“You didn’t know?”
She shrugged. “Until Sierra and I came to live with him, we didn’t see him much. He and Mom didn’t get along.”
“That’s too bad. My grandparents were a big part of my childhood. Me and my brother came up here every summer, and we thought we were in heaven.”
“You have a brother?”
“Luke. He’s a few years younger.”
“You’re from Texas, like Wade. . .”
He nodded. “Why didn’t your mom and grandpa get along?”
She settled back into the chair, cupping her hands around the warm mug. “Too different, I guess. Mom didn’t make the best decisions—that was hard on my grandpa.”
“Tell me about your sister.”
“Sierra?” She gave a wry laugh. “What’s to tell? She pretty much lets it all hang out. She’s very much like our mother.”
He templed his hands on his chest and rested his chin on his fingertips. “You’re more like your dad?”
“I hope not. I guess I’m more like my grandpa.”
“You were close.”
“How can you tell?”
“Your voice changes when you say his name, softens. I’ll bet you were the apple of his eye.”
He was more perceptive than she’d given him credit for. “He took us in when Mom passed, without a second thought. He’s the reason I pursued horse training. He was a great vet, the best.”
“My grandpa used to say he could talk a breech calf from her mama.”
She found herself smiling. “That might be a slight exaggeration. But he was pretty amazing. A godly man too. Not that he was very vocal about it—but he lived it, you know?”
Dylan nodded thoughtfully.
A pause stretched out as the grin fell from her face. Still, she felt reluctant to go. He didn’t seem so dangerous when he wasn’t trying to flatter her.
“Braveheart was a gift from my grandpa,” Dylan said in the quiet. “The last thing he ever gave me.”
Now Annie understood his desperation to save the horse. Braveheart must feel like the last living piece of his grandfather. That was how Pepper felt to her.
“He’s going to be fine. Going blind can be tough on a horse, but it’s not usually insurmountable.”
The rain had slowed to a quiet patter, and Annie realized they’d been having an ordinary conversation. She didn’t know why that surprised her. Maybe she hadn’t thought Dylan was capable. Or maybe she didn’t think she’d ever drop her guard enough to permit it.
“Well.” She grabbed her bag and stood, setting down the mug. “Thanks for the coffee . . . and the help.”
He rose, towering over her. “Thanks for helping Braveheart.” His smiling brown eyes sucked her in, holding her hostage for a long beat.
She cleared her throat and turned toward the door, suddenly eager to escape. At the door she gathered her boots and stepped into them. In her hurry she lost her balance.
Dylan took her elbow, steadying her.
“Thanks,” she said, straightening, happy for the extra two inches the boots gave her. Still, now she was eye level with the V of bare chest above his unbuttoned shirt.
And he still had her elbow. She pulled away under the guise of hitching her purse onto her shoulder.
“Thanks again,” she said, opening the door. “See you next Thursday.”
“If not before.”
She hustled outside, took the porch steps, and dodged raindrops all the way to her truck. As she turned the key in the ignition, she could still feel the imprint of his hand on her elbow.
Dear Boring in Bozeman,
Sizzle is overrated.
11
Founders Day dawned bright and sunny. The blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon, and the sun crested the mountains, bathing Paradise Valley with golden warmth.
Annie tried to work up some enthusiasm for the festivities, but part of her had hoped for a rainy day that would give her an excuse to stay home and curl up with her worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. That the novel held more appeal than an afternoon with John wasn’t a good sign, but it was, after all, her favorite book.
She and John attended the wedding reenactment of town founders Prudence and Joseph Adams, played by Shay and Travis. After the debacle year before last when the pretend ceremony had culminated in a real marriage—thanks to the absentminded Pastor Blevins—the couple had agreed to play the parts one more time. The joke being, since they were already married, the preacher couldn’t possibly do any harm this time.
Afterward they made their way to the town square. John had gone to fetch them lemonade, and onstage, the Silver Spurs did a sound check. The wedding reenactment behind them, the townspeople now poured onto the lawn like ants onto a crumb.
