by Susan Fox
This wasn’t good. Nor was it good that he’d told her, nor that he’d caressed her cheek, the tanned skin so warm and supple under his fingers. She might think . . . What? That he was interested in her? Well, damn it, he was, but he certainly wasn’t going to do anything about it. Not only was he committed to Cynthia, but, as a couple, he and Jess were as mismatched as they’d always been. The wrangler and the city slicker. Nope, not going to happen.
He relaxed from a stretch and lay flat on the yoga mat that had come with his room, linking his hands behind his head. Why hadn’t Cynthia supplanted Jess in his mind when he wanted a friend to talk to? He’d put it down to a lingering childhood habit. But Jess’s comments about vulnerability made him wonder. He’d always told himself he valued independence and wanted a relationship that was a partnership of two self-sufficient people. People who were the complete opposite of his dysfunctional parents.
In his relationship with Cynthia, he hadn’t allowed room for vulnerability, nor had she. They both thought of it as a weakness. And yet, as Jess said, surely everyone, even the strongest person, had moments of vulnerability. Like his anxiety before that Gimme a Break board meeting, an anxiety he’d never confessed to Cynthia.
He remembered how he’d felt when Jess made that tenth-grade speech. As he sat in the audience, he’d fought back tears of pride and felt a warm glow, knowing he’d helped her overcome her fear. She was right. As kids, they’d been a team.
And, with a start of surprise, he remembered meeting with LeVaughn Duvalle when they were putting together the Gimme a Break Foundation. The basketball star was worth several million dollars, but the inner-city kid was still inside him, worried that his lack of finesse would jeopardize the foundation’s success.
The thing was, LeVaughn was a dynamic, outgoing guy, much more than reserved Evan, and he was the perfect spokesperson. Evan had told him that, then said, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give the boring facts and numbers, but first you talk about our goals and your own experience. You motivate; I’ll inform.”
They’d each had their weaknesses and fears, and when they’d admitted to them the solution was obvious. And their foundation, not to mention their relationship, was the stronger for confessing their vulnerabilities.
He scowled. Damn. It had always been like this. Just when he thought he knew what he was doing, Jess made him rethink.
Cynthia did that, too, only on different issues.
The two women had something in common. And why wouldn’t they? They were the only two women he’d ever cared about. Except for his mother, but caring for Brooke had been a loser’s game.
Evan growled. This was why he hated “downtime.” His thoughts made lousy company. He’d scrap the stretches and head down to the barn to feed Rusty carrots and help Jess and Madisun with the tack.
Chapter Six
Later that day, after an early dinner, Evan again headed for the barn, this time in company with the other guests. Hard to believe, but he actually felt mellow. Even his mangled toes were comfortable in an old pair of gym shoes.
He’d gone through a pile of work after the afternoon ride, so he was feeling productive. Then he’d indulged in an arnica massage and a eucalyptus sauna, ending up in near nirvana. Dinner had been excellent, especially the rack of lamb and the Blue Mountain pinot noir—though, as usual, he’d restricted himself to one glass. Unlike his parents, he would control his drinking, and not vice versa.
Beth and Kim, arm in arm, strolled beside him. Both wore souvenir T-shirts with Caribou Crossing’s unofficial logo of a road sign like the ones in school zones but with “Caribou Crossing” and a black silhouette of the mammal on them. As a kid, he’d scoffed at the logo because the real live caribou moved to more remote territory more than a century earlier. Jess, he remembered, had loved the logo, as well as the wire caribou in the town square.
“We’re really looking forward to this evening,” Beth said to him.
“TJ told me it’s special,” he replied. And hokey, though he didn’t mention that part. The odd thing was, he felt a surge of pleasant anticipation himself. What was that all about? One glass of wine never gave him this kind of buzz. Was there some magic in the country air? Or was it Jess?
The week had brought surprise after surprise and, as he’d relaxed in the sauna, Evan had decided not to even attempt to resolve the issues. A confused mind couldn’t make a sound decision. He had to step back and gather more information before he decided how to proceed. He was a highly intelligent analyst. There was no problem that could get the better of him, not even Jessica Bly Cousins.
