All I Am

Oh, hell, no, that had not just happened. He had not barked “try harder” at her as if she was some soldier. She might be his employee, but she took orders from no one.

And he was about to find that out.

CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_a9162d52-acc0-555d-b2b0-870b223efe5a)

WES HAD WARNED HER. That was his one and only defense. Before he’d offered her the job, he’d warned her he sucked with people. So, you know, she could not be surprised that he’d been a total jerk.

Sure.

He stalked back to the barn, headache inching its way up the base of his skull. A ball of tension, dull for now. He forced Monster back inside, even though the dog whined. Usually he let both dogs out on their runner in the afternoon, but right now he needed to get inside the cabin.

Inside and away from the woman stomping toward him looking as if she was going to beat him up.

He’d probably let her. He didn’t know where all that stuff had come from. It certainly wasn’t his place to tell her she was wrong and ridiculous, even if she was. So much for trying to be pleasantly friendly to coworkers. He couldn’t even get that right.

“You have no right to say that stuff.”

He shrugged. “True enough.”

She opened her mouth, and her eyebrows drew together. She huffed out a breath. “I—you—oh, I could punch you.”

“I’d apologize, but...” He was an idiot. Apologize and but did not go in the same sentence. He knew that, but, well, he didn’t feel like apologizing. She was fully functional and apparently had the opportunity to do something she loved, and she had caved?

She was gorgeous, funny, personable and, from all accounts, had a decent family life. What excuse did she have for not going after her dreams?

“But what?” she demanded, hands fisted on hips, muddy shoes tapping on the soggy grass.

“Would you be so angry if I wasn’t right on the money?”

Her mouth dropped open, her foot stilling and hands dropping to her sides. She looked frozen. Like a statue or one of those mannequins that only came to life when someone wasn’t looking.

“You—”

“Look, I warned you about how I am with people. So, you know, if that’s a problem, feel free to quit.”

Again there was a long pause before she reacted in any way. Which spoke volumes about how together she was. That she could pause and think before acting.

“I can’t quit.”

“Yes, you can. In fact—”

“This is all I have right now. As much as I think you’re being kind of a, well, something I can’t say to the man I want to not fire me. I’d rather be here than back at the farm supply store.”

“What about that hair place?”

“They already replaced me. I can fill in, but that’s only in emergencies. Even this job doesn’t cover all my expenses. It’s supposed to be my motivation to ask Sam for another chance at the pie thing. So you can’t take it away. I won’t let you.”

Maybe that was why he didn’t understand her self-deprecating, fold-under-pressure speech. He’d yet to see her fold under anything. She stood her ground. She swept in where she had no business being. She’d somehow convinced him to give her his dog.

She was a hurricane, and hurricanes didn’t fold.

“Then let’s go inside and work. And not talk. This, this right here is why I don’t do the chitchat thing.”

She muttered a curse under her breath, and he was pretty sure it was directed at him. He couldn’t hold it against her.

He walked toward the house, and she followed. This was some kind of truce. It was better than where they’d been when she’d put flowers in her hair and asked him how she looked.

Beautiful. Breathtaking. Words a guy like him didn’t think, let alone say aloud. But Cara defied his norm. The talking about not having animals when he was a kid, and commenting on her life and choices. That wasn’t something he did with anyone else. He’d been trying to be normal, but it had spiraled out of his control.

Thank God she defied his norm in annoying ways, too. As long as she could push his buttons, he was safe. Don’t worry, Wes, your virginity is very, very safe.

But instead of heading inside, she stepped in front of him. He had no choice but to look at her. No choice but to be sucked into Hurricane Cara.

“I bombed the job interview. The pie-baking one. The one that would be perfect. Explain that. How I did that. Me, who has been making pies forever. I could do it in my sleep. I put in too much salt. I burnt the edges. He was standing there staring at me, and everything went wrong when it never has before.” She poked him in the chest. “Explain that.”

“Bake the pies beforehand.” The way her tense expression morphed into shock was evidence enough that this had never occurred to her.

“Before...”

“If it’s the pressure that gets to you, bake it in a no-pressure zone. Then take it to him. If he’s the suspicious sort, have your sister watch you or video you or something.”

“But what if I get the job? I can’t video everything.”

“Tell him you’d rather use your own kitchen. It’s not like you’re going to sit in his restaurant making pies to order. It takes too long, doesn’t it? You’ll want to make dough in batches, make the filling in batches, right? Like a diner.”

“How did you...? That never even... Why didn’t he...? Why didn’t I...?”

Here was the choice. One he usually didn’t struggle with, but Cara’s vulnerability under all the strength she didn’t seem to think she had made it hard to be the close-the-door-in-her-face kind of guy he would prefer to be. “I’ve spent a lot of time learning to avoid my anxiety triggers. You have an obstacle, you find a way to circumnavigate it. Defuse it.”

“Wes.” She said his name with wonder. As if he was helping or something, and that made him uncomfortable enough to bring the harsh side of him back out.

“What you don’t do is wimp out, then whine about it.”

Yeah, that snapped any sweet appreciation off her face as easily as a slap might have.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Which tugged the top of her tank top down a little. A strip of neon pink lace poked out from beneath it.

Stop looking.

“But if it is anxiety, which I’m not all that certain it is, I can’t make it go away.”

“Do you think I’m telling you that?” He pointed at Phantom, who was sitting uneasily off to the side. Assessing. “Dude with a therapy dog. I had military-required therapy and psychoanalysis. I’m saying you find a way to deal. It’s called coping. It’s healthy and whatever.”

“No offense, Wes, but you don’t strike me as the most mentally healthy guy.” She closed her eyes, and her mouth twisted in a pained expression. “Please, ignore me.”

“I keep trying.”

Her mouth quirked up. “I guess I’m not very good at fading into the background. But, um, I shouldn’t have said that.”