Humbling Her Cowboy (Miller Brothers 0f Texas Book 1) Read online

  Her stomach twisted at the thought. The worst thing about those stories, beyond that some innocent woman had lost her life while fighting to survive, was that they were a form of entertainment for so many. A salacious and shocking tale to talk about at the office, maybe feel guilty about for a few minutes, but then long forgotten by the end of the day. No one really cared.

  “Actually, I thought we would walk. It’s close by, along the main road. Not a ton of traffic, but enough.”

  She didn’t have to ask him what he meant by enough and he didn’t have to clarify. There would be enough people so she wouldn’t be alone, wouldn’t be put into a vulnerable position. It made her feel a little strange that he had clearly given thought to how she might feel, and she couldn’t tell if that was a bad or good thing.

  Still suspicious, she found herself slowly nodding. A free meal did sound mighty nice.

  8

  Solomon

  What was he doing?

  He didn’t know, and no answers came to that question as he stared at the young woman sitting across the booth from him. He felt strangely detached from his body, like it had gone and made a bunch of decisions without his input.

  He hadn’t planned on asking her to eat. In fact, he hadn’t even planned on returning the clothing to her. But after it had sat in his truck for a couple of days, he finally brought it inside, intending to throw it away. If the girl was so concerned about it, she shouldn’t have been defacing public property.

  But something had stopped him from tossing it in the trash, and instead he just set it to the side. The last thing he expected was for it to get picked up by one of the housekeepers when he was busy, or for it to be washed and left out on the counter with a sticky note that she wasn’t sure who it belonged to.

  After that, he couldn’t help but feel like it was a sign from God that he needed to give it back to her. He didn’t believe Sal’s guess that the girl was homeless, and yet the idea niggled at the back of his mind.

  Because if she was, and she died because he had her hoody, did that make him a murderer?

  But she couldn’t be homeless. She wasn’t one of those types; he could tell just by looking at her. Sure, she was clearly a bit entitled and mischievous, tagging public places as she was, but she wasn’t like the dirty people he saw on the side of the road with signs begging for help.

  And yet he had ended up in the park anyway, looking for her. And when she didn’t show up, he’d looked again two days later. And the next day. He was just about to chalk the whole thing up as a silly lark when he spotted her, all curled on herself while she drew.

  And now he was sitting across from her at a diner, able to look at her in more detail.

  …she was in pretty rough shape. Her hands were chapped and calloused, with little scabs around her cuticles that spoke of hangnails. There were holes in the leggings she wore under her shorts, and he could see a bruise on one of her shins. Her hair was messy like she hadn’t brushed it in a day or two and once again, he was struck by the thought that she looked thinner than she was meant to be.

  He swallowed, that strange feeling rising in him again as she gripped the coffee cup in front of her, her eyes closed and a faint smile about her lips as if she was soaking up the warmth into her body. And considering her state, she could be. Almost as soon as they’d begun to walk, she’d slipped her hoody over her head, doing a strange sort of maneuvering to get her backpack off then back on without stopping.

  “So, what am I having?”

  He started, thinking that he had been caught staring, but he realized the strange woman’s eyes were looking down at the menu. How old was she? It was hard to tell. In some ways she seemed so small, so youthful, and in others she seemed older. Wearier.

  “Whatever you want,” he said with a shrug, even though she couldn’t see the movement. He was reminded of the words she had said to him when he asked if she was hungry, the steel in her eyes as she told him she wasn’t selling herself. He hadn’t meant to imply that at all, but now he was beginning to wonder if he’d managed to dispel her belief that he was angling to get something out of her dining with him.

  Because he really wasn’t. He wasn’t even sure why he had asked her, but he knew it wasn’t that.

  “Hi, y’all! It’s getting chilly out there, isn’t it? What can I get for you?”

  He looked up, startled. He had almost forgotten that they were in a diner, and of course, a server would be coming to take their order.