“Annie, dear,” Miss Lucy called from a nearby lawn chair on the outskirts of the crowd. “Would you like to sit with us?”
“Us” included Miss Lucy, her bingo brigade, and two of her handmade dolls. The women greeted Annie.
“Hello, ladies. Thanks, Miss Lucy, but John likes to sit in the middle.”
“Wasn’t it a fun day?”
“It was. Your doll booth seemed busy.”
“I sold twenty-two!” She perched the prairie-dressed dolls higher in her lap. “You haven’t said a word to the girls.”
“Hi, girls.” Annie waved at the blank-faced dolls. “You’re, uh, looking festive tonight.”
“They’re very partial to Founders Day.” She patted their yarn hair. “Not to rush you, dear, but you’d better claim a spot before they’re all taken.”
Annie said good-bye and carried her blanket toward the middle of the crowd. She spread her quilt, claiming the last open spot, and sat down.
Up front Sierra wrangled a spot close to the speakers, and Ryder helped her spread a quilt on the grass. Annie squinted at the blanket and pursed her lips. Her favorite quilt. Oh well, it would wash.
Riley Raines came by and ruffled the boy’s hair, then pulled Sierra into his chest, laughing, and kissed her cheek. Another cowboy. Heaven help her. It would be a miracle if Annie got her safely through college. She was a bright girl, had gotten her GED in record time, and got good grades in college—when she applied herself.
Sierra backed away enough to snap a picture of Riley with the camera dangling from her neck.
A body plopped down next to her. Annie had a polite smile ready, but it wasn’t John who nudged her shoulder.
“How’s my girl?” Dylan’s brown eyes twinkled and little lines flared toward his temples.
Annie leaned away, ignoring the impressive somersault her heart performed. She rolled her eyes. “Hi, Dylan.”
“Not happy to see me?”
“My heart is all aflutter.” She pulled her knees into her chest.
“That’s more like it.”
“Better find a seat, it’s filling up fast.”
He smiled flirtatiously. “That your way of getting rid of me?”
She sighed and looked away, cracking her knuckles. She could not win with him. And she didn’t like the way his shoulder was rubbing hers or the way his breath fanned her cheek. He was entirely too close.
“I make you nervous,” he taunted, a smile in the low drawl of his voice.
She stiffened. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”
There was a beat of silence. A breeze whispered by, carrying the scent of him, musk and leather.
“I think I would, Miss Annie.”
His words, or maybe it was his breath stirring her hair, sent a shiver up her spine. She drew her knees in tighter.
“You’re in my spot, Taylor.”
She hadn’t noticed John’s approach and felt her face warming, though she’d done nothing wrong.
“Howdy, John.” Dylan took his time standing. “Just keeping your girl company.”
John’s girl, Dylan’s girl. How swiftly he changed. It really was just a great big game to him. She’d do well to remember that and stop getting caught up in th
e way he made her feel. In the way he made her insides heat, and the way his nearness pebbled the skin on her arms.
“See ya around, Annie.” Dylan tossed her a wink.
Player. She frowned at his retreating back as John settled next to her, his slim shoulder bumping hers. She waited for the gooseflesh, tried to manufacture just a pebble or two.
Nothing. She wondered briefly if Dylan was her Mr. Darcy. Good grief, she hoped not.
“What’d he want?” John handed her the lemonade as she watched Dylan skirting people and blankets on his way toward the stage. He couldn’t get three inches without someone stopping him.
“Not much. I’m still helping him with that horse.” She hadn’t mentioned the help he was giving her on the column.
“Well, if you ask me, he’s overly friendly with you. Want me to say something?”
She had an instant image of John up in Dylan’s face. ’Course, he’d have to get on tiptoe.
“That’s just Dylan’s way. He’ll chase anything in a skirt.” Case in point, Marla Jenkins, who just pulled him down on her blanket. And she actually was wearing a skirt, unlike Annie, who hadn’t worn anything but jeans for as long as she could remember.
