A Cowboy State of Mind Page 24

  She held her hands up and mimed the shape of a sign. “Heaven Can Wait Horse Rescue. Seriously, I can’t believe I’m really doing this. Who would have thought I could turn this old farm into something so useful and instrumental in helping so many others?”

  Dumbass. Of course she wasn’t talking about their relationship. Who even said they were in a relationship? He picked at a small scab on the side of his hand, scraping the dried skin away from the tender spot below. A small dab of blood bubbled from the wound, and he wiped the back of his hand on his thigh. “It’s great,” he muttered, though he did mean it. It was a great thing she was doing.

  “Thank you,” she said, seemingly oblivious to his uneasiness as she stood and picked up the platter from the chicken-fried steak. “I’ll clean up these dishes if you want to go out now and work on the sign.”

  He shook his head. “Nah, there’s not that big a rush. I can help.”

  She smiled. “Okay. I’ll wash if you dry.”

  “Sounds good.” He carried their plates into the kitchen and scraped them into the scrap bucket Bryn used for the cats.

  “How about some music?”

  “Sure.”

  A kitchen stereo was affixed under the cabinets, and she tapped the power button. The radio was tuned to an oldies station that played classic country music and the voice of Patsy Cline filled the kitchen. “I love this song,” Bryn said, clearing the rest of the dishes as she softly sang along. The old farmhouse kitchen didn’t have a dishwasher, so she filled the sink with warm sudsy water, then washed the glasses before dumping the plates and silverware in.

  Zane leaned his hip against the counter, wiping the wet dishes with a tea towel before putting them in their place in the cabinet. He liked watching her, the quick, precise movements of a task she’d done a hundred times before. He liked the way she talked to the menagerie of dogs who padded around the kitchen, easily sidestepping them, unbothered by the fact they seemed to be constantly underfoot. Lucky liked to stay near her, usually dropping to lie by Bryn’s feet wherever she was.

  Grace mostly stayed on the dog bed in the corner, keeping a watchful eye on her pups. Much like the border collie kept a watchful eye on Zane. The collie didn’t always have to be at his feet, but she could usually be found pretty close by.

  Finished with the dishes, Bryn wrung out the rag and moved around the kitchen, wiping down the counters and stove. A new song came on, slow and bluesy. Zane watched, hypnotized by the swing of Bryn’s shapely hips as she swayed to the music while she worked.

  He stepped in behind her, sliding his arms around her middle and letting out a sigh as she leaned back into him. They swayed together, then he lowered his lips to her collar bone and placed a tender kiss there. “Wanna dance?” he asked softly against her neck.

  She turned in his embrace and smoothly wound her arms around his neck as she laid her head on that spot between his shoulder and his chest. He slid his arms around her waist, one hand going flat against the small of her back and the other cupping her hip. They fit together, not like two pieces of a puzzle—he would never imagine that they came from the same kind of picture but were more like pieces of different puzzles that somehow seemed to still fit. She didn’t clash and grate against him like other women in his life had.

  No, Bryn seemed to fit flawlessly against him, her softness balancing out his rough parts.

  “I didn’t know you could dance,” she said, her voice lazy and relaxed.

  “I didn’t know you could sing.”

  “I can’t.”

  “I’m not much of a dancer either. But somehow when I’m doing it with you, you make it seem easy.”

  “Are you saying I’m easy?” she said, teasing.

  “Gosh, I hope so.” He chuckled as a new song came on, a faster song, and he reached for her hand and twirled her in a spin. He loved the way she laughed and followed his lead as he pulled her back against him, then swung her around again. Sarah had loved to dance, and she’d taught him the two-step and how to country swing that first summer they were together, spending hours in the cool rec room of her basement practicing to every country CD she owned.

  He hadn’t danced much since Sarah had died, but tonight, with Bryn, the moves came back to him and felt easy, natural, as he swung her around. He didn’t know a lot of moves, just enough of the basics to get by, but Bryn didn’t seem to care. She laughed as he spun her around and when she missed a step and collided into his shoulder.

