A Nashville Collection Read Online Free Page B

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    â€œYour mom seems happy tonight.” Ricky scoops my hand into his.
    â€œOne of her little chicks has come home.”
    â€œHer favorite chick has come home.” He angles up against the tailgate and pulls me to him, planting a kiss on my forehead.
    â€œFavorite? What are you smoking?” I straighten his shirt collar as a pretend laugh gurgles in my throat. “We don’t understand each other at all.”
    â€œMaybe it’s because you’re so much alike.”
    â€œBite your tongue.”
    â€œRobin,” he laughs, “you are.”
    â€œI am not like Momma. She’s wound tighter than a top. One of these days she might just spin out of control.”
    Ricky brushes my hair away from my shoulder. “So, are you okay with moving home?”
    I drop my cheek against his rocklike chest. “Do I have a choice?”
    â€œI think you do.”
    His tone makes me shiver. I can feel the thumping of his heart beneath my hand. Don’t ask, Robin. Don’t ask. But, I do. “What would that choice be?”
    â€œMarry me.”
    I had to ask.
    â€œW-w-what?” He knows I heard.
    â€œMarry me, Robin. Next week.”
    â€œNext week? Over Bit McAfee’s dead body.” For the first time, I’m grateful to have a slightly obsessive, opinionated mother. “Her oldest daughter married in a rush? She’d never let us live it down. Besides, she’d need at least three months to fuss and fret.” I break out of his arms and walk around to the side of his truck, scuffing my boots over the driveway gravel.
    â€œOkay, three months. July? August?”
    â€œToo hot.”
    â€œSeptember?”
    â€œEven hotter.” I’m stalling. He knows it. I try to rest my arm on top of the truck bed, but I’m too short.
    Ricky unlatches the tailgate and motions for me to come sit. “October? It’s not too hot, and don’t you dare say it’s too cold.”
    â€œWell, I wasn’t, but now that you mention it . . .” With a sigh, I peer into his eyes. “I can’t, Ricky.”
    â€œWhat do you mean you can’t?” He leans forward, propping his broad hands on his thighs.
    I stare up at the house. The tall windows watch me with pale yellow eyes. “I’m not ready.” I try to look him in the eye again, but when a flicker of anger, or maybe hurt, darkens his expression, I glance back to the windows.
    â€œOh, I think you are ready.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Remember last Saturday night, down by the river?”
    I knock him away with my elbow. “Hush. You got me all worked up, kissing me and saying sweet things.”
    His warm lips brush my neck, and he mutters something like, “Um-hum.”
    I squirm free and hop off the tailgate, certain Ricky is gearing up for a repeat of last Saturday night. “You’re not wearing me down this time.”
    He rests his elbows on his knees. “Robin, you’re twenty-five. Isn’t it about time a healthy, beautiful girl like you settles down? Besides, you hate your job; you said it ain’t the person you want to be. Marry me and you can quit.”
    Settle down? I haven’t settled up yet. “Quit and do what?” I slap at his leg. “Hang around the house all day waiting for you to show up? Nothing doing. What redneck rule says a girl has to be married by twenty-five or twenty-six? Marie Blackwell is just now getting married, and she’s thirty-five.”
    â€œMarie Blackwell? That’s who you’re aiming to be like?”
    For a moment, I picture the lean and mean Marie, who’s scared off three fiancés and four dogs. I get Ricky’s point.
    â€œOkay, forget Marie Blackwell. But, Ricky, I—” This is hard. How can I express my feelings in a way he understands? “When I was about ten or eleven I remember thinking I want to do something with my life. Something