Welcome Home, Bobby Winslow. Christyne ButlerЧитать онлайн книгу.
asked.
The use of her name caused Leeann’s head to snap back toward him.
The tone of his voice sounded different now. Softer. Almost recognizable.
Why had he called her by name? Could he make out the letters on the small tag attached to the front of her uniform?
She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “Yes, it’s necessary.”
He looked away and this time his gaze held with his traveling companion’s. Leeann glanced over in time to see the Rat Pack namesake give his head a slight shake.
“On my way,” the Smart Mouth finally replied, pulling the dog back inside and swinging his oversize bucket seat away from the window.
The driver sighed.
Leeann focused her attention on him again, wondering why he didn’t want his friend out here.
“Her name is Daisy,” the muscleman said, his grin back. “The dog? She’s mine and her name is Daisy. After Daisy Duke. The hottie from The Dukes of Hazzard?”
Leeann fought back a grin and the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, I know the show. Is anyone else inside the camper?”
“Nope, just the three of us.”
She nodded, feeling at ease with the big guy. Still, she continued her silent count, which had started when she’d asked his buddy to come outside.
She soon reached one-eighty, approximately three minutes. The driver kept looking at the camper’s side door and shifting his weight, as if he wanted to go and see what was taking his friend so long. Another few minutes passed before the door finally opened.
The man gingerly stepped down, starting toward them in slow, measured steps. She immediately wondered if he was under the influence as he fought to keep his balance.
Unlike his buddy, this guy’s clothes seemed to hang off him, despite his tall frame and the width of his shoulders. His white cotton shirt was wrinkled and hung loosely over baggy jeans. His sneakered feet shuffled through the dirt as if he had to work hard to put one foot in front of the other.
He’d turned his ball cap around, the brim now low on his forehead, allowing her to only see the flat press of his lips. In anger? No, this guy was in pain.
When he finally reached them, a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his face and throat.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
His head jerked in a quick nod as he ran a hand across his chest, pulling the soft material taut.
“Can I see your driver’s license, please?”
This time he offered a halfhearted laugh and her heart flinched. Then he removed his ball cap and slid off his glasses, his mouth relaxing in a halfhearted smile.
“It hasn’t been that long, has it, Leeann?”
The air vanished from her lungs as her heart froze.
Bobby Winslow.
Alive and well and standing right in front of her.
Gone was the belligerent stranger and in his place stood the man she had once promised to marry.
The newspaper hadn’t lied.
Bobby really was back in town and looking pretty much the same as he had at eighteen. His hair was still dark and wavy with a cowlick that fell across his forehead. Straight white teeth flashed when he spoke, and the twin dimples she remembered threatened to appear during his lethargic attempt at a smile.
For a quick moment, a sparkle lit his familiar blue eyes, equal parts pirate rogue and boyish charm, before he blinked and the emotion disappeared.
The black-and-white pictures in the newspaper had masked the true effect of his charisma, but Leeann knew firsthand how overwhelming Bobby’s eyes, though dim and shuttered now, could be.
At fifteen, she’d been powerless against them.
At thirty-two, they still turned her knees to mush. Knees she locked to keep upright.
He was waiting for a response.
Leeann said the first thing that popped into her head. “You look a bit worse for wear.”
“Well, that gets right to the heart of things.” Bobby shoved his hands into his back pockets, the cap and glasses dangling from his fingers. “Same ol’ Lee.”
He’d been the only one who’d gotten away with shortening her name. Something she’d always hated until the time he’d said it, right before he kissed her in the oversize backseat of his ‘71 Duster at the drive-in.
“I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that.” Leeann’s words rushed past her lips. “You look good … well, considering you’ve only been—”
“Sprung from rehab less than a week.” Bobby cut her off with a wave of a hand, the action causing him to sway. He cocked one hip and steadied himself. “Yeah, I’m not doing too badly for a guy who nearly died five months ago.”
This time the tugging at her heart caused it to flip over completely. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
No, he didn’t, not anymore.
Never mind the fact that Bobby’s mother still lived in town, just a few houses away from Leeann in a cute cottage complete with a beautiful garden and a white picket fence that Bobby had bought for her with his winnings from his first major race.
Valzora Winslow had shared that little tidbit with pride when she’d surprised Leeann with a plate of freshly baked cookies as a housewarming gift the day Leeann had moved out of her aunt’s place and into a home of her own.
They’d struck up a sociable wave-as-you-go-by friendship, often stopping to chat over the fence about simple things like the weather or the activities going on in Destiny.
But never about Leeann and Bobby’s past.
So where was Val now that Bobby was back in town?
Instead of asking, Leeann stated the obvious, “You haven’t lived here for over a decade.”
“Neither have you,” he countered.
How did he know that? They certainly hadn’t kept in touch over the years and she doubted he was a fan of high fashion, even when that had been her life. “I’ve been back in town for three years, living on Laurel Lane for the last two.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes as he put the name of her street together with his mother’s. If that surprised him, he’d be shocked to know that Leeann had driven his mom to the airport the night of his accident.
“Destiny is my home,” he replied with a vague thrust of his chin, the surprise now replaced with a hint of smugness. “And I’m here to check out my new digs just up the road.”
The new digs being the monstrous log mansion constructed over the summer. The rumor that the multimillion-dollar house was owned by the town’s favorite son had been confirmed in another newspaper article back in July.
Leeann hadn’t gone anywhere near the construction, dubbed “Castle Winslow” by the locals, especially after she’d learned who owned the company that had purchased her land months earlier.
“Well, at least your appearance explains the speed of your oversize home on wheels.” She waved at the camper, latching on to a familiar topic. “You never could resist tinkering with an engine. How much have you messed with the inner workings of that thing?”
“It’s a 362-horsepower 6.8 liter Super Duty V10 SEFI Triton engine and I haven’t done anything to it,” he said, with another hint of his familiar grin. “Yet.”
“You sure? You two were hauling butt.” Leeann handed the paperwork and license back to his friend,