She’d flirted with both of them, but now she knew. Travis felt like the brother she’d never had, and they teased each other unmercifully. But Mac, a few years older, was the guy she’d bonded with on a deeper level.
Those kind brown eyes invited her to say things to him she wouldn’t dream of saying to anyone else. She’d discovered how to make him laugh, and so she’d often bring up outrageous topics on purpose to crack him up. Yet even when he was joking around, she sensed something more going on with him. Maybe it was melodramatic and silly to imagine he had a secret sorrow, but . . . she thought he did.
“So,” Travis said. “Are these matters weighing on your mind to the point that you’re not up for another best two out of three?”
“Absolutely not.” She wasn’t a very good darts player, but she was usually an enthusiastic one. She hadn’t been today, though. “Game on.”
“Ha!” Travis walked to the board and pulled out all the darts. “Anastasia Bickford is in the house!”
“I was just getting warmed up.” She accepted her share of darts from Travis. “Stand back, boys. Let me show you how it’s done.”
Two hours later, Travis was the undisputed champion, as he usually turned out to be. There was a reason he insisted on playing darts every afternoon. Mac was competitive, but he didn’t want the victory with the same intensity Travis did.
Tonight Mac had played well, but she’d caught him glancing at her with a worried expression. He’d been reluctant to agree to the riding lessons, and she wasn’t sure why. Now wasn’t the time to ask him, though, with so many people around.
She should have taken care of this pesky phobia years ago. She was amazed that her fear hadn’t come through in her art. Or maybe it had, because her renderings of the Ghost always had a sense of power and . . . danger. People expected wild animals to be dangerous, so adding that subtle element might have given the drawings extra appeal.
After Travis was declared the darts champion of the universe, he offered to buy a round of drinks, but she’d hit her limit of social interaction for the day. She could do it for a few hours at a time and then she had to retreat. Her art came from a place of solitude, not a place of bustling activity.
She turned to address the people who’d gathered to watch the competition. “Thanks so much, everyone. But I’m heading home.” That was another dilemma. She used to share the stately Victorian at the far end of Main Street with her mother and stepsister, but after Georgie and Vince had become engaged, they’d rented a little house.
That had left Anastasia alone with her mother. She loved her, but they had almost nothing in common. Still, it was her home, and since she’d just announced she was going there, she might as well do so.
After retrieving her messenger bag, she headed out the door of Sadie’s. The best part of the sunset had faded, but she savored the afterglow. Sunset colors were tricky and she had more luck capturing them with watercolors than acrylics. She didn’t realize Mac had followed her out until he caught up with her on the sidewalk.
She glanced at him in surprise.
“We didn’t exactly make a plan for the riding lessons.”
“Oh. You’re right. What’s good for you?”
“Early morning. Around six.”
“You’re kidding. The sun’s not even up then.”
“Almost, though.” He matched his stride to hers. “The horses are fresh and you can get it out of the way first thing so you don’t spend the whole day worrying about it. Then we can each get on with our day.”
She looked over at him. “The horses may be fresh, but I’ll be virtually unconscious. I’m not an early riser.”
“What time do you usually get up?”
“Eleven.”
“Eleven?”
His shock made her grin. “I’ve been known to get up at ten thirty, but that’s rare.”
“So what time do you go to bed?”
“Usually around two, unless I’m stoked about a project. Then it could be four or five. I’ve discovered I’m very productive after midnight.”
“Hmm.” He walked beside her without speaking for a little while. “So let’s say you had to get up earlier to catch a plane or something. What then?”
“I never book flights that leave in the morning. If I’m forced to, it’s ugly.”
“But you spent four years in art school. You must have had some morning classes.”
The memory made her groan. “Yes, and it was horrible. I ditched so many times it’s a wonder I passed any of them. Eventually I worked my schedule around so none of my classes started before eleven. If I could get an evening class, I jumped on it.”
“So you’re a night owl.”
“Yep, that’s me.” She shrugged. “That’s the way I’m built.” They’d reached the slate blue Victorian with the white gingerbread trim. A light was on in the parlor where her mother had installed a large flat-screen. She’d be watching it and having a pitcher of martinis by now.
Anastasia was home, or what served as home. She paused by the gate. “When I first came up with this idea, I was thinking we could do it around five thirty, after I’ve finished my stint at Sadie’s. Around now—twilight.”
He stuck his thumbs in his belt loops and gazed at her. “That’s awkward timing for the horses because Ed feeds them then. And I could be wrong, but aren’t you extending your time at Sadie’s into happy hour beginning next week? I could have sworn I saw some signage to that effect in the window.”
“You’re right, darn it. I’d completely forgotten about that bright idea.” She itched to pull out her sketch pad and draw him as he stood in that typical cowboy pose. She always wondered if guys realized they were framing their crotch when they did it or if the gesture was unconsciously provocative.
