Wild About the Wrangler (2 page)

It would have been a classic Cinderella story except that Charmaine and Anastasia weren't ugly stepsisters by any stretch. Charmaine was a sweetheart who mostly just wanted to please her momma, although she also liked the finer things in life and wasn't opposed to marrying a rich guy.

Anastasia had told him point blank that she'd rather die than marry for wealth or prestige. She'd told her mother that, too, but Evelyn kept hoping Anastasia would fall in love with some well-heeled tourist passing through Bickford. The chances of that had improved exponentially in the past few months.

Mac took another swallow of his beer. He wished Ida hadn't told him that Anastasia had a crush on him. Ida could be wrong, of course, or she could be up to her usual shenanigans. She might think if she planted that idea in his head, he'd be driven to act on it.

Well, he wasn't going to. He'd already taken a trip down the aisle only to discover he wasn't good at marriage. Nobody in Bickford knew about that episode except Vince and Travis. He'd been divorced for a couple of years, now, and figured that would be his permanent designation.

He chose to date women who didn't want anything more than a fun time. That wasn't Anastasia. She deserved a forever guy who was good at this relationship business and would make her happy.

But he didn't want to be unfriendly, either. Now that Ida had left, Anastasia sat alone at her corner table, her hand moving rapidly over the sketch pad propped against her bent knee. From this angle he could see the intense concentration on her pretty face but not what she was drawing.

But since she wasn't looking at him, he could sneak a look at her, always a pleasure. He supposed some people would call her a brunette, but he didn't think that was nearly enough of a description. Her hair, which she mostly wore in a ponytail, like today, was about six different colors of brown, ranging from dark to light. The variations in her hair fascinated him.

But after a second or two, he turned back to his glass of beer so nobody would get the wrong idea. He probably didn't have to worry, though. None of the customers sitting at the tables or at the bar were local and they all seemed to be involved in their own conversations.

He glanced over at her again and she happened to look up right at that moment. Her instant smile of delight made his chest hurt. Did she have a crush? He hoped not. That would cause problems for both of them.

But now that they'd made eye contact, he had to go over and say hi. If he didn't, she'd think something was wrong. So he smiled back, picked up his half-full beer glass and walked over to her table.

He'd ask about her work. That was always a safe topic and he really was interested. He loved seeing what kinds of pictures she came up with. “I noticed you over here furiously drawing something. What is it?”

She laughed and turned the sketch pad around.

There he was, sitting on a barstool looking thoughtful as he sipped his beer. Yikes. Maybe Ida had a point. “Hey, I recognize that guy. He sure could use a haircut.”

“Nah, it looks better long. And it's way more fun to draw than really short hair.” She turned the pad around and studied the sketch. “You seemed to be thinking so hard. I hope you didn't have any issues on the trail this weekend.”

“Nope.” He remained standing because if he sat down, he'd get into a longer conversation with her. It never failed. They always could find something to talk about, but now that he was worried she had a crush, he ought to minimize the amount of time he spent with her. “In fact, the ride went well.”

“Good.” She added a few strokes of charcoal to his portrait before glancing up again. “Got any good pictures of the Ghost for me?”

“Um, yeah, now that you mention it.” Her eyes also fascinated him. It probably said
hazel
on her driver's license, but he couldn't decide what color they were. Depending on the light or what she wore, they could look green, brown, gold, or a blend of those colors.

Although he'd decided not to show her the pictures, he couldn't look into those eyes and lie. For some reason she trusted him and he never wanted that to change, which was another reason not to get involved. If she trusted him with her heart, he might mess up, and that would be terrible.

He opened his picture app, scrolled to the bottom, and handed her the phone.

She sucked in a breath. “Mac, these are stupendous! I'm surprised you didn't show them to me when you first walked in.”

“You were with Ida.”

“She wouldn't have cared. And it's not like I go into a trance when I draw. You've watched me. I chat and make jokes the whole time. Oh,
this one.
” She turned the screen toward him. “Text them all to me, but this is the one I'll do first. Head up, mane blowing in the wind, looking every inch the leader. I love it.”

Happiness flooded through him. He'd known she'd react this way. When he'd checked out the shots early this morning, he'd been excited to get back here and show them to her. He almost hadn't done it after what Ida had said, and that would have been a damn shame.

Maybe Ida was mistaking Anastasia's natural enthusiasm for a crush. He'd heard her gush over the half barrels of flowers that lined the sidewalks as if she'd never seen flowers before. Now she was wild about the horse pictures on his phone.

That was just her way. She might have spoken to Ida about him with an edge of anticipation in her voice. It didn't have to mean anything except that she was glad they were friends and he brought her pictures of the Ghost nearly every weekend.

“As long as I have your phone, do you care if I just text them to myself?”

“No, go ahead. I took them—” He caught himself before he said
for you.
That might be a little too pointed, so he finished with “for people who hadn't been out there yet.” Damn. He never used to watch what he said before. That had been half the fun of being around her.

Her thumbs moved rapidly over the screen. “That's something I'd like to talk to you about. Do you have a minute to sit down?”

“Sure.” He hadn't meant to, but what could it hurt? She'd said a minute, not an hour. He pulled out a chair and set his beer on the table.

