No more than I had on it earlier when I was trying to walk, anyway.
"Good?" he asked.
His words were coming easier, Leta noticed. She wasn't sure he had realized it, but the more time they spent together, the less he stuttered.
When he reached up to position her hands on the reins, the brush of his lightly callused fingers against her palm sent a shiver through her, and her breath caught in her throat.
Tor froze for a long instant, his eyes wide, the gray darkening as heat flashed between them.
But then he dragged his gaze away from hers, and continued settling the reins in her grip, making sure she held them correctly. When she held them correctly, he nodded and moved up beside the horse's head. Whispering what sounded like a string of nonsense syllables, Tor took gentle hold of the her bridle and made a couple of clicking noises to get her moving.
He dropped back to walk beside Leta, giving one-word explanations combined with gestures to show her what to do. "Turn," he said, pantomiming pulling on one side of the reins at a time. "Stop." He tilted his hips forward as if sitting down hard, and Leta practiced it, trying to compensate for her hurt ankle. Lucky for her, the horse was particularly gentle and well trained, and stopped at the first hint of a command. Tor spoke softly to the mare, praising her.
On the other hand, he wouldn't even look at Leta.
After Tor had put the horse—and Leta—through a round in the paddock, he walked over to Alpine to swing up into his own saddle.
"Ready?" he asked, his gaze sliding across her without ever stopping on her face.
Dammit. For a minute there, she had been certain that there had been something there between them.
I was right. There was. I didn't imagine it.
But the last thing she needed was to get involved with someone else—even someone as uncomplicated and easygoing as Tor.
I don't even know his last name. Hell, he didn't even tell me the horse's first name. She shook her head and leaned forward, attempting to replicate the sound Tor had made to the animal earlier. The nameless horse stepped forward and followed the larger Alpine out through the gate.
As she rode behind him, Leta considered Tor's broad shoulders and muscular arms, contrasted them against the gentle way he handled both her ankle and the horses.
Yeah, she finally conceded, if only to herself. There might be more to Tor than is immediately obvious.
Even if she wasn't quite ready to admit to herself that she might want to explore what those depths might contain.
* * *
As Tor pointed Alpine toward the ranch's lower forty, he forced himself not to look over his shoulder to check on Leta.
She can call out if she needs me.
Hell, that's more than I can do.
Anyway, he needed to spend some time right now considering the situation.
What the hell had that been back there? All he had done was reach up to adjust her hands on the reins, but when his fingertips touched her skin, it was like a lightning bolt of pure lust had shot through him—and it almost knocked him backwards when his gaze met hers and he'd seen that desire echoed in her eyes.
That wasn't the normal order of things. Usually, the women he met looked at him with something more like avarice than lust. Even those who did give him a hot stare had cooled off by the time they spent as much time with Tor as Leta had.
So what did it mean that she responded to him after three days, during which they had spent every meal and every evening together?
And if she really was interested in him—just Tor, not Andrew T. Edwards, billionaire—what then?
Tor had no idea, but part of him wanted to explore the possibilities.
His own response to her was no secret—to himself, anyway. The more he was around her, the more he wanted to learn about her.
The night before, she had suggested a movie on Netflix, and he had chosen one about a woman on the run from criminals, mostly to watch her reaction.
Nothing.
Either whatever had caused her to run to Chet Tyler's place wasn't connected to any criminal behavior, or she was an amazing actress.
He wasn't sure which option would be better, at this point.
Anyway, now wasn't the time to obsess over the mysterious woman sleeping in his bunkhouse. Not when she was right here, and he could easily talk to her.
Well, not talk. And not easily, either.
But communicate, anyway.
Tor urged Alpine up the path to the top of the ridge overlooking his land. When the path widened at the crest, he dropped back to ride beside Leta and began pointing out various features of the ranch.
"Is that your boss's house?" she asked, gesturing toward the sprawling ranch house.
"Main house." Maybe there was some benefit in being unable to say more than a couple of words at a time.
A light wind blew Leta's hair around her face, and she gathered it into a ponytail, pulling an elastic band out of her jeans pocket to hold it. "Do you think you should introduce me to him?"
"Him?" Tor had a difficult time tearing his gaze from the graceful motion of her hands.
"Your boss."
Oh. That him.
This was the perfect time to come clean with her. It would be easy. Just three words: I'm the boss.
"I'm …"
He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence—for the first time since he met her, Leta's full attention was on something else.
"Is that a rooster?" She leaned forward, absently patting her horse's neck as she peered between the mare's ears.
Ah. So that's where he'd gotten to. The bird had disappeared two days ago, and Tor had been sure a coyote had nabbed the runaway fowl.
I'm going to have to figure out how to get him back to the coop, too. Chickens were supposed to imprint on their coops and find their own way home at night, not go roaming the countryside and get lost.
Stupid rooster.
Especially aggressive, too, if this was the one Tor thought it might be.
Dammit.
Oh, well.
Best get it over with.
With a barely suppressed sigh, Tor swung off his horse and removed his jacket. Holding it out in front of him, he slowly stepped toward the rooster. Without looking at him, the rooster pranced away—at almost precisely the same speed that Tor moved toward him.