In Mac’s case it had to be unconscious. He never tried to be sexy. He just was. If she asked him about the pose, she was fairly sure he’d blush. Then he’d make an effort never to put his thumbs through his belt loops again. Her world would become less visually interesting and she’d have only herself to blame.
A sketch of him standing like that would sell instantly, too. A woman might not understand the subliminal message, but she’d buy the sketch and it would give her a little buzz to look at it. Anastasia would get a little buzz drawing it, too. Good thing she had a photographic memory so she could get the creases in the denim just right and replicate the stitching on his fly.
Then he lifted one hand to wave it in front of her face. “Hey, cut it out.”
She blinked and glanced up. Now she was blushing. “Um, I was . . . You probably got the wrong idea just now.”
“I sure as hell hope so.” His expression was forbiddingly stern.
“My interest in . . . in . . .”
“My package?” His tone was mild but he was no longer relaxed. He’d squared up his stance and now stood with feet apart and arms crossed.
“Not just that! You in general! It’s purely artistic, I promise!”
“Are you sure?” His brown gaze issued a challenge. “Because after Ida’s comment, I—”
“What comment?”
“She thinks you like me.”
“Of course I do. I always have. You’re a great guy.”
“She wasn’t talking about liking as in friendship. She meant liking as in wanting to be more than friends.”
The conversation was affecting her heart rate for some stupid reason. But she didn’t want him to know that, so she sighed and rolled her eyes. “You know not to listen to Ida. She loves to stir things up.”
“That’s what I told myself, and then I caught you staring at my package.”
“I can explain that.” She just needed to do it without making him self-conscious about sticking his thumbs in his belt loops.
He continued to stand there with his arms crossed in a defensive posture.
“Go ahead.”
“Now that I’m excited about drawing again, I’m constantly seeing things I want to draw.”
“Like my crotch?” He looked horrified.
“No! All of you! While we stood there talking, I noticed your relaxed stance and thought it would make a nice sketch, but I couldn’t very well whip out some paper and start drawing you on the spot. You’d think I’m crazy.”
His mouth turned up at the corners.
“You already think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“Kind of. But in a good way.” His shoulders lost their rigidity.
“Okay, I’ll own that. I can get a little manic sometimes, especially about my art. In this case, I wanted to memorize every detail of how you were standing there so I could get the lines right when I went up to my room and started drawing. And the way the denim fits . . . in that area . . . is . . . complicated.”
His eyes sparkled with repressed laughter. “Sometimes more than others.”
“I suppose.” Her cheeks felt so hot. They must be stop-sign red about now. “The point is, I’m viewing you through the eyes of an artist and that requires concentration.”
“You were definitely concentrating.” His mouth twitched.
“I do that all the time. Like if I decided to draw a— oh, I don’t know—an earthworm, for example, I’d study it just as closely as I was studying—”
He lost it. “An earthworm?” His laughter boomed out. “I think I’ve been insulted!”
“Bad example.” She’d made him laugh without trying to, but it still worked to ease the tension. She seriously doubted he had the equivalent of an earthworm tucked into his jeans or that he was the least bit insecure about what lay behind that zippered fly. She also wasn’t convinced he believed her elaborate explanation as to why she was staring at it.
He finally composed himself enough to be able to talk. “Listen, do you have anything you have to do right now?”
“Other than going upstairs to draw a picture of your crotch?”
“Stop. Just stop. So, nothing you have to do?”
“Not really. Why?”
“After all this talk about you drawing things constantly, I have an idea. We’re only a little ways from Ed’s stable. Let’s wander over there.”
Her chest tightened. “For a lesson? Now?”
“No. You have your sketch pad with you. How about if you draw a horse?”
She stared at him as the idea registered. “That’s brilliant.”
“Have you ever drawn one from real life?”
“Like I said, they scare me. So I’ve avoided them. But if I start the process by drawing one, or several, that could be very calming.” Or terrifying. She wouldn’t know which until she tried it. “But I’m staying outside the fence.”
“They’re all in the barn now, anyway. It’s feeding time.”
“Then I’m staying outside the stall.”
“That’s fine. I was picturing you concentrating on their heads, anyway. And their eyes. Look into their eyes long enough and I’ll bet you’ll feel better about climbing on board one of them.”
“You’ll stick around while I do this?”
“Why not? All I had on my schedule was ripping out some old carpet. That can wait.”
“Then let’s go.” The stables were only a short way from her house, but she’d never spent any time there, just like she’d never gone out to the little barn behind her house after that awful night. Georgie used to keep her horse, Prince, there, but the property she and Vince had rented included a barn, so Prince had moved out, too.
“How are the renovations coming along?” she asked as they approached the stable. She wanted to know, but talking about it would serve the dual purpose of distracting her. She did not like barns.
“Slow, but that’s because I’m a perfectionist. At this rate I’ll be finished in about ten years.”
“You should get Georgie to help you. She’s extremely handy with tools.”