  “It is,” he tried to answer smoothly. “I’ll have the strip steak along with the biscuits in gravy. Extra gravy.”

  “And to drink, love?”

  Oh. He had forgotten that, hadn’t he? “Just a water. No lemon.”

  “Sounds like a plan. And you, darling?”

  The young woman’s gaze flicked to Solomon’s, as if she was trying to decide if he was full of it or not. “I’ll have your T-bone steak, all the fixin’s on it, a baked potato, all the fixin’s with extra sour. I’d like a side of bacon, your biscuits and gravy, definitely a large side of eggs. And oh! Definitely your eggs Benedict.”

  She never broke her stare with Solomon, and he got the feeling that she was challenging him for daring to say she could have whatever she liked. But to be honest, it was difficult for him not to laugh. He found it strangely amusing, even though he was pretty sure that she was specifically trying to annoy him.

  “You sure that you can eat all of that, sugar?” the waitress said with a genial tone.

  “Oh, I’m sure I can manage.”

  “Besides,” Solomon said, cutting in smoothly, “we heard the food here is so good, can you blame her for wanting some leftovers?”

  “Huh, well I guess not. Well, I’ll put that in for you and get your drinks. Do you know what you’d like to drink, darling?”

  “I’ll take the largest sweet tea you have and a water too, no lemon.”

  “All righty then, I’ll be back soon with the drinks.”

  The woman walked off, leaving Solomon and the girl alone again.

  He supposed that he should stop mentally calling her “girl,” “woman,” and “young woman,” but he didn’t know her name, and it seemed rude to ask just out of the blue. Then again, there wasn’t any etiquette for speaking to a strange vandal who liked defacing churches and other nice buildings.

  “So, my name’s Solomon,” he said awkwardly. He wasn’t used to not knowing what to do or say. Part of his skill in helping his father’s business was how good he was at reading and schmoozing with the right people, but when it came to the young woman in front of him, he felt like he was on entirely different ground.

  “That your real name?”

  He blinked at her. “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” His name was like a brand; it carried a certain amount of trust and dependability to it. Why would he deny it?

  “You really don’t know how the real world works, do you?”

  “And you do?”

  “Aye, I got an idea.” She crossed her arms and sat back.

  Her hazel eyes were narrowed, and he felt like he was being studied.

  “Usually this is the part where you tell me your name.”

  “Oh, is it?”

  She was testing him again, challenging him. But if there was one thing Solomon usually was, it was patient. So, he sat there, returning her stare, as if sitting in complete silence was perfectly natural.

  “Frenchie,” she said finally. It seemed like whole minutes had passed before she caved.

  “Come on, that’s not your actual name.”

  “What, you don’t like it?” she fluttered her lashes at him. “I think it’s cute.”

  “You look more like an Emily to me.”

  She didn’t at all, which was why he said that. She wrinkled her nose instantly and huffed. “Now why’d you have to go an’ ruin a perfectly good meal?”

  “How can you say it’s good? We haven’t even gotten the food yet.”

  “It’s free, right? Automaticall
y good.”

  He let out a small laugh at that. Despite the strange footing that they had gotten off on, he was pleased that they were able to banter back and forth easily. He was so used to people either trying to butter him up for favor, or being intimidated by the McLintoc name, that it was refreshing to talk to someone who clearly couldn’t care less. In fact, she seemed much more interested in the coming food than him.

  “Here are your drinks, lovelies. You need straws?”

  “Yes, please,” Frenchie answered, flashing the woman a blinding smile that surprised Solomon.

  He hadn’t seen her have such a happy expression since he had met her. If he hadn’t witnessed it himself, he wouldn’t have believed she was capable.

  Frenchie continued, “I appreciate it.”

  “Of course, honey. Least I can do.”

  Then the waitress left, and Frenchie was right back to being a sour apple again. He found himself once more at a loss of what to say and let it fall quiet for far too long. A minute passed, then more. He could feel her foot bouncing under the table, her eyes shuttling up and down him repeatedly.

