She stared at him. How had he seen so much? She’d walked around pretending everything was okay, but she’d been terrified. She’d never felt so lonely. It had been one of the reasons she’d run straight into Wade’s arms when he’d finally opened them. A chance for connection, for emotion, for a living, breathing body to reassure her that she was still alive.
“And you’re right,” he continued. “Most of us have some kind of sadness in us. My family might not have died, but I lost my parents and my older brothers to all their poor choices. And there are other kinds of sadness, too...” He looked away. The heifer had moved several yards off while they spoke, and he nudged JM to walk around to the other side of her. With a gentle wave of an arm, he brought her closer to Lori again. “I just want you to know that I get it. That I might not know exactly what you went through, but I know loss.”
Tears were starting at his unexpected kindness, and she didn’t want them.
“We’d better get back.” She urged Dakota closer to the stray heifer, who took a few reluctant steps, then stopped to glare at her with doe eyes and about a pound of dry grass sticking out of her mouth.
Wade had the sense to let the topic go. He swung his rope gently at the heifer’s hindquarters to get her started. They rode in silence back to Marker Ranch, picking their way down the steep slope. By the time Lori had Dakota wiped down and loaded into her horse trailer, the heifer was back in the pasture munching on its evening hay, totally oblivious to the havoc it had wreaked upon Lori’s afternoon.
Wade was leaning on the fence, watching his cattle. Lori walked over to say goodbye, but it was so peaceful—the heifers home safe, the sound of their chewing, the quiet light at the end of the day. So she leaned her arms on the rail next to him and pillowed her chin on her forearms, mirroring his posture.
She meant to watch quietly, but the words came tumbling out. “Maybe I should have tried harder to find you. I was lost. Confused. I felt this pressure to get through school fast. To do well there. My dad wanted to leave the ranch and start again somewhere else. But Mandy...well, it seemed like she was going to need to stay on the ranch. And I knew—I’d always known—I wanted to be a rancher. So Dad and I, we made a plan for him to work maybe ten more years. Just long enough that I’d be ready to take over.”
“That’s a lot of pressure,” he said. “To have your life all planned out so young.”
“Maybe it was. When I found out about being pregnant... I panicked. All I could think was, how could I have a baby on my own? During college? I just couldn’t figure out how to make it all work. I was scared, and I think I was trying to fix things for my dad, for Mandy. Maybe even for my mom, in some weird way.”
“You made the best decision you could. Maybe it’s not the one you’d make now, but your choice makes sense to me.”
“Then why does it feel awful?”
He swallowed, and she recognized his expression for what it was. He was holding back tears. “There was no good choice. Maybe that’s why it’s hard to find peace with it.”
“I was doing okay with that, you know, until you came home. But seeing you again...it brought it all back for me, I guess.”
“I understand how that would happen,” Wade studied her carefully. “I hope, going forward, I can be a help to you and not such a burden.”
“You’re not a burden,” Lori answered quickly. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re not a burden.”
“Then let me know how I can help.”
It was harder when he was sweet. She’d never have imagined she’d see Wade like this, swallowing tears. It made her own well up. They were always too damn near the surface, anyway. And then it dawned on her: she did need help with something. A job that had been sending waves of panic through her every time she thought about it. “Are you serious about helping me?”
He nodded, looking more hopeful. “I am. What do you need?”
“The Harvest Festival is coming up. In town. And I volunteered to organize the rummage-sale booth for our church. Yesterday I got a call that someone donated five huge boxes of baby clothes and a bunch of nursery furniture. I’m dreading it. But it’s my responsibility to deal with it.”
“You want me to do it?” The look of discomfort on his face would have been comical except she knew she was asking a lot, given what he’d so recently learned about her pregnancy.
“Not on your own. Come with me? Help me sort it and price it?”
“Sure.” He swallowed hard. “Of course I will.”
“Can we do it tomorrow night? It’s at the Lutheran church up on the hill above town.”
“Yeah.” He looked worried.
“You don’t have to. No point in both of us being upset.”
“No, I’ll do it. I’m happy to,” he assured her.
“I’ll be in the parish hall around seven. Everything is being stored in there.”
“Can I bring beer or something? Or is that bad at a church thing?”
“It’s just you and me. I was thinking whiskey. And loud music. Everything is better with loud music. I don’t think there’s anything else going on at the church on a weeknight.”
Why did his smile still have the power to warm her? Even when they’d been dealing with so much sadness. Maybe all this talking had actually done them good. Maybe they were becoming friends.
“Okay, then,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you there. Don’t worry. We’ll get it done.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“THE NEXT TIME someone asks for a volunteer, I will run the other way,” Lori told the heavy cardboard box as she shoved it away from the wall where it had been stacked. She heaved it into her arms and staggered over to one of the folding tables she’d set up, her footsteps echoing in the empty parish hall.
