“Okay.”
After everyone left, he headed to the bar and asked for another whiskey. Then another. He was going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow, but he’d deal with it.
Tonight, he just wanted to forget.
MOLLY CLIMBED INTO her car and turned the starter, listening to George cough as he struggled to come to life.
She also noticed Carter’s Mustang still sitting in the parking lot. Everyone else had left.
She shouldn’t care, but she’d noticed—out of the corner of her eye when she shouldn’t have been looking, but couldn’t seem to help herself—that he’d been downing a lot of whiskeys tonight. She also noticed—even though she shouldn’t—the look on his face.
Misery. Unhappiness.
Not her problem. She was miserable and unhappy being here, too.
George sputtered and conked out on her.
Dammit. She’d just wait five minutes, like usual, and start him up again.
She should have just ridden with her parents as they’d suggested. But her independent streak refused to allow her to sit in the back like she had when she’d been a kid. She wanted the option to flee if necessary.
Currently, there’d be no fleeing.
As she counted down the minutes, she stared at Carter’s car—or, Rhonda, as she was called. She sure was pretty. She hoped Carter wouldn’t stumble out of the bar drunk as hell and bash Rhonda into some tree.
Not that it would be her problem if he did.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.
Well, hell. Taking her keys out of George’s ignition, she slid them into her purse and went back inside, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to just check.
Maybe he was meeting someone here, like a date, and she could just duck out, satisfied that some woman would be driving him home.
She spotted him sitting at the end of the bar—alone—nursing a drink. He did not look sober at all.
Indecision made her chew on her lower lip. She could call Luke and have him come pick Carter up, but the guy was getting married tomorrow. The last thing he needed was to come fetch his drunk friend.
Damn Carter for putting her in this position. She wanted minimal contact with him until she left town, which was only a couple of days away. And now . . .
She walked with purpose down the bar and stopped in front of him.
He lifted his gaze toward her and frowned. “Molly?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes. I don’t know. No. Yeah, probably.”
She rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Give me your keys.”
He gave her a drunken half smile. “Are you going home with me?”
“Not on your life. Give me your keys, Carter.”
He dug into his pocket and put the keys in her hand, then closed her fingers over them. “Your hands are still soft.” He turned her hand over. “And you still bite your fingernails, Moll.”
She jerked her hand away from his grasp. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He slid off the barstool. “Okay.”
Grateful that at least he was cooperative and not belligerent, she walked out to the parking lot and opened the passenger door of the Mustang. The delicious smell of leather greeted her. “Get in.”
He got in, then frowned up at her. “You’re driving?”
“Yes. You’ve been drinking a little too much tonight, Carter.”
“Right. Shouldn’t drive Rhonda.”
She slammed the door a little forcefully, then went around to the driver’s side, experiencing a slight thrill as she slid into the seat and adjusted it.
When she started it up and felt the rumble, she couldn’t resist a smile. Oh, yeah. The Mustang was a beauty, all right.
She shifted Rhonda into first and pulled to the end of the driveway, carefully looking both ways before pulling out into traffic and heading for the highway.
“I assume you still live in Hope.”
“Yup.” He gave her his address and was at least coherent enough to provide directions to his house. “Thanks for driving me home.”
“Not a problem.” The problem was going to be coming back to get George tomorrow amidst all the wedding stuff going on. But she’d deal with that tomorrow.
She took the exit leading to Hope, then followed Carter’s directions to his house.
Carter was quiet on the ride back to town. Thankfully, because she had absolutely nothing to say to him.
Surprisingly, he had a nice house with a sizeable yard and a big driveway. She pulled in and put on the emergency brake, then shut off the engine. Then she got out and came around to the passenger side and opened up the door.
“Come on. Let’s go inside.”
Carter got out of the car, then laid his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Molly.”
Not the first time she’d heard that, and she wondered exactly what he was apologizing for. Tonight, or for twelve years ago. She decided to ignore the warmth of his hands on her. He was drunk, and at least he was nice about it, so tonight he got a pass.
“It’s okay. Let’s go inside.”
She fumbled around on the key chain and found what looked like the front door key, so she opened the door, then flipped on the light. From what she could see, it was a nice, spacious house.
But that was as far as she was going. “Are you okay?”
He turned to her and gave her a nod. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks.”
“I need to take your car with me so I can get home. You think you’ll remember that in the morning?”