  He wondered what she saw. If she was anyone else, he would say he had a good idea. Solomon was well aware that he was attractive to a majority of people. Or at least a majority of people around his parts. He had all the classic anatomy that ran in the Miller bloodline. He was tall, with thick hair, with sharp eyes and a solid bone structure. He was fairly fit.

  “Anyways, you were saying?” Frenchie asked.

  “Nothing important, it seems.”

  “Ah, something we can agree on.”

  Was it the politest thing to say? No, but she sent him a conspiratorial little smirk, and he couldn’t help but grin a little too. Clearly the girl was a bit saucy, as his mom would say, but he didn’t mind. She was forthright, and he quickly began to understand more about her.

  But only a little bit.

  Frenchie leaned forward and said, “So, do you make a habit of chasing down people multiple times just to offer them a meal? That’s the most bizarre workout regimen I’ve ever heard of.”

  “No, not quite. I, uh, didn’t plan this?”

  She gave him another one of those looks. “Really? Not to be rude, but you seem like the type not to do anything unless he’s got multiple reports on the possible risk and profit.”

  “Huh, for not being rude, that does sound an awful lot like an insult.”

  “Does it? Forgive me. My human skills are rusty.”

  “But not your painting skills, it seems.”

  His chest filled with pride when that startled a laugh out of her. Conversation wasn’t a competition, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was one step behind the young—Frenchie.

  Huh, a peculiar sort of name for a peculiar sort of woman. As he watched her talk, watched her emote, he was struck by how pretty she was.

  Wait, no, pretty wasn’t the right word for it. Neither was beautiful. She looked like art, like someone had painstakingly created her with years of skill. She was dynamic and interesting, her hair a mess of colors, her cheekbones high, and her jaw strong. There was a catlike quality to her eyes, which made sense when it felt like sometimes her gaze was sizing him up. She was like those fantasy cards that his youngest cousin had been obsessed with when he was younger, an elf or a dryad, something deeply entrenched in nature and yet not a part of it at all.

  She opened her mouth to respond and he noticed how full her lips were, despite them being a bit chapped and cracked in one corner. That meant something, didn’t it? He vaguely recalled Mom saying her corners would split when she was low on something… calcium? Iron maybe?

  But before she could answer or he could figure out her dietary deficiency, the food came and wasn’t that a sight to behold. With the help of another, their waitress laid their dishes out, filling pretty much the entire table. Frenchie just stared at all of the steaming food, as if she couldn’t believe it was real, her hands hovering in the air like if she touched it, it would all disappear.

  “Anything else I can get for y’all?”

  “No, we’re fine,” Solomon answered after a beat when it was clear that the woman across from him was completely enraptured by the fare in front of her. “Thank you.”

  “Of course. I’ll be by in a bit to check on ya.”

  She and the other server headed off, and Solomon picked up his utensils to get into his biscuits while they were still hot. Whenever he traveled, he always missed the gravy covered staple more than any other food. Something about it just spoke of home, and simpler times.

  He was just about to bite into the first one when he noticed that Frenchie was still staring, her mouth moving wordlessly, her hands moving from plate to plate and yet never settling down.

  Her expression was… something else. An intense mix of disbelief and wonder, bewilderment and amazement. Like she was looking at the most wonderful sight in the world and her excitement was overwhelming her.

  He couldn’t remember the last time that he had ever been that enthused about anything. And yet the woman in front of him was clearly having a kind of moment over less than a hundred dollars’ worth of food.

  “You should start with the biscuits,” he advised ruefully, finally taking his own bite.

  She glanced up at him with such a startled expression, like she had forgotten that he was there.

  He explained, “If they sit there and soak up the gravy too much, then you miss the mix of textures.”