“We went into town this afternoon,” Kim said. “Did you know Caribou Crossing started out as a gold rush town?”
“Oh?” Of course he knew that. It was the town’s main claim to fame, and the townspeople played it up to the kitschy hilt, along with the whole country and western thing. Tourism was big in Caribou Crossing. Businesses had names like Lucky Strike, Gold Pan, and Round Up, The sleazy bar his parents, then his mom, used to frequent was called The Gold Nugget Saloon. Was it still there? If so, that’s probably where Brooke was at this very moment, he thought sourly.
“Wow!” Beth’s exclamation drew him out of his thoughts.
They were nearing the barnyard, and there stood a huge, hay-filled wagon. It was harnessed to two sizable horses, their reddish-brown coats set off dramatically by blond manes and tails. Jess stood with a wiry bald man, barely her height, the two of them cooing to the giant horses. Garbed in a fringed buckskin skirt and vest, a beige cowboy hat, and a pair of fancy tooled Western boots, she made a fine picture. A picture that several of the guests were currently snapping.
“Hi, folks,” she called. “This is Jimmy B and he’s your wagon driver.”
The guests approached the horses gingerly. “Jimmy B barely comes up to their knees,” Sylvia murmured, just as the driver sang out, “Howdy, folks. Don’t you be afeard of these critters. They’re gentle as kittens, they don’t bite, and they just love to be patted. Step right on up and meet Harry and Sally.”
“When Harry met Sally!” Sandy cried, and the ice was broken. Soon everyone was clustered around the horses, stroking necks and making friends as they bombarded the elderly driver with questions.
Evan wandered over to the barn, where Jess was making notes on a clipboard. “Annie Oakley, I presume?” he teased.
“Told you it’d be worth a laugh.”
Her smile gave him a twinge of yearning. A complicated yearning made up of affection and lust.
“It’s not exactly Fifth Avenue,” he said, “but here it’s just right.” He admired the detail work in the cinnamon skirt and vest and the embroidered Western shirt.
She pirouetted, the fringes on her skirt flirting with the bare skin above her knees, and he admired those knees, too. “My dress buckskins. Worn only on special occasions.”
Their gazes held for a moment, and he knew that, at least for him, just being together made it a special occasion.
She drew in a breath, let it out, then turned on her heel and strode over to the group. “Okay, gang, let’s get this show on the road.”
After she and Jimmy B helped everyone scramble into the hay wagon, Jess hopped aboard on the opposite side from Evan. The driver made clucking sounds to get the horses going, then guided them down a dirt road through the trees. The scent of fresh hay filled the air, the horses’ harnesses jingled, and a bird serenaded them.
“Jimmy B,” Jess said, “why don’t you tell the folks a bit about how Caribou Crossing got its start?”
“Like the old expression goes,” the driver said, “there was gold in them thar hills. The Cariboo Gold Rush, back in the 1860s, brought a flood of people from all over the world. They walked and rode up the Cariboo Wagon Road, across some pretty tough terrain, and a passel of’em ended up here.”
“So the town started as a mining camp?” Sandy asked.
“Sure did,” Jimmy B said. “It was a town of tents and thrown-together shacks
; of miners, mules, and mercantile stores; and of saloons, gambling dens, and brothels. But then Reverend Petty and the missus came along, and they knew just the thing to tame those miners. Anyone know what that might be?”
Evan, who’d studied the history of Hicksville in elementary school, kept quiet but Thérèse, seated beside him, called out, “Wives!”
“You know it, sister,” the driver said. “A wagonload of brides.” As Jimmy B went on with the story, Evan murmured to Thérèse, “You heard this story last year?”
She nodded. “And we’ll probably hear it next year, too. I think the Crazy Horse will be an annual thing for us.”
“You like it that much?”
“It’s so different from Zurich, and we go home feeling renewed.”