After she finished sending the pictures to herself, she handed his phone back. “I have a big favor to ask.”

“What's that?”

She closed her sketch pad and tucked it inside the messenger bag she always carried. Then she looked straight at him. “I need to learn how to ride a horse.”

That startled the heck out of him. “You don't already know?”

“I don't.” She lowered her voice. “They scare me.”

“Wow. I had no idea. I just assumed . . . I don't know what I assumed.” But now that she'd brought it up, he realized that she'd never suggested going out to see the Ghost herself, and the only way to do that was on horseback.

She kept her voice down and leaned toward him. “I've been afraid of them since I was little, but it didn't really matter until now. I'm starting to feel like a fraud because I'm getting known for drawing a horse I've never seen.”

“No one would ever guess. The pictures are perfect.” He could tell she didn't want any of this to become common knowledge. Considering how easily she'd always told him things, it wasn't surprising that she'd tell him this and know he'd keep quiet about it.

“Maybe I'm fooling people, but when the film crew arrives, they'll be asking questions, and I don't want to admit I've never seen this horse. So if you'd be willing to teach me to ride, then I could—”

“Why not ask Georgie?” Instinctively he knew that teaching her to ride was not a good idea. He wasn't sure whether there was a crush involved or not, but now that Ida had mentioned the possibility, it was permanently planted in his brain.

Until now, they'd seen a fair amount of each other, but usually here at Sadie's with other people around. Riding lessons would mean scheduled private time on a regular basis, and if they had any chemistry . . . well, he didn't want to test it.

“Georgie would baby me. She wouldn't mean to, but I'm her little sister and she can't help being overprotective. You and I are the kind of friends who tell it like it is. You'd push me out of my comfort zone so I can get past this irrational fear. I know it's a big favor, but . . . you're the only person I really trust to help me.”

“Hey, Mac and Anastasia!” Travis picked that moment to bounce in on a sugar high and hail them from halfway across the saloon. “Who's up for a game of darts?”

“Be right there!” Mac called back. Then he turned to Anastasia. “Look, I'm not sure if—”

“
Please
say yes.”

When it came down to it, he didn't really have a choice. Disappointing her wasn't an option. He looked into those incredible eyes and knew he was about to make a huge mistake. “Okay. I'll do it.”

A
nastasia gladly joined Mac and Travis for their weekly game of darts, although she wasn't fully engaged in it. Instead she was busy congratulating herself on achieving her main objective for the day. After thinking about it all weekend, she'd decided to ask Mac for lessons when he appeared at Sadie's after the trail ride.

He always came in for a beer and showed her his pictures, so the plan had seemed foolproof. Except today he'd broken his usual pattern. He'd come in for the beer, but then he'd stayed at the bar instead of walking over to her table.

She could understand why he might not want to interrupt Ida's portrait session. He could have, but she appreciated the respect he'd always shown for her work. When he hadn't come over after Ida had left, though, she'd wondered what was going on.

He'd known Ida was gone because she'd made a point of talking to him on her way out the door. That wasn't unusual. Ida never missed a chance to interact with any of the three cowboys who'd changed Bickford's fate for the better.

But once Ida had walked out of the saloon, Anastasia had expected Mac to come over to her table. Instead he'd sat there sipping his beer and pondering . . . something. She'd given him a chance to say what he'd been thinking about, but he hadn't risen to the bait.

That was okay. When he wanted to talk about it, he would. While he'd stayed at the bar lost in thought, she'd made good use of her time.

Consequently she had another charcoal sketch of her favorite cowboy to add to her portfolio. Because she'd created a fair amount of portraits featuring Mac, he probably thought she was besotted. She was, in a way, because sketching his portrait months ago had jump-started her urge to draw again.

But she wasn't in the mood for romance. She was too busy with her art and her blossoming career. She'd learned in art school that love affairs could be distracting and even fatal to her creativity.

She was older and wiser, now, and probably wouldn't let herself get derailed again, but why take the chance? Mac's friendship was one of the joys of her life, so turning the excellent friendship into an affair made no sense, especially because he was also the perfect choice to deal with her phobia concerning horses.

She'd heard him talk about working with greenhorns on the trail rides, and he had the attitude she was looking for in a riding teacher. He had empathy for beginners. He'd be tough but not mean, insistent but never a bully. She was desperate to see the Ghost in person and he'd agreed to help her.

The documentary had been the inciting factor, but she'd been agonizing over the problem for months. Her strong sense of artistic integrity wouldn't let her build a reputation on a lie. Other artists might disagree, but drawing the Ghost without ever seeing him in the flesh felt deceptive. She couldn't keep doing it.

“Bull's-eye!” Travis won the current round and performed an elaborate victory dance. Then he halted in front of Anastasia. “Mac's giving our darts tournament his all, but if you'll excuse my saying so, you're giving maybe your two-thirds, maybe even your half. Definitely not your all.”

“Sorry. I have some things on my mind.”

His eyes widened in mock horror. “More important than this?”

He made her laugh, as he always did. When all three men had come to town six months ago, Bickford's population had been mostly composed of senior citizens. Vince had fixated on Georgie, which had left Mac and Travis for Anastasia, the only other eligible woman in town. She hadn't been sure which one captivated her more.

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.”