  She nodded wordlessly before finally, her hand went to her fork. Solomon tried to watch without looking like he was staring, wanting to see what her face would display once she actually tasted the comfort food.

  He was not disappointed.

  Her eyes went even wider, looking almost comical, and she just froze in place, the food in her slack mouth. It was a wonder that it didn’t just slide right out and back onto her plate in a messy pile.

  There was something about it that was just…adorable. Which it probably shouldn’t have been, but her earnest enjoyment was just so nice. She wasn’t putting on a show, wasn’t faking. She was just genuinely happy about the food in front of her.

  And he had provided that.

  He wasn’t sure what changed, but suddenly a switch was flipped, and she swallowed quickly before shoving several more bites right into her mouth in rapid succession. Her cheeks were chipmunked out as she chewed hastily then swallowed.

  “Hey,” he said, reaching out to rest his big hand over hers.

  Instantly she jerked back, her grip on the fork changing as if she was going to stab him.

  He pulled back quickly, hands up as if he was surrendering. “You just need to slow down. You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

  She narrowed her eyes, as if she was about to snap at him not to tell her what to do, before slowly nodding. Returning to normal, she went over to her grits, took a single bite, before reaching to the side of the table and grabbing the salt shaker. She upended it over her grits and he expected her to only shake it once or twice, but she just kept on shaking it as the crystals poured down from the shaker and formed a small mountain on top of the grits.

  “Um, so you wanted salt with a side of grits then?”

  “Huh? Oh. Right.” She set it back on the table then stirred the mess up before hastily taking several bites.

  She nodded along the whole time, as if giving the food her tacit approval, then finally moved onto the steak.

  “Protein,” she whispered to herself, almost reverently.

  Solomon figured at that point he had been staring for far too long, and he went to his own food.

  Their conversation pretty much stopped entirely as they both ate their meals. Well, Solomon worked on his one meal while Frenchie flitted from plate to plate to plate. Although she seemed happy to shove her face full of food, she quickly started slowing down, as if her body was unused to having so much fuel.

  He waited until she was moving at a much more measured pace before speaking again.
“I take it you like the diner?”

  “It’s all right,” she deadpanned before shoving a comically huge bite into her mouth. “Passable,” she said around it, the corner of her lips curling into a smirk.

  “Glad you approve.”

  She swallowed then sat back, rubbing at her stomach. “Definitely approve. So, I’m going to need a box for all of this, and then I’ll be heading out. Thanks for the charity, I guess. Maybe I’ll need to tag some more megachurches if it’s gonna get me all this free food.”

  He felt his amused mood crack a little at that. “This wasn’t meant to incentivize bad behavior.”

  She let out a dry chuckle at that. “Oh geez, you sound like my old Principal. Too late, consider my naughtiness incentivized.”

  He sighed and resisted rubbing his temples in irritation. “I don’t understand why you’d rather do destructive things instead of contributing to society in a productive manner.”

  “Oh really?” She looked him up and down again. “And that’s what you’re doing? Contributing to society productively?”

  “Of course.” What a strange thing to ask.

  She laughed again, longer and even more bitterly. “The food is nice, but you really have no idea what goes on outside of your protective little bubble, do you?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty heavy statement to say about someone you don’t know.”

  “But that’s the thing. I know you plenty. I know, for example, that you went to really nice schools. I know that you went to some prestigious college that I could never afford. I know that you have no student loan debt or debt in general.” She leaned over the table, and he found her stare had transitioned from the delightful wonder at her food to icily serious. “You’ve never had to worry about a utility being shut off because you didn’t have enough money. You’ve never had to carefully calculate which bills you could be late on and which you could pay to keep things going just a little longer.

  “You’ve never dumpster dived because you desperately needed something that you saw someone throw out. You’ve never had to hold the hand of a sick loved one while they begged you not to take them to the hospital because they couldn’t afford it. You’ve never had a member of your family carted off by immigration only to be returned three weeks later without so much as a sorry.