Forgotten Hearts: Dunblair Ridge Series Book One

by Sloan Archer

  “You really haven’t shown these to anyone else?”

  “You’re the only one.”

  She could see how nervous he was. On the surface, they were just photographs, but Vanessa understood that they represented so much more—that Cash showing her his private collection was tantamount to exposing a piece of his soul. She was honored that he trusted her. “Why not?”

  “Hmm, good question. I guess . . .” He thought about it for a moment. “I wasn’t sure if they’re any good.” She gave him an incredulous look and he shrugged. “Of course I think they’re good, since I’m the one who took them. But that doesn’t mean that anyone else will agree. These sorts of photographs aren’t really my area of expertise. And maybe . . .”

  “Maybe what?”

  He chuckled self-consciously. “Maybe the photojournalist snob in me thinks they’re not worthy because they’re not groundbreaking or are mass-market to some degree. These photographs aren’t going to shake things up. They’re something pretty to look at, which seems kind of—” he tipped his head to the side, squinting “—frivolous.”

  “Cash, that’s crazy talk. A photograph doesn’t need to be radical to be relevant. These are just plain gorgeous.” She placed a hand on his forearm and gave it a little squeeze. The heat she felt between them was undeniable.

  Something raw and extremely feminine awakened inside Vanessa. She realized that she wanted to touch him more, and in other, more intimate places than his forearm. For the first time since their reunion, she was truly seeing him as a conceivable lover. It gave her the right kind of goosebumps

  New York-New York-New York, she scolded herself. That’s where your heart—and your mind—needs to be. She took a step back from Cash and slowly let out her breath. Focus.

  She said, “These are far too beautiful to be locked away like this. They should be displayed at an art show.”

  “Think anyone would want to buy them?”

  “Of course! I’m sure lots of people would love to have these in their homes. I know I would.”

  “Well, let’s see what we can do about that. If you behave yourself,” he teased.

  “No promises.”

  Vanessa stopped in front of a mountain landscape that had been taken at sunrise. The sun cut through the morning mist in sharp beams, providing an ethereal glow to the snowcaps. The image was unique in that it conveyed emotions typically reserved for photographs where a living subject was present; it was both melancholy and hopeful, sinister yet uplifting.

  Vanessa moved on to photograph of a man she recognized as Cash’s ranch hand, Harrison. His back was to the camera but his head was turned so that half his ruggedly handsome face was visible. He was staring intently at something in the distance. He wore a long-sleeved shirt and jeans with brown leather chaps over the top, and he was covered from head-to-toe in a light layer dirt. The shot had been snapped just as Harrison was clapping his hands together at his side, one bare and the other sporting a long leather glove. Each individual particle of dust twinkled like glitter in the air around him.

  “I took that right after Harrison got bucked off his bull,” Cash said. “It was a competition, and he did alright—but not perfect. Hence his icy glare.”

  Vanessa leaned closer so that she could examine the photograph. She could almost smell the dust, the sweat, the animals; she could practically hear the crowd’s shouts, the snorting of the bulls. If she looked away, she imagined the image might shift ever so slightly, as if it were a living thing.

  The other photographs ranged in subject manner, yet they were all as equally captivating. The landscapes captured all four seasons, showcasing Dunblair Ridge’s rugged beauty so differently in style that it was if a different photographer had taken each one.

  “Those were a bit of an experiment,” Cash said, pointing at them.

  “They’re gorgeous.”

  There were also shots of animals, ranging from leaping herd dogs to grazing elk. “I was camping when I took this one,” Cash said, pointing to a shot of a bobcat that was gazing so piercingly at the camera that it was as if it had been posed. “I was just sitting there by the fire, having my morning coffee, and she came wandering through. I couldn’t believe how close she let me get.”

  “I love how you captured the smoke and bright orange embers in the background—how she’s gazing at the camera, as if unsure whether to attack or run away. It’s very . . . visceral,” Vanessa said, hoping that she sounded artsy enough to convey her sincerity about her love of his work. Whether it was the glass or so of wine she’d had or—what she suspected was more likely the case—her growing ache for Cash, she was having a difficult time finding her words. She imagined that if she were to reach out and caress him, his body would feel as hot as those bright orange embers.

  “Thank you.”

  Vanessa admired the straightforward way Cash had accepted the compliment, with no arrogance or false modesty. He put an arm around her—was he feeling their heat, too? she wondered—and directed her toward a photograph of a man standing by a hospital bed. He was gazing down at a newborn baby in a woman’s arms, his eyes wet and the corners of his mouth turned up at the corners. Vanessa was moved to such a degree way that she felt a little weepy herself.

  “This is one of my favorites, probably because I know the subjects. It’s very special to me. Andre’s wife had just given birth and they were discussing names—they’d picked out Jeremiah before the baby was born, but once he came out, they didn’t think it suited him,” Cash explained.

  “It’s very sweet. Look, you’ve made me tear up!”

  He chuckled. “I can see that. My friend had no idea that I was standing in the doorway, photographing their exchange. I often find that I can capture the moment better when the subject doesn’t know that he or she is being photographed. People tend to freeze up once the camera comes out.”

