She chuckled and held her hands out to the heat. “What about your offer of a no strings attached affair while I’m in town?”
He liked her directness. It was actually very cute. “I’ve saved your life. Now you owe me total devotion for at least a decade. Maybe two.”
She laughed full out. “You didn’t save my life. I would’ve gotten out of that wreck somehow.”
That was probably true. “Fair enough. The offer for an affair is hereby rescinded.” It was fun teasing with her.
Her head jerked his way. “You’re rescinding?”
“Yeah,” he drawled. “You’re too much trouble. I like my affairs simple and stress-free. You just tried to kill one of my Cottonwoods and blew apart my very nice fence. You’re stress…full.”
Her shoulders moved with her laugh, but strain still showed along her eyes. Crashing had probably been frightening.
The driveway opened into the yard, and his headlights swept across the front of the house. The ranch house sat low and wide with a deep porch running the length of it, built from weathered timber that had gone silver over the years. Rain hammered the metal roof hard enough to echo across the yard.
Beyond the house the cottonwoods bent in the wind, their branches rattling together. The creek that cut through the back pasture had swollen with the storm, and even over the rain he could hear the steady rush of water moving through the rocks.
He parked close to the porch steps and killed the engine.
For a moment the silence in the cab felt heavy, broken only by the rain pounding the roof and the ticking of the cooling engine. Bianca looked at the house through the windshield. “I love your house.”
“Thanks. You’re not filming here.” He grinned and reached across her to grab his hat off the dash before opening his door. The rain hit him like a slap, cold and immediate. He moved around the front of the truck, boots sinking into the mud, and opened Bianca’s door to gently lift her out.
“I can walk,” she replied, her body already curling against his chest.
He stepped away from the truck with her in his arms. “Let’s just make sure you haven’t done any damage.”
The porch boards creaked under his boots. He kicked the screen door open and shouldered the main door wide with his elbow. Warm air rushed out to meet them, carrying the faint smell of wood and coffee and the leather of his couch.
He stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind them, moving over to deposit her gently on the sofa.
Bianca sat upright, still holding his shoulder for a second longer than necessary. Then she released him and looked around. “You don’t have a single plant in here.”
Adam shrugged out of his wet jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. Water dripped onto the mat. “I think I had a plant at one time.” What had happened to that, anyway? Huh. He dropped to his haunches, looking at her jean covered knee. No cut and no blood. That was good. Taking her hands, he gently tugged her up. “Try to put some weight on it.”
Placing her hands on his shoulders, she did so, first gingerly and then with more confidence. “It’s okay, I think.”
That remained to be seen. “Good.” He bent and lifted her again, smiling when she yelped. Then he strode down the long hall to his bedroom and attached bath, where he set her down. “Hop in the shower to warm up, and I’ll leave some sweats on the bed for you to change into. Then I want to look at your knee, okay?” His sweats would be so big on her he could easily pull them up to see.
She gulped. “You’re bossy.”
“You have no idea.” He reached in and switched on the water before leaving the bathroom. When she locked the door behind him, he grinned.
His planned date had definitely gone awry, but the least he could do was feed her. Then he’d take her back to town, as long as her knee was fine. He would not, under any circumstances, think of the naked woman currently in his shower.
Nope. Not going there.
CHAPTER 9
Bianca eased the bedroom door open and stepped into the hallway, pausing for a moment to get her balance. The hot shower had helped, but her knee still ached, a slow pulse that reminded her with every step that the crash had been real. She didn’t look back at the sprawling bed with its dark blue comforter. Adam’s bedroom smelled like leather and something distinctly male—clean soap, worn cotton, the faint bite of cedar. Very appealing. The scent clung to her skin now, and that realization warmed her in a way the shower hadn’t quite managed.
She moved slowly down the short hallway toward the living room, one hand brushing the wall as she walked. The house felt quiet and comfortable around her, the storm outside reduced to a steady drumming on the roof and a soft rush of wind along the eaves. The calm inside the ranch house wrapped around her like a blanket. Safe. Comfortable. Possibly dangerous in a very different way.
The living room opened in front of her, inviting and peaceful. A long leather couch faced a stone fireplace that probably heated the entire house during the worst of Montana winters. A thick woven rug covered the wooden floor, its pattern worn smooth inplaces from years of boots crossing it. Nearby, a guitar leaned against the wall beside a wide chair, and a pair of battered cowboy hats rested on pegs near the door.
She could picture Adam here in the evening, boots kicked off, shoulders loose after a long day, maybe strumming that guitar while the fire cracked. The image arrived fully formed and far too intimate for a woman who had met him only yesterday.
Her knee protested when she took another step, the dull throb deepening as she crossed the room toward the kitchen. The oversized T-shirt Adam had given her brushed the tops of her knees, and the gray sweats were rolled twice at the waist and again at the cuffs just to keep her from tripping.