After everyone left, he headed to the bar and asked for another whiskey. Then another. He was going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow, but he’d deal with it.
Tonight, he just wanted to forget.
MOLLY CLIMBED INTO her car and turned the starter, listening to George cough as he struggled to come to life.
She also noticed Carter’s Mustang still sitting in the parking lot. Everyone else had left.
She shouldn’t care, but she’d noticed—out of the corner of her eye when she shouldn’t have been looking, but couldn’t seem to help herself—that he’d been downing a lot of whiskeys tonight. She also noticed—even though she shouldn’t—the look on his face.
Misery. Unhappiness.
Not her problem. She was miserable and unhappy being here, too.
George sputtered and conked out on her.
Dammit. She’d just wait five minutes, like usual, and start him up again.
She should have just ridden with her parents as they’d suggested. But her independent streak refused to allow her to sit in the back like she had when she’d been a kid. She wanted the option to flee if necessary.
Currently, there’d be no fleeing.
As she counted down the minutes, she stared at Carter’s car—or, Rhonda, as she was called. She sure was pretty. She hoped Carter wouldn’t stumble out of the bar drunk as hell and bash Rhonda into some tree.
Not that it would be her problem if he did.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.
Well, hell. Taking her keys out of George’s ignition, she slid them into her purse and went back inside, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to just check.
Maybe he was meeting someone here, like a date, and she could just duck out, satisfied that some woman would be driving him home.
She spotted him sitting at the end of the bar—alone—nursing a drink. He did not look sober at all.
Indecision made her chew on her lower lip. She could call Luke and have him come pick Carter up, but the guy was getting married tomorrow. The last thing he needed was to come fetch his drunk friend.
Damn Carter for putting her in this position. She wanted minimal contact with him until she left town, which was only a couple of days away. And now . . .
She walked with purpose down the bar and stopped in front of him.
He lifted his gaze toward her and frowned. “Molly?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yes. I don’t know. No. Yeah, probably.”
She rolled her eyes and held out her hand. “Give me your keys.”
He gave her a drunken half smile. “Are you going home with me?”
“Not on your life. Give me your keys, Carter.”
He dug into his pocket and put the keys in her hand, then closed her fingers over them. “Your hands are still soft.” He turned her hand over. “And you still bite your fingernails, Moll.”
She jerked her hand away from his grasp. “Come on. Let’s go.”
He slid off the barstool. “Okay.”
Grateful that at least he was cooperative and not belligerent, she walked out to the parking lot and opened the passenger door of the Mustang. The delicious smell of leather greeted her. “Get in.”
He got in, then frowned up at her. “You’re driving?”
“Yes. You’ve been drinking a little too much tonight, Carter.”
“Right. Shouldn’t drive Rhonda.”
She slammed the door a little forcefully, then went around to the driver’s side, experiencing a slight thrill as she slid into the seat and adjusted it.
When she started it up and felt the rumble, she couldn’t resist a smile. Oh, yeah. The Mustang was a beauty, all right.
She shifted Rhonda into first and pulled to the end of the driveway, carefully looking both ways before pulling out into traffic and heading for the highway.
“I assume you still live in Hope.”
“Yup.” He gave her his address and was at least coherent enough to provide directions to his house. “Thanks for driving me home.”
“Not a problem.” The problem was going to be coming back to get George tomorrow amidst all the wedding stuff going on. But she’d deal with that tomorrow.
She took the exit leading to Hope, then followed Carter’s directions to his house.
Carter was quiet on the ride back to town. Thankfully, because she had absolutely nothing to say to him.
Surprisingly, he had a nice house with a sizeable yard and a big driveway. She pulled in and put on the emergency brake, then shut off the engine. Then she got out and came around to the passenger side and opened up the door.
“Come on. Let’s go inside.”
Carter got out of the car, then laid his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Molly.”
Not the first time she’d heard that, and she wondered exactly what he was apologizing for. Tonight, or for twelve years ago. She decided to ignore the warmth of his hands on her. He was drunk, and at least he was nice about it, so tonight he got a pass.
“It’s okay. Let’s go inside.”
She fumbled around on the key chain and found what looked like the front door key, so she opened the door, then flipped on the light. From what she could see, it was a nice, spacious house.
But that was as far as she was going. “Are you okay?”
He turned to her and gave her a nod. “Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks.”
“I need to take your car with me so I can get home. You think you’ll remember that in the morning?”