  “I could see that,” Vanessa said. “Though that’s hard to believe in our current selfie culture.”

  Cash gave her a crooked smile, raising a hand to stroke a strand of hair back from her face. “Right.”

  Vanessa’s skin prickled. He was barely grazing her skin, yet she felt electrified by his touch. She blinked slowly, fairly confident that her insides were melting. Was he aware of the effect he was having on her?

  “Of course, posed shots can be beautiful, too.” He cupped a hand near the small of her back and directed her to a stool, where he had her sit down. He went to the desk, picked up his camera, and removed the lens cap.

  “You want to take my photo now?” Flustered, she began smoothing down her hair. She then brushed down her front, in case she wore any crumbs from dinner.

  “Vanessa, stop, stop,” Cash coaxed. “You are perfect the way you are.”

  She let her hands fall to her lap. Sitting up so that her posture was perfectly straight, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  Cash placed the strap over his neck and let the camera rest against his chest. He rubbed her shoulders and whispered, “For starters, I want you to relax.”

  She laughed. “Okay, okay. I guess I’m one of the people who freezes up, hmm?”

  He kissed the top of her head and moved away, standing so that he was positioned a few feet in front of her. “Tell me a story. It’ll help you relax.”

  “About what?”

  “Anything you want.”

  “Okay . . .” Vanessa looked up as she thought about what story she was going to tell.

  Cash snapped a few photos. “Don’t worry, this isn’t like the olden days, where you have to worry about using up film. I can delete whatever ones don’t look good.” He lowered the camera and winked at her. “Though I imagine those will be few and far between.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she smirked.

  “Good, good,” Cash encouraged. Click-click-click went his camera. “Beautiful . . . Perfect.”

  Vanessa was starting to get into the photoshoot. Cash certainly had a way with his subject, using
praise to help her relax. She hammed it up for the camera for a few more shots and then began her story. “Once upon a time, there lived a young girl who was abandoned at an old country castle by an evil witch. Fortunately for the girl, a kindly caretaker took her in and treated her as she would her own daughter. Across the field lived a young boy, and soon the two children became friends . . .”

  Cash grinned behind the camera. “Hey, I think I’ve heard this one before.” Click, click.

  “The children told one another all their wildest hopes and dreams. They swore they’d stay best friends forever.”

  “Aw.”

  “But then one day the evil witch returned and stole the little girl away from the castle. Before she departed, the little girl gave her friend—”

  “A bouquet of forget-me-nots, so that he’d never forget her.”

  Vanessa brought a hand up her mouth, shocked. “You remember! I wasn’t sure if . . .”

  Cash set the camera aside. He walked over to where Vanessa was seated, took her hand into his, and gently pulled her to her feet. He gazed down into her eyes. “And in return, the little boy promised the girl that he’d marry her when she returned.”

  She gasped as he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her back. “Cash . . .”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t hold it in any longer. I’ve been trying to play it cool, but I might implode if I don’t tell you how I feel. You are so beautiful, Vanessa. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

  Vanessa tore her eyes away from his burning emerald gaze. “Cash,” she repeated. The flimsy grasp she had on her self-control was slackening with every passing moment. Her heart and body—definitely her body—were begging for her to continue, but her mind persisted with its maddening practicality. What if someone gets hurt?

  Cash’s voice was husky as he said, “If you tell me you don’t want this, I’ll release you and we can go back to the way things were—being friends. No hard feelings. But, if you feel the same as me, let’s forget about the past, about what comes next, about strings attached. Let’s live for tonight—”

  Vanessa silenced Cash by seizing his face and pulling him in close for a kiss. “I want this,” Vanessa breathed when they finally pulled away. “As much as you do, maybe more.”

  They kissed again. Their lips parted and his tongue found hers. His mouth, his touch, felt nothing like she had ever experienced in all her thirty-four years. She ran her hands down his chest, slipping her fingers over the buttons. She quickly unfastened them and pulled his shirt off his body. She exhaled. She’d seen him shirtless before, but never in this context, and she was stunned by his chiseled perfection.

  “You next,” he said softly, his eyes blazing as he slid his hands around the back of her neck so that he could untie her halter. He kissed a spot under her jawline and then let go of the straps. At the blink of an eye, her dress was pooled around her feet, leaving her in nothing but a gauzy pair of lace panties. “Stay with me tonight, Vanessa.”

  She held his hand in hers as they walked up the stairway toward his bedroom. Tonight—but what about forever?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The next morning, Vanessa awakened in Cash’s bedroom alone.

  She pulled the sheet off her face, which she’d been using to block out the sun shining in her eyes, and sat up. The bedroom was a lot brighter than her own. This was because the window drapes were gauzy little white rectangles that were practically see-through. She imagined Cash probably didn’t mind the sun so much because he got up at the crack of dawn on most mornings. In her own bedroom, such sorry excuses for curtains would never fly.

  The smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee rising from the kitchen gave her a pretty good idea where her host was. She became intensely aware of her nakedness as she made a move to get out of bed, cringing as she remembered that she’d left her dress in Cash’s photography room. Sighing, she mentally prepared herself for the awkward journey downstairs, but then her spirits lifted when she saw that Cash had brought her dress into the bedroom and draped it over a chair near the bed.