“Yeah, well, he’d better keep his distance if he knows what’s good for him.” John sniffed loudly, a punctuation mark on his threat.
Dylan settled on a blanket with Travis, Shay, Wade, Abigail, and their kids. Thank goodness she’d refused Shay’s offer to share a blanket. What a miserable night that would’ve been.
Marla plopped down next to Dylan, sitting close. So he had another date with Marla. What was that? Three? Must be a record.
John began talking about the town square property and how the town had acquired it—some admirable feat of his uncle, so he had every detail and shared each one with glee.
When the Silver Spurs struck up their first tune, Annie was relieved that the volume made talking difficult, and when John slipped his arm around her shoulders, she forced herself to relax into his embrace.
“Good night, John.” Annie turned at the door, preparing herself for a brief kiss. She was eager for her quiet house and soft mattress. Pride and Prejudice awaited.
Instead John took her hand. It was soft and not unpleasant feeling. She shook away the image of Dylan’s thick squared fingers and calloused palm.
“Annie, we’ve been going out, what, five weeks now?”
She wondered if he could round it down to the nearest hour, then chided herself, bracing for what she was sure was coming.
“That’s about right.”
He nodded and poked his glasses into place. She tried to focus on his eyes—they were a pretty shade of green—but the porch light glared off his glasses, blocking them.
“I’ve come to care for you. I admire you more than you know. Life has handed you lemons, and you’ve made lemonade. I respect that.”
“Thank you, John.”
He patted her hand. “What I’m saying is, I’d like it if we could take our relationship to the next level.”
She frowned, suddenly unsure, wondering if he was asking to come in. She didn’t think John was like that. He was a Christian, after all. Surely he didn’t think . . .
“What I’m saying, Annie, is that I’d like us to date exclusively.”
Oh. Oh. Her knees went weak, not from his touch but from relief. “Well, we sort of already are . . . at least I am.”
“Right, right. Well, me too, of course. You’d know if it were different—you can’t blink in this town without starting the rumor mill.” He laughed in that slightly nasal way he had. “I just, you know, thought we might make it official.”
She wondered if Dylan’s persistent flirting had anything to do with John’s sudden desire for exclusivity . . . if John felt threatened by the cowboy’s attention, regardless of the fact that Dylan treated her no differently from every other single woman.
Regardless, she hadn’t expected this so soon. On the other hand, she’d planned to continue seeing John, and it wasn’t like she had many other options. There were only so many single men in Moose Creek.
She squeezed his hand and smiled. “I’d like that.”
He tilted his head back enough that the glare shifted, and she saw the relief in his eyes. “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad, Annie.” He lowered his head and his lips met hers.
They were cool and soft, not unpleasant. He touched her face and she sensed he wanted to deepen the kiss.
She ended the kiss and offered a smile instead. “Thanks for a lovely day. I had a good time.”
If he was disappointed in the abrupt ending, he hid it well. “I did too.” He squeezed her hands. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“All right.”
Annie slipped into the darkened house, wishing she felt something. Anything but this vague ambivalence. Oh well. The feelings would come in time. Love could grow from friendship, couldn’t it? Maybe it did fly in the face of all her favorite Jane Austen heroines—but they hadn’t been surrounded by a bunch of cowboys.
Dear Torn,
Love is a choice. Decide to keep loving your sweet-tempered boyfriend, and the feelings will eventually follow.
12
Annie pulled a mug from the cabinet and shut the door, letting it bang against the frame. While the coffee brewed, she pushed in a chair until it scraped across the floor. She came back to the brewing coffee and thumped her fingers loudly on the countertop, waiting.
The past two weeks of exclusivity with John had been . . . nice. When Annie found out he had never been to Yellowstone, one of her favorite places, she wanted to remedy that. So yesterday they’d driven down and explored the park.
