Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3) (15 page)

He snorted. “I’d say you were really letting your hair down tonight, except here you are with the buttons and the shoes.”

She straightened her legs, turned her feet this way and that. “Until you tell me to come with boots and jeans for that horseback ride, you’ll get me as me.”

“I never did ask if you could ride.” He stopped, taking in her skinny black pants and long sleeveless swing top. “A horse, I mean. Can you ride a horse?”

“I’ve ridden before,” she said, reaching for her wine before she reached for him, because that’s what the look in his eyes had her wanting to do. “It’s been a while, but I guess it’s like a bicycle? Or . . . riding other things after a long hiatus? It kinda all comes back.”

“About that.” He swallowed more potato salad, downed half the wine in his glass like it was water. “Would’ve been hard pressed to tell you were out of practice. If that’s what you’re saying here.”

She nodded, leaned down to dust off the bright fuchsia toes of her Prada pumps. “Until the other morning, it had been a while.”

“How long is ‘a while’?” he asked and stopped chewing.

“Four years.”

He blinked, blinked again. “So . . . all the time you’ve been in Crow Hill—”

“Celibate as a nun,” she said, meeting his gaze over the rim of her wineglass.

“Why didn’t you come see me sooner?” he asked, his expression awash in disbelief.

She smiled at that. “Sooner, I wasn’t ready to come see you. Or anyone. And you haven’t been back that long for me to come see.”

“What happened?”

“You danced with me.”

“I know that part of what happened. I was asking about what happened to make you close up shop.”

Those weren’t things she was ready to talk about. Not in any kind of detail. And not with him. “I had just ended the relationship I told you about. I wasn’t ready to get involved in another.”

“But now you are.”

Was that where they were headed? Into a relationship? Was that what all her earlier thinking about living here had been? Was that what he wanted?

She started to tell him she wasn’t averse to things between them becoming something more, but she held off, biting back a truth it surprised her to acknowledge. She needed time to come to grips with what she was feeling.

With the fact that she
was
feeling. In the meantime . . .

She gave a noncommittal shrug and sipped at her wine, then. desperate for a change of subject, asked, “Was leaving hard because your family was here? Or hard because you were abandoning Tess and Dave?”

“A whole lot of both,” he responded after a long pause. “But it got to the point that I just couldn’t stay.”

“Faith missed you a lot, when you were gone. When she found out you’d be coming back for the ranch . . . She wore this smile for weeks. It was like a kid finding out Santa Claus was real after all.”

He grunted. “Too bad I couldn’t have put that smile on her face by coming home for her and the folks instead of for an inheritance.”

“You can’t think that way.”

“I can. And I do. I visited during the holidays every year, but it’s pretty shitty to say you don’t want to move back, and then do it because someone left you a ranch.” He poured more wine, for him, for her, drank his, then grabbed a handful of her grapes. “I’d told myself when I left that I was never going to live here again. Except for my family, everything that had made Crow Hill home was gone. The boys. Then Dave passed. Finally Tess. There wasn’t anything left. Nothing.”

Her reporter’s antennae were twitching, and she wanted to know what he’d skated over, what he’d left out; but she knew to get what she wanted, she had to keep quiet, to let him talk while she listened.

“I hadn’t even known I wanted to cowboy until the folks sent us to work here. I didn’t want to go to college. I had the grades. Had killer SAT scores. Hell, I even got recruited by some smaller schools’ football programs. If I hadn’t sabotaged a blow-off economics class I took my senior year, I could’ve gone to any school I wanted.”

That didn’t surprise her. He was a very smart man. What did surprise her was that he would throw away such a gift. “Why didn’t you want to go?”

“School bored the shit outta me,” he said, putting the top back on the brisket and crimping it closed. “I knew Casper wasn’t going, and things had already gone south for Dax with his old man. Dave didn’t pay enough to call those wages a living, so even if the boys could’ve stuck out their family shit, they needed more money than they could get working here. So did I.”

“I can’t imagine he wouldn’t have understood that. Dave, I mean.”

“He did. I still felt like a dick for walking out on him.” He closed up the potatoes, beans and pie, finished off his wine. “Can you stick around for a while? Let me go in and get cleaned up? It’s a nice night. Be great to sit out back with someone besides myself and my beer cooler.”

“Sure,” she said, waving a hand over their picnic. “I’ll pack this up. You go on in.”

“Thank you. This was great. Really great.”

“I’m glad you liked it.”

She swore he started to say something more, but then he dropped another kiss on her mouth and headed toward the house, leaving her to wonder if her coming out here had sent him the wrong message.

Then wondering what message she’d wanted to send, besides being neighborly and bringing supper to a friend, because even she wasn’t buying that one anymore.

SIXTEEN

W
HILE
B
OONE SHOWERED
upstairs, Everly stayed put on the first floor. The only other visit she’d made here she’d spent in Boone’s bedroom, and he’d hurried her up the stairs, leaving her no time to take in her surroundings. Now that she had time, she could see what he meant about the state of things.

Old
was the first word that came to mind.
Worn
was the second. Paint, floor tiles, blinds, appliances. All were in need of an upgrade.

