Chapter Eight
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The minute Dizzy walked into the Anderson house Easton was standing in front of her asking if they could speak. For a moment she thought about making an excuse, telling him she needed to help with dinner in the kitchen, but his expression was so intense that it was clear she wasn’t going to get out of this today. It was now or later but it was definitely going to happen. She might as well get it over with so she could have a nice dinner.
She let him lead her upstairs, not sure where they were going but they ended up in Easton’s old bedroom, his trophies and ribbons on the wall. He’d been an accomplished baseball player many years ago and might have had a shot at a career but he’d never seemed interested.
“Why don’t you sit down?”
The only place to do that was on Easton’s old bed. For some reason that seemed like a strange thing to do, although she was pretty sure it had been quite awhile since he’d slept on that mattress. He probably only did it on Christmas Eve when the whole family was together.
Placing her purse on the bed next to her, Dizzy sat down and tried to appear as composed as possible on the few hours of sleep she’d had in the last two days.
“What did you want to talk about?”
Easton didn’t sit down, instead looking over her, his hands shoved in the pockets of his blue jeans and his head down, staring at his brown leather shoes. As usual he looked handsome today, if more casual than she usually saw him. Most of the time he was in impeccably tailored suits but today he was in a sinfully well-fitting pair of old jeans and a white button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
Stop noticing him. He might look good but he’s kind of a jerk.
And he thought she was strange.
He looked up, his blue eyes dark with some emotion she couldn’t recognize. Easton had never been easy to read.
“I want to apologize. I mean, really apologize. I’ve been acting like a total asshole and I don’t blame you for telling me to leave Friday night. I’m truly sorry.”
He appeared to be completely sincere but she still waited before she replied, wondering if he was going to ruin the apology by tacking on another statement of how she didn’t see what she saw.
“Thank you,” she finally said, emotion welling up and making it difficult to talk. Easton Anderson hated to apologize and everyone knew it. She didn’t have to guess at that since she’d heard him say it more than a few times, and if he didn’t willingly acknowledge it his siblings and cousins all reminded him. So this was a big damn deal.
Easton had said he was sorry and it looked like he meant it.
“Something happened that night,” Easton went on. “I know you saw something.”
She began to stiffen at his words. Here it comes…
“But clearly something very bad happened Friday night, that much I’m sure of, and it wasn’t just that you had a nightmare. You saw something.”
That wasn’t so bad after all. He seemed almost open to her version of events. He didn’t believe she saw a murder but perhaps she’d seen Trip attack someone. It was progress.
“Thank you,” she said again, not sure how she was supposed to react. Gratitude at this point wasn’t an option. She wasn’t going to beg for his support. “I know you don’t like to apologize so this means a great deal to me.”
Chuckling, a smile spread across Easton’s face. “You do know me well and yes, I don’t like admitting when I’m wrong. Luckily it doesn’t happen all that often. It’s rare, actually.”
Now she was laughing too. He hadn’t been down for long, his cocky attitude back and in full force. “We just let you think that to protect your delicate male ego.”
“I appreciate it. Now let’s get to what’s really important. You.”
Easton wasn’t one who delved into feelings. He was more of a surface-skimming kind of guy.
“What about me?”
“You saw something traumatic. I would imagine it would have an effect.”
Was he just playing with her now?
“Since when do you try and psychoanalyze people? You usually leave that to Leann.”
He shrugged, his gaze skittering away and then back. “I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.”
She hadn’t expected that. “So you’re going to try sensitivity and introspection and see how that works for you?”
“Whoa, let’s not go too far here.” He held his hand up in front of him defensively. “Let’s just say I’m trying not to be as much of an asshole and leave it at that.”
This was more the Easton she’d known.
“Fair enough. I appreciate your apology and I can say to you honestly that I’ve barely slept a wink since it happened, but I’m determined to act as normally as possible. Especially as a portion of the town thinks I’m a little eccentric.”
But she’d also had many messages of support as well. Thankfully most of Tremont didn’t have an opinion one way or the other. They were ignoring the entire situation.
“You don’t care what people think.”
“I don’t,” Dizzy agreed without hesitation. “Tami made sure to drill it into my head that I had to be happy with me first and not worry about others. I don’t care that some people – like you – think I’m weird. I care that they think I’m lying. That’s a whole different thing.”
“I never thought you were lying.”
Dizzy snorted delicately and then stood, hitching her purse over her shoulder. “No, you just thought I’d imagined it all. As I told you that night, I know you can’t help it. It’s just the way you are. I shouldn’t have told you to leave but I wasn’t at my best at that moment. I’m sorry too.”
His expression softened. “You don’t owe me any apologies. This is all on me.”
“What witchcraft is this, Easton? You’re being so unusually humble. It’s kind of freaking me out.”
“As I said, I’m trying not to be as much of a jerk.”
Somehow they’d ended up standing close to one another, just inches between their bodies. The temperature of the room had soared to an almost unbearable level and to make it even worse she could feel the heat coming off of his body. His unmistakably male scent, a combination of citrus and soap, teased her nostrils and her first instinct was to step back, put space between them. Her legs didn’t obey.
Instead she found herself staring up into his eyes that didn’t look like they normally did. They were bluer, softer, and…something else she couldn’t put a name to. Whether it was pity, scorn, or friendship she had no idea. The one thing she knew for sure was that it wasn’t lust or desire. She and Easton didn’t think about each other like that. They never had. Even when she was a budding teenager and he’d been a suave and sexy older man she hadn’t had a crush on him. He simply wasn’t her type. She’d crushed on Carter plenty of times but Easton left her cold.
Until now, and this had to be a fluke. Maybe she was coming down with the flu or his mother Andrea had accidentally put the heat on. Delirium would also explain what she’d seen Friday night.
“You’re not a jerk,” she said when she realized he was waiting for some sort of reply from her. His brows were pinched together with concern and she had to close her eyes for a moment to gather her scattered emotions together. Logical Easton was easy to be around, but this more caring man had her not knowing which way was up. “You’re a good person.”
Because he was. Like all the Anderson men he was honest, hardworking, and charitable to his community. Okay, sexy as hell too. She could admit that. He’d just been lacking a warmer side.
To her dismay, he reached out and placed a hand on her arm, her skin tingling where he touched. “So are you and I’m sorry that I ever implied that you weren’t.”
“You didn’t. I know you want hard proof. I can’t give you that.”
It was the way he was wired, which wasn’t his fault. The same way Noah liked the physical challenges of running the ranch, Shane liked throwing off the shackles of polite society and going wild, and Carter liked to play the field, basking in female attention. Their little personality quirks made them who they were. It hadn’t mattered much until the other night.
Her fingers curled tightly around the soft leather of her handbag, her jumbled senses desperate for some space. Physical space between them.
“I should probably go downstairs and help your mom and aunt with dinner.”
His hand dropped away and she breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Did you bake one of your famous cakes for dessert?”
Dizzy always baked a few things when she attended an Anderson Sunday dinner.
“Coconut cake,” she said, finally managing to take that step back. “And an apple pie.”
“My favorite.”
She’d forgotten he’d said that yesterday. Hadn’t she?