He’d seemed a bit out of his element in his button-up shirt and Dockers, and in the way he’d insisted on driving from one attraction to another, even when they were only a mile apart. He’d put up the windows to block the smell of sulfur from the springs and notched up the air-conditioning.
So he wasn’t the outdoor type. That was no crime. At least he’d been a good sport, even if he hadn’t been willing to wait at the creek in hopes of spotting a moose.
Mr. Coffee gurgled and the machine let out a nice, loud beep. She retrieved the creamer from the fridge, letting the machine go off a couple more times before turning it off and pouring a mug of the rich brew.
She slid the carafe into its cubby extra hard, satisfied with the loud clang. The spoon clinked against the inside of the mug as she stirred.
Sierra appeared in her nightshirt, her auburn hair rumpled. “You don’t have to clatter all through the house. I had my alarm set.”
A denial perched on her tongue but she pressed her lips together. Maybe she had been a little loud, but Sierra hadn’t been to church in weeks despite her promise.
“Want some coffee?” Annie asked.
“Yes. I hope it’s extra strong,” Sierra said around a yawn, then collapsed on a chair.
“What time did you get in?” Annie asked, knowing full well where the clock hands had been when Sierra had tiptoed in.
“After midnight. A bunch of us went into Bozeman and saw this band. It was loads of fun. And before you ask, Bridgett paid for my ticket.”
Annie sat down across from her and slid the coffee over, smiling. You wouldn’t be so tired if you got in at a decent hour.
Sierra cupped the mug in both hands and took a sip. “Thanks for staying with Ryder. I know I don’t say it often enough.” Even with her sleepy green eyes, Sierra looked so young. She was young.
“You know I love spending time with him.” Even if he did carry that stupid rope with him everywhere now. He’d even wanted to sleep with the thing, but Sierra agreed that the loop was a hazard. He asked for it upon waking, though, and spent hours practicing in front of that fence post. Annie hoped it was just a phase. A short one.
“Oh,” Sierra said, her eyes lighting up. “Guess who’s coming for our Fourth of July festival? Sawyer Smitten!”
“The country-and-western s
inger?”
“The totally hot country-and-western singer. He wrote ‘Smitten’ for his bride awhile back, remember?”
“I love that song. Too bad we won’t be able to afford tickets.”
“The town’s footing the bill in hopes of bringing in tourists. Isn’t that fab?”
“Awesome. I’ll bet the town square will be packed. Maybe the stores will need extra help that weekend. You should check around town.”
Annie’s cell phone rang. It was early for a call, especially on a Sunday morning. She checked the screen and frowned.
“Hello?”
“Annie, it’s Dylan.” His voice was rushed and serious.
“What’s wrong?”
“I came out this morning and found Braveheart banging into the stall door. He’s spooked and going a little crazy. I’ve tried to calm him down, but nothing’s working.”
She could hear the horse neighing, then squealing. A loud clatter followed, and she imagined Braveheart slamming into the wooden stall door.
Her heart squeezed. “I’ll be right over. Call Merle as soon as we hang up and ask him to come.”
“Why?” His voice sounded tight and guarded. Maybe he thought she was suggesting Braveheart needed to be put down.
“He might be in pain or need a sedative, that’s all, just to keep him from hurting himself. Don’t worry, we’ll get him through this.”
She closed the phone and dumped the rest of her coffee.
“You’re leaving?” Sierra asked.
“It’s Dylan’s horse.” She was glad she’d already taken care of Pepper. She brushed her teeth and said good morning to Ryder as he came out of his room.
Good. Now Sierra wouldn’t be able to go back to bed so she might as well go to church.
Annie tugged on her boots.
“So let me get this straight.” Sierra leaned against the doorway. “You’ve been harping on me about missing church, and now you’re the one who’s not going.”
Apparently the caffeine had kicked in.
“This is an emergency. I can’t let the poor horse hurt himself.” Her boots on, she grabbed her purse. “Tell John I won’t be there, all right?” And then she was out the door.
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