Pressing the button on her iPod, she let the music rip. Miranda Lambert might not be Wade’s brand of country, but he wouldn’t be here for a few minutes. She’d come early, needing a little time to gather her thoughts before he arrived. She felt guilty for asking him to do the job she’d signed up for. But it had been such a relief when he’d said he’d deal with the baby things.
Her plan tonight was to sort out all the clothes by gender and size so she would know where everything was on the morning of the sale. She pulled a faded men’s flannel shirt out of the box and fastened the buttons, trying to ignore the strange fluttering in her stomach.
There was no place for flutters here. She and Wade were friends. They’d talked about all the old hurt, and they could finally move on. Except now Lori had a new problem. Leaning on the fence with Wade, talking so intimately, seeing him so emotional and intent on making things right, had stirred that part of her heart he’d always held, reminding her that maybe she didn’t want to be just friends.
“Hey.”
Lori dropped the shirt, whirling around to see Wade at the door. He was wearing a clean pair of jeans and a faded black army sweatshirt. Her pulse kicked up another notch. “You startled me.”
“You looked like you were lost in thought.”
She flushed. What would he do if he knew what she’d been thinking about? Probably run away fast. He was here to help her because she’d asked. Because he felt obligated to say yes after finding out what she’d been through. She had to keep that in mind when her thoughts ran toward things like kissing him. Which they did when he was leaning on the door frame, looking as good as he did.
He held up a six-pack of beer. “Want one?”
“Sure.”
He came toward her, and she tried to remind herself that it was just Wade. She’d known him for almost her entire life. But her nerves weren’t getting the message. He set the beer on the table by the iPod. “Nice music,” he said, and she saw the glint of humor in his eyes.
“Too girly for you?”
“Hey, I was raised b
y my sister. I can take it.”
It was strange how she knew the big stuff about him. His family history, his attempts to get the ranch going, their shared trauma. But she didn’t know much about his everyday life. “What would we be listening to if this was your iPod?”
He grinned. “Not Miranda. Classic rock and classic country, mainly.”
“Old school, huh? Let me guess. Johnny Cash? Willie and Waylon?”
“You got it.” He twisted the cap off and handed her a bottle.
“Pilsner,” she said, recognizing the familiar label. “Thanks.”
“It’s what you ordered at the bar, right?”
It was a small thing, but she liked that he’d remembered. “Yup. I don’t like my beer any darker than this.”
“No Guinness?” he teased.
“Bleah.” And then she realized what she’d said. “Oh, wait, do you like it?”
“Occasionally.”
“To each their own,” she said, flushing a little. “I guess I don’t know much about you.”
“Strange, isn’t it? But we’ve got all night to learn.” He pointed to the boxes stacked in a far corner. “I take it the baby stuff is over there?”
“Yup.”
He went over to grab a box, and she couldn’t help but admire the ease with which he lifted a huge carton that she would have had to drag across the floor. The guy was strong.
He set the carton on another table and pulled out a baby blanket. “Well, here goes nothing. What do you want me to do with it all?”
“Sort it by size? And by boy or girl or stuff that could go either way like yellow or green? And maybe make separate piles for the blankets and bedding.”
“Will do.” Wade took a gulp from his beer and set it down next to him. She watched him fold the baby blanket with exacting care.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she advised, while he smoothed out the corners and admired his handiwork.
He grinned and held the meticulously folded blanket out for her perusal. “Army, remember? They drill this kind of stuff into you.”
“Were you in any particular part of the army?” She glanced his way in time to see him flinch a little.
“I was a ranger.”
“That’s a ton of training, isn’t it?”
“A fair amount, yes.”
It explained so much. His composure, his strength. “And you fought in Afghanistan? Doesn’t that mean you were going into really scary places?”
“Sometimes.” He wasn’t looking at her anymore. All his focus was on the blankets he was folding so carefully.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
He glanced up then, looking relieved. “Thanks. Maybe some other time. Weren’t we going to learn all the little stuff about each other?”
“Sure.” She pulled out a big pile of clothes to hide her nervousness. This felt like a date all of a sudden.
“Okay, so, my turn to ask. Beer or wine?”
“I have to choose?”
She must have looked as dismayed as she felt, because he burst out laughing. “Okay, she likes her booze.”
“Sure. You?”
“Beer. In moderation.”
They folded for a few moments in silence. Then Wade asked, “Read or watch TV?”
“I feel like I should say read. But honestly, Mandy and I are addicted to a bunch of shows. You?”
“Lately I’ve been reading a lot. Westerns, mysteries, stuff like that.”
She thought about him reading. Lying in a hammock under a pine tree with a book. It suited him. “Vacation in the mountains or at the beach?” she asked.
Wade shook his head. “Haven’t taken too many vacations. Once when I was on leave, I went home to South Carolina with a friend. It was pretty nice. So I might say beach.”
That’s right. His childhood hadn’t included perks like vacations. Or food. Or love. “I haven’t been to the beach much, either,” she said. “But my dad’s living by the ocean in Florida. I hope I can get down there and see him sometime soon.”
