When Molly cooked, it made him feel things, things he hadn't felt since before his parents died. She was an amazing cook, but that wasn't it. It was that she cared enough to do it.
Mackie had been an open-the-can-of-beans-and-pour-onto-plate kind of cook—when she'd cared to do it at all.
He was tired of running from his feelings for Molly.
Tired of trying to pretend he didn’t care.
And if he cared, and if he wasn’t going to hide it anymore, what did that mean?
The question sent his heart to pounding as he came in the mudroom door.
The kitchen was quiet, empty. The scent of something savory hovered in the air. A foil-covered plate rested on top of the stove. His dinner.
Molly was playing her guitar in her bedroom, so softly that he almost couldn't hear it.
His need to see her drove him from the kitchen and up the stairs. He hadn't even approached her room—West's old room—before now, hadn't wanted to spook her more than she already was. She deserved her own space, somewhere safe.
She had the bedroom light on, the door wide open. He knocked on the doorjamb to let her know he was there. He didn't go in, even when she looked up at him from where she sat on the edge of the bed, the beat up acoustic tucked against her middle, one leg bent on the bedspread.
Her fingers moved in a rhythm he'd never learned, real music floating from the piece-of-junk instrument.
She looked back down at the bed, her hair falling in front of her face. He didn't know if she was hiding from him or just playing.
It was a sad song. Haunting. Beautiful.
Molly couldn't look at Cord as her fingers danced over the strings.
He'd been quiet after sharing about his past at Iris's. Hadn't stayed in for supper. He'd left, gone off to who knew where.
The barn, or what was left of it, judging by the state of his boots and his mussed shirt and hair.
He doesn't need my drama.
She'd promised to stay and rebuild the tractors, and she would. Was she putting Cord in danger by staying? Toby had been vocal with his threats toward her roommate, her friends, anyone she dared to see who wasn't him.
Or was she simply imagining the danger? She hadn't actually seen Toby, just a red Mustang like the one he drove. What if she was freaking out over nothing?
Tears blurred her vision, distorting the quilted bedspread she'd been staring at.
She tapped her palm against the strings, stopping the music instantly.
"Don't quit on my account," Cord said quietly from the doorway. "That was pretty."
She sniffed and then gave a wobbly, "Thanks."
She liked Cord. Too much to put him in harm's way just because he'd been kind to her. What was real?
More tears burned in her eyes, and she wasn't strong enough to hold them back. She wiped them away with the heel of her hand.
"You mind if I come in there?" His voice from the doorway was gruff.
She shrugged and, her head still down, heard him stride into the room.
She felt him standing over her, almost vibrating with tension. She wished he’d pull her close again, like he'd done out by the tractor earlier.
The guitar would make that difficult, since she still held it in her lap.
And he didn't pull her up off of the bed.
He sank down to sit on the floor, his back to the bed, his shoulder pressed into her leg. And one warm hand wrapped around her ankle, heating the bare skin between the hem of her jeans and the collar of her low anklet sock.
"I got to thinking," he said. "After we sell the tractors and bring the mortgage current, I have to go back to Houston. There's a job I'm bidding on."
She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't think about leaving the No Name. She'd been focused so hard on the tractor repairs, and wishing like a fool that he'd change his mind about selling...
Emotion rising, she lifted the guitar's leather strap over her head and laid the instrument carefully across the bed.
With him pressed so close, she felt the deep, slow inhale he took. "And I was thinking, what if you came with me? To Houston."
What if you came with me?
His words were slightly strangled. As if he'd forced them out.
Hot emotion lodged in her throat, and she had to clear it before she could speak.
"I don't know if I can go back to a big city," she said. "And you don't need somebody with my baggage around."
She tried to move away, but Cord held her ankle more firmly than she'd expected.
She wasn't frightened. Not of him.
Because he'd made every effort to make sure she knew she was safe. Even now, sitting on the floor instead of on the bed next to her.
"What if I need somebody around who can put up with my baggage?" he asked.
For one shining moment, she saw it. The future he was offering. A new start in the bustling city, where they could fade into the crowd.
And then Toby's cold, glittering eyes and malicious smile overlaid the image.
A whole-body shiver sent her off the bed. Cord let her go.
She was aware of him pushing off the floor, rising to his full height.
She kept her back to him, faced the closet door, wrapped her arms around her waist. "I don't think it's a good idea. We're not compatible, remember?"
Cord stepped close. She felt heat radiating off his powerful body.
And she still wasn't scared.
"I think we both know that's not true. No matter how much I wanted it to be."
What was he saying?
"Tell me what's going on, what’s got you so spooked," Cord demanded softly. "I care about you—"
"That's the problem." She whirled to face him, her arms flailing.
And he was right there, his hands enclosing her upper arms, thumbs rubbing soothing strokes down her skin. His eyes were filled with compassion.
And she broke.
"Toby said he'd kill anybody I got close to." The words rushed out of her