The place was more cluttered than dirty, though the kitchen floor could use a mop, the windows a swipe of Windex. There were dishes in the sink, but they’d been rinsed, and the stove surface was smeared with hastily wiped-away grease.

She wondered as she walked through if the kitchen sideboard was one of Tess’s antiques. It was covered with a clutter of paper and tools and shop rags as if it had been picked up for ten bucks at yard sale.

Remembering Arwen telling her about Tess having a piano, she headed for the living room. The old upright sat against an interior wall, a four-legged adjustable stool in front of it. She sat, spun, smiling as she rose to the height she needed, screwing up her face as she played a series of scales and realized how out of tune the instrument was. And how stiff her hands were.

Still, it was lovely to run her fingers over the keys, and she settled on a rusty rendition of Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag,” laughing each time she slipped up and the notes rang sour. Not that anyone would be able to tell, she thought, considering barely half the keys produced the sound they were supposed to.

Boone came into the room as she finished the song, wearing only his socks with his clean clothes, and his steps lighter because of it. “I didn’t know you played,” he said after she’d stopped and swiveled the stool to face him.

She caught the scent of his soap and shampoo, and wondered for no reason that made sense how many other women knew what he smelled like fresh from the shower, his hair brushed back, the ends snagged in his collar, his face razored clean. Why seeing him like this seemed so intimate . . .

She tightened her core around the longing coiling inside her, a longing that wasn’t about having him, but being with him, sharing moments like this one, so simple, so uncomplicated, drawing them incredibly, powerfully close. “It’s been a while since I have. I left my piano in Austin when I moved.”

She didn’t want to think about what had happened to it. If Toby had pushed it off the balcony and watched it explode, then burned what was left in the street. Or if he’d just taken an ax to it in the middle of the living room.

Whatever he’d done, she didn’t have a doubt that it was gone forever. Same with her beloved espresso machine. She needed to buy another. Four years, and she’d yet to replace it. She didn’t know why when she’d started every morning of those years in that condo with a double shot. Maybe that was the reason . . .

“Must be like riding a bike,” Boone said, bracing an elbow on the top of the old upright. “Doesn’t sound like the time away has hurt you any.”

Riding a bike. Piano playing. Sex. “It comes back. I’m kinda rusty, but not as bad as I’d thought.”

“You take lessons as a kid?”

She nodded. “Mostly against my will.”

He laughed. “Why’s that?”

“I was way too busy taking dance and gymnastics. Who wants to sit and practice piano when floor routines and
Swan Lake
are waiting?”

“So you liked dance.”

“I loved dance. I hated having to quit.”

“Why did you?”

“I hit puberty. My build was all wrong. I was short, and sort of . . . hippy. But I made a great cheerleader. And the gymnastics helped with that. Of course, with cheerleading comes football, and as you know, with football comes boys, and gymnastics went the way of dance.” She raised an index finger. “But I didn’t quit cheerleading, proving I do have it in me to stick with some things.”

“Things that you’re built for.”

“Something like that, though not just physically. I know this sounds . . . I don’t know. Too privileged, maybe. Or entitled. But I want to like what I’m doing. Not do it because it’s expected of me. Or because it’s proper. I don’t mind being improper if I’m having fun. And if I’m not bored. I hate being bored.”

She gave a self-conscious laugh, pushed a fall of hair away from her face instead of hiding behind it, which is what she wanted to do. Why was she telling him all of this? “That must sound terribly shallow. And selfish. And it’s neither one. Not really.”

“Nothing wrong with liking what you’re doing,” he said, his gaze traveling the length of the eighty-eight keys. “I like the hell out of ranching. I’d like it a lot better if it wasn’t such a lost cause, but at least I’ll go down with a smile on my face.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It’s that bad.” He moved to sit on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees as he looked up at her. “Do you like the paper? Working there? Because I can’t imagine having Whitey Simmons for a boss. He taught my Sunday school class one year, and I swear I fell asleep every week listening to him drone. I think I was grounded for almost all of fifth grade.”

That made her laugh. “He’s probably the easiest boss I’ve ever had. And this is definitely the easiest job.” Another laugh, this one self-deprecating. “Crow Hill has been good to me. And good
for
me. I like my life here. Not just because my job’s easy, or because my boss isn’t hounding me twenty-four seven. It’s more that nothing’s ever . . . unexpected. Except you.” She held on to the piano, swiveled back and forth on the stool. “You were definitely unexpected.”

“I’m going to take that as a good thing,” he said, a dark brow arching.

“It
is
a good thing,” she said, meaning it more than he could possibly realize. In the last week, her outlook on so many things had changed in ways she would never have imagined, and all because this man had come into her life. “I like that I met you.”

“I like it, too.”

Silence fell between them then, as if they were both struggling with what
liking
meant. As if neither one of them wanted to be the first to define it, or to change the subject until they understood its import and weight. Until they knew how close they were to crossing the line from liking to something more.

But her nerves finally got the best of her and she moved, the stool squeaking as she shifted. “I should probably get home.”

It was the first thing that came to mind, though she’d been waiting for him to ask her to stay. After lunch yesterday, she needed to know if the fear his roughness had dislodged from inside of her had him changing his mind.

