What did he think she would say?

His head whipped back toward her. “What?”

“Geez, Rock. Do you seriously think I’d agree to go out with that guy? With any other guy? After the last few days with you? What the hell do you think I told him?”

He glared at her, his lips set in a tight line. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly through gritted teeth. “I just really hate reporters.”

“So you said. Repeatedly. I’m not a dumb-ass. I get it,” she said, her voice too loud for the small cab of the truck and still carrying the tone of anger.

“So how did you leave it? After I left? Was he still trying to get a story?”

“No, he insulted me and our coffee, and I called him a slimy worm and told him he was nothing compared to you, and I stormed out.” She held up the pastry. “And I grabbed you this blueberry muffin, you jerk.”

His eyes widened, and a tiny smirk pulled at the corners of his lips. “I don’t know which pleases me more, that you called him a slimy worm or that you thought to bring me a baked good.”

She sat back against the seat, the tension in her shoulders easing as she set the pastry on the seat between them. “Just eat your muffin and drive.”

He let out a low chuckle and picked up the small cake, stuffing it into his mouth in two big bites. “It’s good,” he said around the bite in his mouth. “Blueberry’s my favorite.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I know.”

He grinned, a tiny crumb of muffin clinging to the corner of his lip. “Thanks,” he said, then put the truck in gear and headed for the ranch.

* * *

Rock’s temper had eased on the drive home, and he turned to Quinn as he pulled up to her house and turned off the engine. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I overreacted.”

Her arms were still crossed, and her bottom lip pushed forward in a slight pout. “Yeah, you did.”

“You’re right to be angry. I could have handled that better.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I just hate those guys. They’re always in my business. I used to try to be nice to them, give ’em quotes and interviews, but I’ve been burned too many times when they’ve misquoted me or taken bits and pieces of what I said and turned it into something else. The press likes to portray me as this asshole brawler who’s some kind of womanizing playboy.”

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, so I might be a brawler, and I’ve been known to be an asshole on occasion, but I’m no womanizer. I have the utmost respect for women.” He offered her the smallest of smiles. “One woman in particular.”

“That’s just because you know your mama would track you down and beat you with a wooden spoon if you didn’t.”

He let out a laugh. “Yes, she would.” He nudged her leg. “I really am sorry, Q. I should have known that you wouldn’t talk to a reporter about me. Not on purpose, anyway.”

“I didn’t even know he was a reporter.”

“I know. That’s what I meant by not on purpose. All I’m asking is that in the future, you be wary when someone starts asking too many questions about me.”

She nodded and uncrossed her arms. “I hear you. I’m not used to this.”

“I know. And it sucks. And I hate that being associated with me puts you in contact with skuzzballs like that guy.”

“It’s okay. I can take it. I’m pretty tough.”

“I know you are.” He did know it. Her sassy mouth had taken him to task more times than he could count. But it was also one of the things he loved about her.

He loved that she could hold her own in a fight. He had at times riled her up just so he could see the spark in her eyes, and right now, looking at her pouty red lips, all he could think about was capturing her feisty mouth in a hard kiss.

She jutted her chin out. “But I need you to believe that I would never purposely tell someone about your personal business.”

Or our personal business. If things kept going with Quinn the way they had been, she may get more than she bargained for in the way of the nosy public.

“I do believe you. And you’re the first person I’d pick to be in my corner during a fight.” He leaned across the seat to set a tender kiss on her lips—not the kind of kiss he wanted to give her, but the best choice for in the cab of his truck, in broad daylight, in her family’s driveway.

A grin curved the corners of her lips as he pulled back and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You taste like sweet talk and blueberries,” she said.

“You taste like heaven.”

Butterflies swirled in his stomach as her face broke into a smile.

Damn, but he did love her smile.

She shook her head and reached for the door handle.

He jumped out, ruminating on how many things he’d just pitched around in his mind that he loved about her. And he didn’t usually toss around the word love lightly.

It wasn’t really a big shocker. Heck, he’d been in love with Quinn since before he even understood what being in love meant.

But he didn’t remember it being like this. Teenage love was all-consuming, the only thing he could think about, dream about. It took over his mind and his heart and every moment of his day. She was all he could think about, wondering what she was doing, what she was eating, and when they were together, his limbs ached to constantly be touching her.

Ah, dang. Considering how he’d been mooning around over Quinn the last few days, maybe it was just like that. Maybe he was just like that lovestruck teenager who would have done anything for the girl he loved.

Well, anything but take her with him when he left for the greatest adventure of his life.

He let out a sigh.

It was no use going back. They couldn’t change the past.

But maybe, for the first time in years, he let himself believe that they just might have a future.

She was out of the truck before he could get around to help her out, but she paused on the porch steps, shading her eyes with her hand as she peered back at the faded blue sedan that sat in the driveway. “I wonder whose car that is.”

It had a crack just starting on one side of the windshield and was covered in dust.

Another roar of anger rumbled through his chest. “It better not be that reporter. I’ll throw that guy out on his ass.”

“I’ll help,” Quinn said as she opened the door and marched into the living room.

He followed in her steps, then almost ran into her as she stopped in the middle of the room.

He heard her quick gasp of breath, saw the color drain from her face, and his gaze darted around the room, trying to assess what was happening.

Dark tension filled the room, and he knew something was wrong.

Logan stood by the stone fireplace, his arms crossed, his legs slightly apart as if in a fighter’s stance. His eyes were cold and hard as he stared at the man sitting in the chair in front of him.

The man’s back was to him and Quinn, and he didn’t recognize him. All he could see of him was his pressed western shirt and a dark head of hair.

But Quinn recognized him.

He could tell by the way she stood frozen in place, her posture rigid and her eyes giving off that deer-in-the-headlights look.

Her arm was pressed against his, and he could feel her trembling. What the hell was going on? His protective instincts kicked in, and he took a step forward.

But she held her arm out, stopping him. Not saying anything, just stopping him with the pressure of her hand.

A child’s laugh filled the air, and he realized Max was sitting on the floor in front of the man, his face tipped up, his expression rapt.

The boy must have seen his mom though, because his eyes lit, and he scrambled up off the floor and ran toward her. “Mom, look! Look who’s here! It’s my dad! He came to see me!”

Ho-ly shit.