Tor stopped.
The rooster stopped.
Tor took one step.
So did the rooster.
Leta's muffled snort behind him confirmed how ridiculous he must look chasing the bird across the ground.
The damned thing had always attacked him when it was in the yard.
"Fine," he muttered. "You come to me." The words came out with hardly any pauses at all. He didn't know if he could get through actually calling the bird, so he merely began making clicking noises with his tongue.
He didn't realize Leta had dismounted until she was standing next to him, also clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth.
The rooster stood up straight, puffing its chest out and turning its head from side to side to peer at them.
"Your ankle?" Tor nodded at Leta's foot.
"It's okay, I think."
He nodded and gestured for her to go one way while he went the other. The rooster made a wild dash down the middle, Leta feinted toward it, and Tor tackle-grabbed the runaway with his jacket.
By the time he stood up, Leta was holding her sides and laughing so hard she had tears running down her face. "I thought you cowboys were supposed to be good at rounding up animals," she gasped out.
"Cows." Tor emphasized the word.
Leta laughed even harder, and the sound of it—unrestrained and completely genuine—smashed straight into his chest with a wallop that seemed to break loose two years' worth of pain.
The kind of pain that might clog up a man's voice.
The thought staggered him, and for an instant, his grip on the rooster loosened. Sensing the possibility of esca
pe, the bird went wild, scrabbling and clawing to get away as Tor fought to keep his hold on it.
Tor swore as one of the rooster's spurs raked down the front of his shirt, popping buttons as it went. Weren't those things supposed to be trimmed off the back of the bird's legs?
Guess that's what happens when roosters go feral.
The thought made him grin.
At the first squawk, Leta had jumped toward Tor to help. Now, though, she stood in front of him, riveted by the sight of him clutching a rooster wrapped in a jacket, his shirt hanging open. Glancing down, he checked himself over. No scratches. The shirt wasn't even ripped, surprisingly enough—new buttons would be enough to mend it.
So what was she staring at?
Reaching out with one hand, she almost touched his bared chest. The wind that had felt mild earlier suddenly sent a chill across his skin. Against that, he felt the heat of her fingertips.
She dragged her gaze up from his chest to meet his eyes, and though she never actually touched him, the sheer craving in that look left a trail of goose bumps in its wake.
It lasted only a moment, and then she rotated suddenly, as if wrenching herself away from him.
"Can you help me back up on my horse while you're holding the rooster?" Her voice was almost too casual, as if she'd had far too much practice hiding her true emotions.
Using the arms of his jacket, he tied a few knots and created a kind of papoose for the rooster to ride in. Leta watched with interest, but didn't say anything.
When he was done, he attached his new rooster-pouch to his belt long enough to lift Leta back onto her mare.
"Thanks," she said, but she didn't look at him.
They rode home in silence, barring the occasional irritated squawk from the rooster. Tor couldn't quit thinking about the moment she'd almost touched him.
She needs to tell me her story.
Soon.
He just needed to come up with a plan to get her to talk.
Chapter 6
I can't touch him.
God, I want to.
Leta couldn't stop thinking about the way Tor had looked, his shirt hanging open, that cleft in his chin and the hint of a dimple in his cheek outlined by the light from the setting sun.
He was beautiful—even more so, she suspected, under his clothes.
But she had known that from the moment she met him. She hadn't tried to touch him before.
So what the hell was that back there?
And more importantly, what could she do to keep it from happening again? Falling into the arms of yet another man she barely knew? That was about the stupidest move she could make.
He's a nice guy. We could be friends.
Friends. Yes. That was the way to go. Treat him like a buddy. A roommate. Nothing more.
I can do that.
She managed it, too, all the way through returning the rooster to the coop, and taking the horses to their stables to get them settled for the night. When Tor stood behind her to show her how to hold the curry comb, she pretended not to notice the heat from his chest against her back.
Instead, she kept up a light, cheerful stream of talk directed to the horse.
That worked until they got into his pickup to drive back to the bunkhouse. Inside the cab, Leta could almost feel all the unspoken words piling up around her, between them.
Was that how Tor felt all the time? Like the words he couldn't say hung in the air long after their moment had passed? Like he walked through an entire world of things unsaid?
You're getting delirious, Leta.
But she couldn't shake the image, even as she stared out the window into the country darkness, unrelieved by any lights other than their own headlights.
"Ankle?" Tor asked as they pulled into the bunkhouse drive, the first thing either of them had said since leaving the stables.
"It kind of hurts," Leta admitted. "I think maybe I'd better take it easy tomorrow."
There. Cut off any suggestions for more outings together.
She fled to her room as soon as they made it inside.
Part of her couldn't help but think she was being a coward.
Anyway, her ankle really did need a break.
* * *
By the next night, though, Leta'd had all the rest she could take.
She much preferred going for horseback rides and chasing down errant roosters to sitting on the couch—even if she had finished two novels she'd downloaded to her e-reader.
I'm not made to sit around doing nothing.