Or if he was feeling as torn and confused as she was. They were supposed to be having an affair, not doing all this strange soul baring.

“You don’t have to,” he said, alternately fisting and spreading his fingers. “But I can understand why you might want to.”

He’d switched on the lamp in the corner and the light bathed one side of his face, leaving the other in eerie shadow. “I don’t know that you do.”

“You haven’t been with anyone in the four years you’ve lived here. Obviously there’s a reason for that. Then you choose me, and I ride you like you’re a bronc that needs breaking.” He lifted his head, his gaze searching hers. “I think you were already broken, and I made things worse.”

“You startled me, yes. But it wasn’t about making things worse. Or about breaking me. It was quite the opposite, in fact.” And she was still dealing with that.

He snorted, shook his head. His mouth pulled sideways. “I left out of your place yesterday thinking you might fall to pieces after I was gone. I’ve been worrying about it ever since, so what you’re saying isn’t helping me understand what went wrong. Because something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“Not really, no. It was just another moment I hadn’t expected, because I liked that you were rough,” she said, heat rising up her neck to flush her cheeks. “It surprised me that you were, and surprised me that I did. But I never thought you’d hurt me, or that I wasn’t safe with you through the whole thing.”

“You make it sound like a rubber-glove exam,” he said. “Except for the liking it part.”

That caught her so off guard, she burst out laughing. “Thank you. I needed that. God, did I need that.”

“I could go all cowboy-philosopher on you again and tell you laughter makes the best medicine, but I’d rather you tell me about the fear.”

“Maybe someday.”

“But not now.”

She shook her head. “Supper was wonderful, the company, the food. I don’t want to lose this . . . feeling.”

“And what feeling is that?” he asked, his tone concerned.

She did what she could to set him at ease. “Happy. Relaxed. Comfortable. You’re making me want to stay here.”

“Good. Because that’s what I was aiming for.”

“I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.” The last thing she wanted to do was lead him on. “I’ve got a rather . . . complicated past.”

He laced his hands behind his head and leaned back, slouching against the cushions, his knees spread wide. “I’m a big boy, Everly. In case you’ve missed that one of the times you’ve seen me with my clothes off.”

“It’s not about you, you know. My . . . hang-ups,” she said, even that admission causing the pit of her stomach to burn.

“Yeah, I’m figuring it’s about the ex in Austin. And I’m also figuring he’s the reason you’re living in this shit hole and wasting your time with Whitey Simmons.”

Frowning, she asked, “Is that what you think? That I’m wasting my time?”

He sat forward again, frowned again, worked his hands in and out of fists again. “You had a pretty high-profile career before coming here. Made a lot of connections over the years. Connections you could’ve parlayed into another high-profile position. Maybe in another big city. You’re smart. Ambitious. Talented. Gorgeous. But instead of doing that, you’re hiding out in a tiny little office working with Clark Howard and Cicely Warren and Whitey Simmons.

“You can’t use your connections here. You can’t use but bits and pieces of your talent. Now, if you’d moved here to take the waters, or whatever, that would be one of those horses of different colors. So in that regard, yeah. You working for the
Crow Hill Reporter
is a big fat waste of something. Could be it’s not time at all. Could be something insignificant. Or could be something big enough to swallow you whole.”

He stopped, and his words hung in the room around them, a smoke ring hovering before dissipating, the smell lingering long after. The funny thing was, he was right. At least when it came to her connections and her talent. She could be doing so much more with her time. But she didn’t
want
to be doing more. And that was what she was only coming to understand.

Admittedly, the job with Whitey was supposed to have been a stopgap, getting her over the emotional hump after Toby. Yet four years later, she could hardly remember what about her on-air position, her social circles, her speaking and emceeing engagements made the stress of maintaining that lifestyle worth it.

What she did know was that tonight wasn’t for scrolling through the choices she’d made and assigning reasons why. Nothing in the past could be changed. Besides, Boone and the sunset were waiting. Later, she could examine her life.

She gave him a smile and signaled a time-out. They could get back to this later. After his words had set. “Didn’t you say something about the back porch and a beer cooler?”

He stood, offered her his hand. “I did, though it won’t hurt my feelings if you’d rather stick to wine. And I say that mostly because I think I’m about out of beer.”

The chair on the back porch was actually an old metal glider, once green to match the house’s shutters, now as peeled as the shutters were faded. The rounded seashell back was warm when she sat, and Boone pulled a beer from the cooler after pouring her another glass of wine.

He joined her then, draping an arm across her shoulders and bringing her close as the glider moved back and forth, pushed into service by his stocking feet. Everly tucked hers into the seat beside her, slipping her shoes off and setting them on the porch, before leaning against him.

She drank her wine. He drank his beer. Bing and Bob lay in the dirt with their snouts resting on their paws, their eyes darting. The sun spilled a palette of colors across the pasture, the barn throwing a long, cool shadow toward the house.

Relaxed, Everly didn’t want to think about Austin or Toby or her job with Whitey Simmons, or why she’d yet to replace her espresso machine.

All she wanted to do was sit here, with Boone, and never move again.