George, seated on his wife’s other side, leaned over to say, for about the tenth time, “It certainly does get into your blood.”
As Jimmy B carried on with his story-telling, Evan mused that, while the Crazy Horse was a very long way from being in his blood, it wasn’t as awful as he’d feared. As for renewal . . . well, he didn’t need anything to renew his enthusiasm for his life in New York City. But there was another possibility of renewal that excited him: the chance of reestablishing a true friendship with Jess. When they were teens, he’d let hormones ruin their friendship. Now, though his hormones still responded to her, he was damned if he’d give in to them. No, the more serious problem was his evaluation of her business proposal, the one he couldn’t get her to talk about.
The wagon arrived at its destination and people clambered down with oohs and ahs. In front of a forest backdrop nestled a small, deep blue lake, with a fair-sized tepee beside it. Smoke drifted lazily out of a hole at the top, and the air had cooled off enough that the fire would be welcome. Over to one side, a wooden fence marked off a grassy meadow, and across the field the sun was setting in soft shades of peach and purple. Most of the guests made for the tepee, but a few headed over to lean on the fence.
Evan had never been one to admire—much less notice—scenery, but this gentle sunset drew him, and he found himself a spot at the fence, slightly removed from the others. A tangle of wild roses twined around a fence post, and their sweet scent complemented the view.
Jess saw Evan stroll over to the fence. Jimmy B would get the fire going in the firepit, and Marty, one of the kitchen staff at the Crazy Horse, would serve drinks, but Jess knew she should head into the tepee and play hostess. Besides, it was dangerous to spend too much time with Evan. Yet her boots had a mind of their own and carried her in his direction.
Avoiding a beautiful but prickly branch of wild roses, she rested her elbows on the top rail, then gazed at the setting sun. Her peripheral vision caught the movement when Evan turned toward her. She glanced at him.
He smiled and she smiled back. Her heart skipped. It had been doing that too dang much lately.
She turned back to the view and cleared her throat. “Tell me about Cynthia. It’s a serious relationship?”
He nodded slowly. “We’ve been seeing each other for two years and we’re talking about the future. We’re perfect for each other.”
There, she told herself, he’s committed. Don’t go dreaming any schoolgirl dreams. “What’s she like?”
“She’s from Boston, a wealthy background, but she’s become a success all on her own.”
“You said she’s a lawyer?”
“Yes, a corporate finance attorney.”
“Oh.” Jess didn’t have a clue what that was. It sounded way out of her league, and not very interesting. “And she’s beautiful, I suppose?”
“Stunning. Scandinavian heritage. Blond hair, blue eyes, great bone structure. Very chic, excellent taste.”
Jess tried not to wince. So far, she was pretty much hating Cynthia. “What about her personality, her interests? What does she do for fun?”
“She loves her work, but aside from that she enjoys theatre, gallery openings, travel. We both make lots of business trips and often go together, taking extra days to sightsee. Paris, London, Hong Kong. You know.”
Jess snorted. “Of course I don’t. And, as I’m sure you know, I have no burning desire to go to any of those places.” To be perfectly honest, much as she loved horses, wild roses, and country sunsets, she wouldn’t have minded some foreign travel. But she would never be rich, and family and horses would always be her priority. “I’m a homebody.” Realizing she sounded defensive, she was annoyed at herself for comparing herself to his perfect woman.
“I remember.” His tone was gentle and it calmed her.
She gave him a rueful grin. In some ways, no one would ever know her as well as Ev once had.
And she’d always known what kind of woman he wanted as his life partner, and it sure wasn’t a country girl. Now he’d found his woman, and Jess told herself she was happy for him. Trying to sound enthusiastic, she said, “So you and Cynthia are perfectly compatible. That’s great.” When she’d felt the zing of sexual chemistry with him, it had obviously been one-sided.
“It is.”
Despite the years of separation Jess knew this man, and heard the shadow of doubt. “Ev? Is there a problem?”
He gave a small, dismissive shake of his head. “It’s not really a problem. Just one area where we haven’t reached complete accord.”