It's probably a good thing I didn't end up staying in Chet Tyler's cabin, after all. Even if it had been livable, I would have been bored out of my skull within two days.
No. It was definitely much better to have met a handsome, entertaining, almost entirely non-verbal cowboy. One who had come in from working all day and headed straight to the bathroom for a shower—and who could be drafted to entertain her right now.
"I'm getting bored with sitting on this couch so much," she called out to Tor as he passed her on his way down the hall. She drew her words out as she shouted down the hall after him. "Bo-o-o-ored!"
He paused and peeked back around the corner. "Shower. Then dinner."
"Are you cooking?" This "just friends" business was getting easier, she decided. Keep it light and entertaining, and everything will work out okay.
Then Tor offered to take her out to dinner.
"The Chargrill," he said. "In town."
Then he disappeared into his bathroom.
Friends go to dinner all the time. It doesn't mean anything.
Still, it wouldn't hurt to get a little dressed up.
Necessity was a charming town, she decided an hour later. Its main street, only a couple of blocks long, had several businesses in buildings that had clearly been there since the town's original founding. Their stone facades were carved with words like "Bank" and "Attorney," often at odds with the actual businesses housed in those buildings. One new-looking sign advertised "Aerio Oil and Gas." An actual attorney's office inhabited the original bank. A donut shop took up a tiny corner space. And at opposite ends of downtown stood Necessity's only two restaurants, as far as Leta could tell.
Tor parked his truck in one of the angled parking spots, and when she lowered herself to the ground, careful to favor her hurt ankle, he was already there to help.
She wasn't using the crutches any longer, and Tor offered his arm to steady her as they stepped up onto the sidewalk.
Leta hesitated to touch even his shirt sleeve.
Friends, she reminded herself.
Determined to ignore the simmering attraction between them, she resolutely accepted his help. Overall, things seemed to be going well.
Right up to the moment they got to the door, and Tor apparently forgot how to open it.
* * *
Tor froze at the restaurant door.
Since that hellish night at the last fundraiser he'd attended, he had become almost a recluse. If not for the fact that the citizens of Necessity periodically sent out a delegation to check on him if he didn't show up sometimes, he might have never gone to town.
In fact, it would probably be okay with him if he didn't see anyone but the occasional ranch hand more than once or twice a month.
Going out in public still bothered him.
Leta turned around and peered into his face, her eyebrows drawn down in a sharp vee. "Are you okay?"
He wasn't, of course, but he couldn't very well tell her that.
Not if I want to keep my man card.
The thought made him grin, and that, combined with looking into Leta's eyes, convinced him that he could do this.
"Let's go," he said.
Her usual sunny smile broke across her face, and she pushed the door open with one hand. With her other, she grabbed his fingers in hers. A spark of electricity shot up his arm, and he couldn't help but grip her tighter.
By the time they walked through the doors of The Chargrill, they were actually ho
lding hands. Tor wasn't entirely certain Leta was aware of it, but he wasn't about to point it out if it meant stopping. When Ava Jordan, who had worked at the restaurant since she was in high school, turned around and saw Tor, she squealed aloud and rushed over to throw her arms around him.
"Where have you been, Tor Edwards?" she demanded. "We have missed you."
Quietly, Leta untangled her fingers from Tor's and took a half-step back. But when he glanced over at her, she was smiling softly.
Of course she was glad someone had missed him, rather than irritated that someone else was taking his attention away from her. That's how she was.
He returned Ava's hug with a quick squeeze, then set her away from him a little. "Grandma Jordan?" he asked, the words coming out more smoothly than they had in years.
As usual, Ava ignored any difficulties he had asking the question. "She's good. Excited about the wedding."
Tor's quizzical look caused the effervescent woman to change direction. "Oh. You probably don't know, do you?" She held out her left hand to show off a sparkling diamond solitaire, laughing at Tor's exaggerated surprise. "It's from Grant Porter, silly."
Turning to draw Leta into the conversation, Ava said, "My fiancé Grant and Tor were in the same class in high school here in Necessity, along with my brother Seth. Of course, we don't see Tor around so much, not since—"
Tor cut off her next words. "Table?" he asked.
"Oh. Of course." Ava gathered menus and silverware and led them toward a booth near the back. "Maybe you can get him to come around more. He's turning into a real hermit."
"I'll see what I can do," Leta said, and she and Ava shared the kind of smile that, when passed between women, usually meant trouble for the man on the other end of their plotting.
"I'm Ava, by the way," said the waitress.
"Leta Delaney."
Ava leaned in conspiratorially. "It's nice to see him out with a normal woman. Those society types never were right for him." She slid their menus in front of them. "What can I get you to drink?"
As Ava left, Leta turned her quizzical gaze toward Tor. "Society types?" She glanced around the rustic restaurant, decorated with antique farm implements hanging from the walls. "I don't mean to disparage your hometown—I really like it here—and I don’t want to seem like I'm being snooty or anything, but somehow, I don't think Necessity's elite would really count as 'society types.'"
The Billionaire Cowboy's Speech (Necessity, Texas) Page 4