  Vanessa got dressed. She searched around until she found her sandals, which Cash had also left on the floor by the chair. Thankfully, there was a bathroom on the second floor, so she was able to empty her bladder and fix the makeup that was smudged under her eyes before heading downstairs.

  “Hey, you,” Cash said as she entered the kitchen. He was standing at the stove, stirring a cast iron pan brimming with scrambled eggs. Next to it was another pan full of hash browns.

  “Is an army joining us for breakfast?”

  He crossed the room, pulled a chair out for her at the table, and then kissed the top of her head after she sat down. “I was just about to come up and wake you. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I’m happy to,” Cash smiled, returning to the pan. “I’ve got to eat, anyway, so you might as well join me.”

  Vanessa nervously played with her hair. She was struggling to behave in a normal fashion, with Cash being the first man she’d been with since Greg. In the nighttime, with her stomach full of food and wine and lots of flirting going on, it was easy to throw caution to the wind. In the bright light of a new day it was easiest to question her judgment.

  What have you done? she scolded herself. You just couldn’t keep your clothes on, could you?

  Cash was her friend—or at least he had been her friend before they’d gotten physical—and her neighbor. From the time she’d become old enough to date, she’d followed an unspoken rule about never getting romantically involved with a man who was classified as either. She’d found it best to compartmentalize her relations with the opposite sex into two very separate categories: they were either a platonic pal or a lover, never both. When the lines blurred, that was when things got complicated.

  And complications were the last thing Vanessa needed.

  Perhaps, she thought, she could chalk up last night to both of them getting swept away in the moment. She sat back and observed Cash as he busied himself with the cooking. She paid particular attention to the capable hands that had explored every inch of her body during their act of lovemaking and then moved her gaze up the strong arms that had held her tenderly as they’d later slept. She closed her eyes and sighed internally. There was no point in denying it. She was falling for Cash in a big way.

  Her emotions sobered when she thought of her upbringing—how her mother had constantly uprooted their lives to accommodate whatever new boyfriend had blown through their world. She could think of countless instances when their homes and her mother’s self-esteem had been shattered after so-called true love had turned sour. As a young girl, she’d made a private vow that she’d never let anything like that happen to her. Never, ever, would she neglect her life goals for something as fleeting as romance.

  She understood that if she were to stay in Dunblair Ridge, it would only be because of Cash. And if their relationship didn’t work out, then what? Exactly how foolish would she feel? After what had happened with Greg . . . Well, she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

  If Cash lived in New York, she wouldn’t hesitate to jump right in. She’d let go of all her worries and give him her whole heart. But he lived in Dunblair Ridge, the last place in the world she would have ever thought she’d end up—the last place in the world she wanted to end up.

  She smiled up at Cash as he placed two salt and pepper shakers on the table. “Nearly done.”

  She could always ask Cash to move to New York, she supposed, but even she knew that was out of the question. It simply wasn’t possible for him to walk away from his responsibilities in Montana—the cattle, the land, his house—never mind his father’s gambling debts that he was obliged to pay off. He’d never give up the ranch that had been in his family for generations, and she wouldn’t dream of asking him to. There was also the small detail of him being a professional rancher, and try doing that in New York.

  “You’re awfully
quiet over there,” Cash said, setting two steaming plates down on the table, as well as a stack of paper napkins and a bottle of Tabasco sauce. He took a seat across from Vanessa. “Dig in.”

  She thanked him for the food. After a couple of bites, she said, “I’m just thinking.”

  “Uh-oh. You look so serious.” He crinkled his brow and smiled over at her. He’d made the comment playfully, but his frown deepened when her expression didn’t change. He set his fork aside and quickly wiped his mouth. “Is there something wrong—are you regretting last night?”

  “No, not exactly.”

  “But you are regretting it somewhat? Because I’m not. Not one bit.”

  “Cash,” she began, looking toward the ceiling helplessly. “You know that I’m not planning on staying here, and I’m just a little worried that one of us is going to get hurt.”

  He sat back in his seat, provided her a sigh that suggested What’s this nonsense? so clearly that he might as well have just said it. “One of us? Don’t you mean me?”

  “No, I mean both of us.” She ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “Take a second to really think about it. Where could this—us—ever go?”

  Cash folded his arms across his chest. “I guess we’ll never know if we don’t try.”

  “But why put ourselves through the heartache?”

  “Who says that it will end it heartache?” Cash countered. “Isn’t there just as much of a chance of our outcome being amazing? Sure, I can’t promise you the same glitz as New York, but I’ll treat you right. I’ll always look after you, Vanessa, and that has to count for something, right?”

  “Given the facts—”

  “Given the facts? You’re not presenting a case in court.” Cash let out his breath and gave her a look of resignation. “Look, I’m not trying to talk you into something you obviously don’t want to do.”

  Vanessa felt awful for causing Cash pain, but it was better to rip the emotional Band-Aid off quickly. Giving him false hope would only hurt him more in the long run. “I’m not saying that I don’t want to get involved.”