distance, not encourage her.
“Well, I could tell you about the time Cindy--she’s my best friend--dared me to jump out of the third story hayloft into a big pile of hay.”
The hell with it, Drake thought. He wanted to know more about Luisa, so he threw caution out the window. “If she was a best friend, what did your enemies do to you?”
Luisa shared more stories and kept them laughing, something that Drake had missed for the past year. A picture of Conall, his unquenchable laughter bringing a flush to his light complexion and tears to his eyes, came to Drake. There had been many good times over the years of their friendship. It felt good, Drake realized, to let go for even a short time.
Luisa glanced toward the window. “Yikes. It’s late. I have to go feed so I can work the horses later.”
“Thanks for the cake,” he said, getting to his feet. “And the conversation. I enjoyed it.” He tried to hand her the cake plate, but she shook her head. “That’s for you.”
“Thanks. I won’t even argue the point. It’s delicious.”
She backed toward the kitchen door, knocking into a chair on the way. “Um, I’ll see you later.” Obviously nervous, she bolted from the room, her boots thumping on the worn boards of the porch, and then silence returned.
Drake wondered at her sudden discomfort, but let it go. He inhaled and pulled her lingering scent into his lungs. Slowly he raised a hand and rubbed it over his chest. As much as he hated the desert southwest, he was fascinated by some aspects of it, including Luisa Montoya. Returning to Los Angeles and Rebecca might not be as easy as he’d expected.
#
That evening Drake stroked a razor across his cheek one last time and splashed water on his face to wash away the remaining menthol lather. While he dabbed his dripping face with a fresh towel, he pictured Luisa in his mind. Warmth flooded the pit of his stomach. He imagined again her understated laughter, more often than not laughing at herself as they had talked about her ranch life.
A very real sound overrode that memory. A lively melody drifted in through the open window and tugged at him. It came from the barn. He wondered if Luisa was working there.
He wanted to stay away. He needed to be close.
Drake pried her image from his mind. In spite of his heart’s request, he couldn’t begin to think of a relationship until his own issues with Conall were resolved. Drake knew that was going to take time. He had a responsibility to Rebecca and the children to consider, too. The promise made to his dying friend was carved on Drake’s heart. Regret tapped him on the shoulder. He’d forever see Conall’s last minutes on this earth. Forever know Drake had caused them by making a rookie mistake. Despair threatened to take him down to his knees, but he locked them, holding himself rigid.
Night was coming on and that meant the nightmares would be close behind. He’d kill for a loud, smoky bar and a bottle about now. Anything to keep his thoughts and feelings at bay. Booze had taken over his life when Conall died.
Disgusted, he threw the towel into a heap on the chipped porcelain sink and went out on the porch. Dark circled the place except for bright lights along the sides of a large pen. A tune carried to him on the sage-scented breeze. It was fast--a real toe-tapper. When he recognized “Syncopated Clock,” he smiled. Not only was she listening to Leroy Anderson’s music from the 50s, she played the same song repeatedly. He wondered if it was a favorite of hers. When it started over for the fourth time, he thought it odd. Surely, she had more than one favorite tune.
Curiosity moved him toward the barn. When he caught sight of her riding in the arena, he veered in that direction, stopping under the spreading arms of a cottonwood. What he saw astounded him. The woman and horse flowed across the sandy surface, liquid in their movements.
The arena lights bounced off red highlights in her hair and turned
“Well, I could tell you about the time Cindy--she’s my best friend--dared me to jump out of the third story hayloft into a big pile of hay.”
The hell with it, Drake thought. He wanted to know more about Luisa, so he threw caution out the window. “If she was a best friend, what did your enemies do to you?”
Luisa shared more stories and kept them laughing, something that Drake had missed for the past year. A picture of Conall, his unquenchable laughter bringing a flush to his light complexion and tears to his eyes, came to Drake. There had been many good times over the years of their friendship. It felt good, Drake realized, to let go for even a short time.
Luisa glanced toward the window. “Yikes. It’s late. I have to go feed so I can work the horses later.”
“Thanks for the cake,” he said, getting to his feet. “And the conversation. I enjoyed it.” He tried to hand her the cake plate, but she shook her head. “That’s for you.”
“Thanks. I won’t even argue the point. It’s delicious.”
She backed toward the kitchen door, knocking into a chair on the way. “Um, I’ll see you later.” Obviously nervous, she bolted from the room, her boots thumping on the worn boards of the porch, and then silence returned.
Drake wondered at her sudden discomfort, but let it go. He inhaled and pulled her lingering scent into his lungs. Slowly he raised a hand and rubbed it over his chest. As much as he hated the desert southwest, he was fascinated by some aspects of it, including Luisa Montoya. Returning to Los Angeles and Rebecca might not be as easy as he’d expected.
#
That evening Drake stroked a razor across his cheek one last time and splashed water on his face to wash away the remaining menthol lather. While he dabbed his dripping face with a fresh towel, he pictured Luisa in his mind. Warmth flooded the pit of his stomach. He imagined again her understated laughter, more often than not laughing at herself as they had talked about her ranch life.
A very real sound overrode that memory. A lively melody drifted in through the open window and tugged at him. It came from the barn. He wondered if Luisa was working there.
He wanted to stay away. He needed to be close.
Drake pried her image from his mind. In spite of his heart’s request, he couldn’t begin to think of a relationship until his own issues with Conall were resolved. Drake knew that was going to take time. He had a responsibility to Rebecca and the children to consider, too. The promise made to his dying friend was carved on Drake’s heart. Regret tapped him on the shoulder. He’d forever see Conall’s last minutes on this earth. Forever know Drake had caused them by making a rookie mistake. Despair threatened to take him down to his knees, but he locked them, holding himself rigid.
Night was coming on and that meant the nightmares would be close behind. He’d kill for a loud, smoky bar and a bottle about now. Anything to keep his thoughts and feelings at bay. Booze had taken over his life when Conall died.
Disgusted, he threw the towel into a heap on the chipped porcelain sink and went out on the porch. Dark circled the place except for bright lights along the sides of a large pen. A tune carried to him on the sage-scented breeze. It was fast--a real toe-tapper. When he recognized “Syncopated Clock,” he smiled. Not only was she listening to Leroy Anderson’s music from the 50s, she played the same song repeatedly. He wondered if it was a favorite of hers. When it started over for the fourth time, he thought it odd. Surely, she had more than one favorite tune.
Curiosity moved him toward the barn. When he caught sight of her riding in the arena, he veered in that direction, stopping under the spreading arms of a cottonwood. What he saw astounded him. The woman and horse flowed across the sandy surface, liquid in their movements.
The arena lights bounced off red highlights in her hair and turned
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