His Rough Touch by Jessica Mills

Author:Jessica Mills [Mills, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BrixBaxter Publishing
Published: 2021-03-21T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Boone

“You’re sure you want to go in here?” Robyn asked, a teasing smile on her lips. They glistened in the sunlight, pink from her lip-gloss. I craved tasting them.

“Absolutely,” I said. “I said I wanted you to have whatever you wanted, right? Well, let’s get started.”

She laughed and shook her head, turning toward the front door. I held it open for her and she walked ahead of me inside. As it shut behind me, I felt the warm blast of air from the vents just above the door. This place wasn’t taking the slow rollout of autumn for a joke. They already had the heat on. It was enough that I almost felt uncomfortable already in my light leather jacket.

It was the first store Robyn had on her mind when she thought about going shopping for baby things. The chain of baby-stuff stores had opened up in Green Valley a couple of years ago, right before the company went bankrupt. A local bought the building and the license, changing the name ever so slightly, and kept it running. Now it was moderately successful and a draw to the tiny town’s downtown area for mothers all around that part of the state.

Robyn looked back at me with a little bit of apprehension as we walked in and I thought I understood why. She still wasn’t sure I meant what I said about buying anything she needed. I turned to the side and found the cart corral, grabbing one and pulling it out, then wheeling it toward her. Then I went back and grabbed another. She giggled as I walked up beside her with my own cart.

“Thought we might need at least two,” I said. “Ready?”

She giggled again and took control of the other cart, wheeling it into the aisles with me trailing behind her. Occasionally, Robyn would pick something up and note how pretty it was or how useful it was and then put it back. I would follow behind her and put the item in my cart. After that happened about three times, she turned in the middle of an aisle and looked into my cart, an embarrassed grin on her face.

“Have you been picking up everything I even mentioned?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Everything?”

“Yes,” I said again. “Except for the Dallas football onesie.”

“And why not?” she asked, a sudden playful attitude in her voice.

“You have to be joking,” I said. “I have to draw the line at being a Cowboys fan. Anything else.”

“I’ll have you know I come from a long line of Dallas fans,” Robyn said. “My mother even tried out for the cheerleaders.”

“She did?” I asked, shocked. The idea of the sweet, innocent, older Mrs. McClean in the skimpy blue and white uniforms was hilarious.

“Not recently,” Robyn said. “When I was a baby actually. Mom was in her thirties and they were driving through Texas and Dad wanted to see the stadium. They happened to be doing tryouts that day, so she tried out. She got through the first round.

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