“She’s offered, but I’m having fun doing it by myself. I’ve never owned a house before, so this is a brand-new experience for me.” He pushed open the main gate to Ed and Vivian’s property. It included the stable, a couple of corrals, and their house, which doubled as an office.
Ed and Vivian sat on the front porch and they both called out a greeting.
Mac waved at them. “Okay if I give Anastasia a tour of the stable?”
“Sure thing.” Ed smiled at her. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you down here, young lady.”
“Nope!” She smiled back, although it felt more like a grimace. “First time.”
“But not her last!” Mac sounded quite happy about that.
She wasn’t. She looked at him so she wouldn’t have to look at where they were going. “I’m glad you bought a house here. It shows that you have confidence in Bickford’s future.”
“I do, and I’ve always liked the town.”
They were mere steps from the barn’s double doors, which stood open and ready to swallow her up. She kept the conversation going. “Vince would love to buy Mom’s place because he knows how much Georgie wants it, but Mom won’t sell while the market’s going up.”
“And if she sold it, where would you live?”
She shrugged. “I’d figure something out. I wish Georgie could get that house. Her ancestors built it and she maintains it even though she’s not living there anymore. She should have it. I’ve tried talking to Mom but she’s stubborn.”
“So I hear. Hey, are you okay?” He peered at her. “You look pale.”
“I’m scared of horses, but I’m also scared of barns.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. I thought a barn would make it easier because the horses are all confined in their stalls. Do you want to forget going in?”
She stood there breathing hard and feeling like an idiot. Learning to ride had been her idea, not Mac’s, but he had agreed to help her and his suggestion that she draw the horses was a good one.
Her ultimate goal was to ride a horse out to the canyon where the Ghost kept his band, and draw him from life. If she couldn’t even enter this barn, then none of that would take place. People entered barns all the time. No big deal.
She swallowed. “I want to go in. This is important.”
“Then take my hand.” He laced his strong fingers through hers.
“Thank you.” The warmth of their entwined fingers spread through her and chased away the chill of dread. She would have done this without his welcome support, but his presence, and now his touch, made it so much easier.
He squeezed her hand. “Let’s go.”
Eyes open, heart pounding, she walked into a barn for the first time since she’d been a fanciful little girl of six. The scent of hay and the sound of horses moving in their stalls brought it all back. Her throat closed and she felt dizzy.
“You can do it.” Releasing her hand, he put an arm around her shoulders and urged her forward.
His solid bulk beside her was the only thing that kept her from turning around and running outside. His grip was firm and his pace steady.
“You’re fine,” he murmured. “I’m here. I promise nothing will happen to you. Just keep walking.”
He had far more confidence in her than she had in herself, and for that reason she kept going. She couldn’t let him down. She couldn’t let herself down, either.
A large horse with a reddish coat poked its head out of the stall to gaze at them.
Mac paused. “Hey, Jasper. I’ve brought somebody to meet you. This is Anastasia. She wants to do your portrait. You up for that?”
The horse blew out through his nose, and Anastasia hung back.
Mac’s grip on her shoulder tightened. “They do that kind of thing sometimes when they meet people. Nothing worrisome about it. Jasper and me, we’re buddies.
Technically, he’s not my horse, but I’ve had the use of him for trail rides and we have an understanding. Don’t we, Jasper?”
The horse gazed at them with eyes so big they reflected an image of Mac. The artist in her was fascinated by those eyes fringed with dark lashes. Mac had been right that she needed to concentrate on those, which seemed filled with understanding. She might be imagining that quality, but if imagining it helped, she’d go with it.
“Feel like sketching this guy?” Mac gave her shoulder another squeeze. “He’s my favorite, so I’d be much obliged if you would.”
“Of course.” It was the least she could do.
“Let me get you a place to sit.” He let go of her.
She held back a cry of dismay. The support of his arm had meant more than she’d realized.
“You can use this.” He brought over a canvas camp stool.
Without his support she felt a little wobbly, so she sat on the stool.
“I’ll wager Jasper’s never had his portrait done.” Mac rubbed the horse’s nose. “He’ll love it.”
The affection Mac obviously felt for the horse inspired her to pull out her sketch pad. If she could capture that emotion, she’d have something new for her portfolio.
She sketched the man first, but then she turned her attention to the horse. Such a sleek coat, such an interesting play of muscles in Jasper’s neck. His ears fascinated her, too. Little hairs gave them an almost fuzzy appearance.
And the eyes. She’d have to use all her skill to capture the expression in those liquid brown eyes. Her heart rate slowed and her breathing evened out as she became completely absorbed in the task. She hummed softly under her breath.
Mac’s voice roused her from her intense concentration. “You said you could chat while you draw.”
“Do you want to chat?”
“Not exactly. I want to know what happened.”
She didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. “Nobody knows about this besides Georgie.”
“You can trust me.”
“I know.” She kept working on the portrait of Jasper. “That’s why I asked for your help.”
“If I’m going to help you, I need to know the story.”
Wild About the Wrangler Page 3