“Is he happy? Giving up ranching?”
“He likes Florida. And I think he might be in love.” Wade looked at her in surprise, and she went on. “Mandy and I sent him on a cruise to kick off his retirement and get him to do something fun for once. And he met this woman and they had some kind of shipboard romance. She owns a couple of gift shops on Sanibel Island in Florida, and he’d been dreaming of a life there. So he moved to Sanibel and they’re dating.”
Wade shook his head in disbelief. “Your dad was a rancher through and through. I don’t think I ever saw him without a truck or a horse. It’s hard to imagine him under a palm tree in some Bermuda shorts, selling trinkets to tourists.”
Lori giggled. “I know! But that’s what he wears now. And he loves it. Says he did the right thing, getting a new start.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, scrolling through until she found the photo she was looking for. Her dad holding some fruity drink, ocean and palm trees in the background. She handed it to Wade. “See? Proof that it’s real.”
He studied the photo. “Well I guess people really can change.” He handed it back to her. “He looks happy, Lori. That’s good news.”
She set her phone back in her purse and grabbed some jeans to fold.
“Coffee or tea?” Wade asked.
“Coffee, of course.”
“One of those latte things or real coffee?”
She grinned. “I’ll take one of those latte things when I can get it. But we don’t have espresso on the ranch. And I’ll bet I don’t even have to ask you what you like.” She stepped back and crossed her arms, pretending to scrutinize him. “Coffee. Black,” she announced.
“And you’re psychic, too.” He grinned. “Skiing or snowboarding?”
“Skiing. You won’t see me strapping into one of those ankle-breaking boards.”
“It’s fun! I’ll teach you if you want.”
She pretended to think about it for a moment. “No, thanks.”
He laughed. “Noted. Dating?”
Lori froze. Did he want to ask her out? Don’t read into it. He’s making small talk to take your mind off all this baby stuff.
“Single,” she said. “Very single. You?”
“Single,” he said, regarding her solemnly. “Very single.”
“Right,” she said. “Great.” Cheeks burning, she grabbed a new heap of clothing from her carton and sorted it into piles. For a moment she’d hoped that he’d ask her out. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t even what she wanted. Wade represented everything that could go wrong with dating.
She was getting caught up in the emotion of telling him about the pregnancy. He was the only person she’d ever told, and it was creating an artificial closeness. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t the guy she should want.
She set the clothing down and took a gulp of her beer. Then went to the iPod and changed the music. Waylon Jennings.
Wade glanced up, and she smiled at him. “For you,” she said. “Figured you’d had just about enough of Miranda.”
“She was growing on me,” he teased. “But this is good.”
Music he liked meant music he’d listen to—she turned up the volume so they wouldn’t have to keep chatting. She had to keep her distance. At least until this strange closeness between them passed and things were more normal. Whatever normal meant now that Wade lived next door. She forced herself to concentrate on the clothing, taking satisfaction in the organized piles growing around her.
She’d gone through three of the big boxes of clothes when she set down the sweatshirt she was labeling and glanced across the hall. Wade had made piles of neatly folded baby clothes on a big blanket on the floor. Baby furnit
ure that he’d already priced was stacked along the wall. He’d insisted he work on the furniture far away from her so she wouldn’t have to face any of it.
He brought her a fresh beer, and she took a sip. “How are you doing over there?” she asked.
He reached into a box and held up a tiny T-shirt with a picture of a tractor on it. “This stuff is pretty cute,” he said. “They should make it in my size.”
Okay, he was not only rescuing her from having to sort baby stuff, but also being adorable about it. She didn’t need Wade to be adorable. “Is it weird, going through it all?” she asked.
“Not as bad as I’d thought. It’s really not horrible.”
He looked so at ease with it that Lori took the T-shirt from him. It was cute. “See?” he said. “It’s just a shirt. And that’s all it is.”
Lori held it up, marveling at how tiny it was. It didn’t make her want to cry, but maybe that was also because Wade was here and Waylon was singing and the beer was warming her up inside.
“Here’s what I’ve been thinking.” Wade motioned toward the furniture leaning on the wall. “All of this stuff, it’s just things. Pieces of wood. Furniture. There’s no special meaning to it unless we give it meaning. It’s not a sign that you should have done something different, or that you should feel terrible forever. It’s furniture some nice folks bought for their kid, and now they’re done and another family will buy it. End of story.”
She stared at the furniture. It was nice stuff. And it wasn’t scary. It wasn’t making her feel the loss. “Who knew?” she breathed, walking over to touch the rail on a crib. It had been painted kind of an odd gray brown. “It’s just wood. And I don’t even like the color.”
He laughed. “That’s the spirit.”
She looked around in wonder at the piles of baby clothes. “It’s okay, isn’t it? I mean, what I feel sad about, it’s more of a spiritual thing. It’s intangible. This is just stuff.”
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