Good heavens, he made their relationship sound like a business merger rather than a romance. “You’ve got me intrigued.”
“It’s personal.”
She turned away. Absurd to feel hurt. They weren’t kids anymore, no longer confidants. Why should he tell her his personal secrets?
Because he once had.
The sunset was in its final stages. A peachy glow lit the horizon line. She blinked hard to clear the moisture that fuzzed her vision.
His voice brought her gaze to his face once more. “When we were teenagers, you said you wanted marriage and kids one day. I said I wanted to share my life with a strong, intelligent career woman, but I didn’t want kids.”
Yes, it was just as she’d thought. Evan hadn’t changed. She was relieved, Jess told herself. But then she worked through the implications—those for Ev—of what he’d said. Her mouth made a soundless “oh.” “And Cynthia does?”
“Right now her career is her priority, but she’s our age and she says she could see wanting one or two kids when she reaches her midthirties.”
“Are you still sure you don’t want to have children?”
“Pretty sure. And Cynthia’s not even positive herself about wanting them. But if she did, well, her idea of parenthood isn’t the same as mine.”
Idea of parenthood? Either you were a parent, or you weren’t. Well, unless you didn’t know you were a parent . . . She shook her head, brushing that thought away. “How do you mean?”
“She says it wouldn’t need to affect our lives much. We’d still have our careers, our travel, our social activities. We’d hire a live-in nanny.”
“And have someone else raise your kids?” Jess’s voice squeaked in protest.
“Lots of couples do,” he said mildly, but she heard an undertone of doubt in his voice.
“Why bother having children if you don’t want to spend time with them? If you don’t want to be a real parent? That’s unfair on the kids.”
He swallowed, and she wished she hadn’t spoken without thinking. Both his parents had made him feel unwanted and unloved. He’d always been reticent about talking about his folks, but Jess had been his best friend for ten years. She’d picked up on things. Things he’d made her vow to keep secret.
“Cynthia’s parents weren’t around much,” he said, “but she and her brother were raised with all the privileges. The family gets along very well; they see each other several times a year. But . . .”
He turned to her, biting his lip. “I keep thinking of your family, Jess. Your parents were more affectionate with me than Cynthia’s parents are with her. Oh, I don’t doubt they all love each other in their fashion, bu
t it’s such a . . . cool, neat-and-tidy kind of love. You’d think that would appeal to me, but . . .”
Yeah, she would have. But it looked like Evan had more of a heart than he gave himself credit for. Jess kinked up one corner of her mouth. “Families are supposed to be messy.”
“I don’t know. Look at mine. That was way too much mess. There was no love at all and—”
“No!” Jess leaped in. Brooke had loved Evan; Jess knew that. But was it her place to tell him about his mother, and the amazing person she’d turned into?
“Jess, it’s okay. I’m just saying, that’s not the right model for a family. As for Cynthia’s . . . well, there’s affection, but their approach seems so dispassionate. Even though she says it worked beautifully for her.”
And look how she’d turned out. It seemed Cynthia preferred affection to passion. No fuss, no muss. “Isn’t it odd,” Jess mused, “that coming from opposite backgrounds, you and Cynthia ended up so similar?”
His forehead kinked into a frown as he reflected. Then he said, “Maybe it’s not so surprising. Cynthia was always expected to succeed. She has, and she’s determined to prove that it’s on her own merits, not because of family connections. My parents didn’t even want me, and had no expectations, so I created my own. I was driven to be the opposite of my parents. As for you—” He broke off.
She read his mind and finished his thought. “I, with the perfect loving family, never achieved much of anything.”
He frowned again, then slowly said, “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re doing. Besides, you started to say you had some other plans?”
He remembered that? They’d been talking about the dudes and she’d said they weren’t real horse people. She’d started to tell him about the boot camp, but had cut herself off. Ev had probed a little, and she’d said she hadn’t given up on her dreams. She sure wasn’t going to share her dreams with him now, after he’d branded her an underachiever.
