I sighed. Might as well go with the theme of our crazy-ass night. “And even if I did tell them the truth, do you really think they’ll believe me? Do you really think they’ll believe that their precious, perfect Masons would do this? They’re not going to believe the truth, so I might as well give them a watered-down version of it.”
“They better believe it when the same story comes from their daughter’s mouth because so help me—”
I caught a glimpse of Mrs. Gibson peeking through the lace curtains in the living room. “I don’t want them thinking I’ve influenced or corrupted you so much that you’d lie with me. If we go in there with the whole truth, that’s what they’ll think. That I’ve manipulated and ruined their daughter.”
“Garth . . .”
“Please, Josie. Please.” We started up the stairs, one step at a time. She didn’t have a chance to reply because the door flew open when we were climbing the last step.
Mrs. Gibson’s face blanched. “Oh, dear sweet Jesus, what happened?” Tilting her head back, she hollered, “Harold! Harold! Get in here now!”
Super idea. Why don’t we just wake a sleeping bear? Rousing Mr. Gibson in the middle of the night almost worried me more than Clay when he jolted awake at night.
“Mom, it’s okay. Calm down. Don’t wake Dad up if he’s already in bed,” Josie said, helping me through the door.
Mrs. Gibson scooted back, staring at me with wide eyes. I hadn’t seen what I looked like, but I didn’t need to. The way I felt told the story. Mrs. Gibson looked between the two of us. “Josie—”
“What the hell happened?” Mr. Gibson finished his wife’s sentence as he lumbered down the hall. Given Mr. Gibson was a big guy and had one hell of a grumpy expression, we really had woken a sleeping bear. “Well?”
Josie peered at me, then answered, “Garth was attacked.”
They must have been so preoccupied with gaping at the train wreck I was that when Mrs. Gibson finally glanced at her daughter, she gasped. “Josie, your face.” Mrs. Gibson rushed toward her, examining it more closely, before covering her mouth and shaking her head. “My poor baby. He drug you into this, too?”
At first I thought she was talking about Colt—since he and his brood were the ones responsible—but when I saw her eyes look my way with accusation, I knew she was talking about me. As expected.
“No, I drug myself into this when I got in the way of a fist,” Josie replied in a heated voice. “Garth did everything in his power to keep me out of it and safe.”
Mrs. Gibson didn’t need to say it, her eyes bled it—Sure, he did with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Let’s get some ice on that, baby.”
Josie exhaled loudly. “Mom, no. Look at us.” She waved her hand between her and me. “I’m not the one who needs ice. Or a little human decency, for Christ’s sake.”
“Josie,” Mr. Gibson broke in, “you might be twenty-one and an adult now, but you are still under our roof and that is your mother you’re talking to.”
Josie’s hand grabbed hold of mine as she stared at her dad. I don’t know how he managed to keep his shoulders high, let alone keep looking her straight in the eye, with the way her eyes were leveling him. “And this is my boyfriend you’re talking to. I’d appreciate it if you’d show him the same amount of respect you show everyone else.”
I don’t know whose face looked more shocked: mine or Mrs. Gibson’s or Mr. Gibson’s. Wait, I take that back. Mrs. Gibson definitely won the most-shocked-face award. From the way she looked, Josie might as well have just told her she was going to jail for life.
Having me as a boyfriend . . . Going to jail for life. . . I supposed to Mrs. Gibson, they were one and the same. Mr. Gibson, though? He just stared at our entwined hands with a vacant expression, seeming at a loss. That made two of us.
“Yoo-hoo? Earth to Dad and Mom?” Josie snapped her fingers a few times. “There’s a man bruised and bloodied in your foyer. This isn’t really the time for open-mouth gawking. Since it looks like I won’t be receiving a lot of help, I’m going to get him fixed up.”
We didn’t make it two steps before Mr. Gibson stepped in front of us. “Josie, time to go to bed.”
Josie’s face went red in barely two seconds time. “I’m not going to bed when there’s a person under our roof who’s in need of serious medical attention.” I gave her hand a squeeze, trying to calm her, but she wasn’t having any of it.
“I need to have a talk with Garth. Man to man.”
“Then you can talk with him in the morning,” Josie argued.
“It can’t wait until the morning.” Mr. Gibson crossed his arms, looking as determined as I knew Josie was.
It might not have been the best time, but he was right. Mr. Gibson and I needed to talk. I’d imagine a father like him had plenty to discuss with me. Especially when I came through the front door hand in hand with his daughter after midnight looking like I was walking death. Turning to Josie, I tried to smile reassuringly at her, but my mouth wasn’t working quite right.
“It’s okay, Joze. Why don’t you get some ice on that cheek, head up to bed, and your dad and me will talk. I’ll see you in a little while. A little while as in the morning,” I added when Mr. Gibson’s eyebrows raised. “I’ll see you soon. In the morning.” As expected, Josie whipped her head from side to side. “Please?” I lifted my hand to her face. “You know how hard it is for me to say that. One please every decade ought to be worth something.”
She sighed, still shaking her head. “Fine. But not until you’re bandaged up and changed.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Garth’s a tough guy—he’s a bull rider after all. He’s used to a few bumps and bruises,” Mr. Gibson said. “I think he can wait fifteen minutes before having his boo-boos fixed up. Isn’t that right, Garth?”
If the tension in the air hadn’t been so thick, I might have chuckled when the word boo-boos came out of Mr. Gibson’s mouth. “This is nothing.” I gave a dismissive wave. “I’m fit for a full day of ranch work right now, so a little manly conversation will be a walk in the park.”
“I’ll wait for you on the porch.” Mr. Gibson stopped in front of Josie and studied her face. He stroked her cheek gently then kissed the top of her head. I didn’t miss the sideways look he shot me as he headed out the front door.
“I’m fine,” I said as Josie opened her mouth. “If I was in his shoes and my daughter came through the door with a bruise on her face, I sure wouldn’t be talking to the guy who was responsible for her.” I pressed closer to her and stroked her cheek with my thumb. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
Her eyes met mine as a silent exchange passed between us. “Thanks for the date.”
I laughed a few notes. What a date it had been. It had to rank up there with the most extreme dates ever. “Thank you for letting me take you on a date.”
“I figured it was about time.” Her hands rested on my chest, and she let a smile come out.
“You figured right.” Leaning in, I pressed my lips into the corner of hers. Mrs. Gibson shifted and looked away. I inhaled, breathing Josie in, then let her go. I had a concerned father waiting for me—who hopefully wasn’t waiting for me with the barrel aimed and trigger cocked. When I turned to close the front door behind me, I found Josie in the same spot, watching me with sad eyes. It took everything in me not to rush back to her and fix whatever was troubling her.
Mr. Gibson was waiting for me just outside the door, leaning into the porch railing with his arms crossed. No shotguns in sight. “It’s obvious to me you want nothing but the best for my daughter,” he began as soon as I’d closed the door, “but you and me both know that you’re not capable of giving her that.”
Shit. And I thought I was done taking hard blows for the night. “So we’re just diving straight into this?”
“I took you for a man who doesn’t like to bullshit around the point, kind of like me. If I’ve got that wrong, then please correct me and we can do some ice-breaking by talking about the weather, or what the Farmer’s Almanac is predicting for rainfall this summer, or how the new cafe in town serves piss poor coffee.”