Read Online The Trouble With Cowboys by Denise Hunter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Denise Hunter
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things awkward. What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”
He shrugged. “What if she does, and she’s just waiting for him to make a move?”
“He says there’s no indication of feelings on her part.”
“Maybe he’s wrong. Anyway, what about honesty? You think this guy should hide his feelings?”
“Not hide them, just not wear them on his sleeve.”
“Same thing.”
“It is not the same thing. This is an eleven-year friendship; he can’t just throw it away all willy-nilly because he’s developed feelings. At the very least he should test the waters a bit.”
“And how’s he supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know. You’re the expert!”
His lips curled upward and his brow hitched higher, meeting the lock of hair that had flopped over his forehead.
Great. She’d done it now.
“Why, Annie Wilkerson, I had no idea you held me in such high regard.”
Was this all just a joke to him? “Get over yourself, Taylor. I just think he should play it a little safe, that’s all.”
He stared at her, and there was something in his eyes that made her shift and look away.
“Safe, huh?”
She had the distinct feeling he was thinking of John Oakley.
“Yes, safe. It’s not a dirty word, you know. Nor is relationship or commitment , though you wouldn’t understand either of those.”
He shrugged. “I advised the guy to start the relationship, did I not?”
Maybe he did, but his own life contradicted his advice. He was confusing her and she didn’t like it. She took a sip of her coffee, realized she’d warmed up—more than she intended—and shrugged the quilt from her shoulders.
“Why don’t we move on to the next letter?”
He took the paper and read. This time she kept her eyes averted. Instead, she sipped the coffee and took a good look around the room. The furniture was old and worn. A plaid sofa with an afghan tossed over the back, hurricane lamps with golden globes and antique brass trim. It seemed more like an elderly person’s home than a confirmed bachelor’s.
“Okay.” He handed the letter back. “She needs to move on.”
Annie’s hopes sank to her toes. Could they agree on nothing? “Why do you say that?”
“They’ve dated almost three years, and he’s clearly not interested in marriage. She’s almost thirty—”
“Oh, and her biological clock is ticking, is that it?”
“I didn’t say that. Look, she’s not going to change his mind— why do women always think they can change their man?” He gave an exaggerated shrug as if they were talking about him.
Annie rubbed her temple. He was giving her a headache. “First letter you said drop the relationship, second one you said pursue the relationship, and now you’re saying this woman should drop it. You’re inconsistent.”
“If it were that cut-and-dried, they wouldn’t need help.”
She sighed. He was right about that. Was he right about all of it? Was she really this bad at matters of the heart?
Of course she was. She was going to have to ignore her poor instincts, swallow her pride, and follow his advice. He was the expert, like it or not.
“Okay, suppose you’re right. Let’s talk about what I should tell her.”
They spent twenty minutes chatting about the woman’s situation, then went back to the first letter and discussed it awhile. She watched him closely as he talked, sensing another layer beneath his flippantfaçade. His answers went deeper than she’d expected, delving into the subtext of the letters. He was surprising her again, and people rarely did that. The more he talked, the better she felt about his answer.
She watched him now, rubbing the back of his neck as he talked, the curls at his nape now dry. He had nice hands with squared fingers and thick palms, no doubt rough with calluses.
She thought back to Saturday when he’d had those hands on Marla Jenkins’s waist. There had been a brief moment, watching them move together, when Annie had regretted turning him down. He was a
He shrugged. “What if she does, and she’s just waiting for him to make a move?”
“He says there’s no indication of feelings on her part.”
“Maybe he’s wrong. Anyway, what about honesty? You think this guy should hide his feelings?”
“Not hide them, just not wear them on his sleeve.”
“Same thing.”
“It is not the same thing. This is an eleven-year friendship; he can’t just throw it away all willy-nilly because he’s developed feelings. At the very least he should test the waters a bit.”
“And how’s he supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know. You’re the expert!”
His lips curled upward and his brow hitched higher, meeting the lock of hair that had flopped over his forehead.
Great. She’d done it now.
“Why, Annie Wilkerson, I had no idea you held me in such high regard.”
Was this all just a joke to him? “Get over yourself, Taylor. I just think he should play it a little safe, that’s all.”
He stared at her, and there was something in his eyes that made her shift and look away.
“Safe, huh?”
She had the distinct feeling he was thinking of John Oakley.
“Yes, safe. It’s not a dirty word, you know. Nor is relationship or commitment , though you wouldn’t understand either of those.”
He shrugged. “I advised the guy to start the relationship, did I not?”
Maybe he did, but his own life contradicted his advice. He was confusing her and she didn’t like it. She took a sip of her coffee, realized she’d warmed up—more than she intended—and shrugged the quilt from her shoulders.
“Why don’t we move on to the next letter?”
He took the paper and read. This time she kept her eyes averted. Instead, she sipped the coffee and took a good look around the room. The furniture was old and worn. A plaid sofa with an afghan tossed over the back, hurricane lamps with golden globes and antique brass trim. It seemed more like an elderly person’s home than a confirmed bachelor’s.
“Okay.” He handed the letter back. “She needs to move on.”
Annie’s hopes sank to her toes. Could they agree on nothing? “Why do you say that?”
“They’ve dated almost three years, and he’s clearly not interested in marriage. She’s almost thirty—”
“Oh, and her biological clock is ticking, is that it?”
“I didn’t say that. Look, she’s not going to change his mind— why do women always think they can change their man?” He gave an exaggerated shrug as if they were talking about him.
Annie rubbed her temple. He was giving her a headache. “First letter you said drop the relationship, second one you said pursue the relationship, and now you’re saying this woman should drop it. You’re inconsistent.”
“If it were that cut-and-dried, they wouldn’t need help.”
She sighed. He was right about that. Was he right about all of it? Was she really this bad at matters of the heart?
Of course she was. She was going to have to ignore her poor instincts, swallow her pride, and follow his advice. He was the expert, like it or not.
“Okay, suppose you’re right. Let’s talk about what I should tell her.”
They spent twenty minutes chatting about the woman’s situation, then went back to the first letter and discussed it awhile. She watched him closely as he talked, sensing another layer beneath his flippantfaçade. His answers went deeper than she’d expected, delving into the subtext of the letters. He was surprising her again, and people rarely did that. The more he talked, the better she felt about his answer.
She watched him now, rubbing the back of his neck as he talked, the curls at his nape now dry. He had nice hands with squared fingers and thick palms, no doubt rough with calluses.
She thought back to Saturday when he’d had those hands on Marla Jenkins’s waist. There had been a brief moment, watching them move together, when Annie had regretted turning him down. He was a
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