  A new song came on, another slow one. Without his brain telling them to, his feet seemed to fall into the shuffle of the two-step, and he guided her around the kitchen. She fell into step with him, her hips swaying in time with the music, following his lead as he two-stepped her through the living room and down the hall toward her bedroom.

  She smiled up at him, her tone playful as she asked, “What about putting up the sign?”

  He grinned back. “What sign?”

  * * *

  An hour later, he was dressed and heading out the front door. He still had enough light to put up the sign, and he grabbed it from the front room. Taking his toolbox from his truck, he whistled for the collie, and she trotted happily along next to him as he sauntered to the end of the driveway.

  A gathering of dark storm clouds moved across the mountains, and Zane could feel the hint of moisture in the air. Rain was coming, but he should have enough time to get the sign up. Knowing he wanted to get the sign put up that night, he’d dropped off a couple of cedar posts and a posthole digger at the end of the driveway on his way in earlier. He took his time, crossing the highway, then coming back and measuring and calculating the best placement for the sign to be the most visible. The dog ran up and down the road with him, then found a patch of dirt to lie in where she could supervise his work.

  Deciding on the best spot, he picked up the posthole digger and sank it into the dirt. He felt good as he dug the holes and set the posts, then screwed the sign to the cedar supports—even caught himself humming the tune he and Bryn had been dancing to.

  An ancient pickup approached and slowed as Zane pounded in the last post. The window was down, and old Doc Hunter leaned his head out. “Sign looks good. Bryn’s really going for this horse rescue thing, huh?”

  “She is,” Zane answered, taking a step toward the truck. “She’s taken in two more since that first one. Plus a handful of puppies and a sizable hog.”

  The old man shook his head as a wistful smile curved his lips. “Doesn’t surprise me. She’s a sweet girl. Always looking out for others. She’d give away her last dime if she thought it would help someone else.”

  Zane nodded. “I know.”

  Doc narrowed his eyes as he studied him. “She’s got a big heart. I’d hate to see it get broken.”

  “Me too.”

  “I hope this rescue thing works out. That girl deserves to have some good stuff happen in her life. We all love her down at the diner—watch out for her where we can. We didn’t say anything when she took up with that last fella, although I wish we would have. So I’m speakin’ up now. We care about that girl, and we’d all sure like to see her end up with a good man who will put her first.” Doc looked Zane squarely in the eye. “You get my meaning, son?”

  Zane fought to keep his chin from dropping, to hold the gaze of the older man. “I hear you.” Loud and clear.

  “See that you do.” Doc offered a sage nod, then pulled away and trundled down the highway, leaving Zane feeling like he’d just left the principal’s office after a punishment had been handed down.

  A hard ache tore through his chest. He knew that things with Bryn had been going too well. Dancing in the kitchen and laughing in the bedroom—that was the kind of stuff that happened in the movies. But not to him. His life wasn’t a Disney film, he didn’t get happily-ever-afters, and he sure as hell was no prince.

  He searched the sky, watched
the dark clouds rolling in over the mountains, and felt the storm settle inside him. A flash of lightning lit the sky, and something about the very air seemed to change, as if a warning had just been brandished.

  That ominous feeling of something forbidding and dangerous in the air was all around him, and his chest burned with the knowledge of what he had to do. Doc Hunter was right. Bryn was a sweet girl who merited a good man—not a broken one with too much baggage and history to give her the life she deserved.

  Maybe he should leave now, while things were still good. Leave on a high note, while Bryn was still fooled into thinking he was a semi-good guy, while she was still charmed by a few clumsy dance steps and a handmade sign. Before she found out the truth. About him. About Sarah.

  Sarah’s family had lived a couple of towns over, but still, the communities of the mountains were closely knit. People talked. And this town was too small for somebody not to talk to Bryn. To warn her away from him. To tell her what he did to Sarah.

  Yeah, he should leave now. It was crazy he’d stayed this long. He would call his old boss tonight and tell her he’d come back to Montana, back to the desolate country of big skies and countless hours spent in solitude with only the cattle and horses for company. It wouldn’t take him but twenty minutes to pack his crap and be on the road. Then he’d be gone, out of this town, and out of Bryn’s life before something bad, something worse than this storm, happened.

  The decision made, he gave the signpost one more whack with his hammer, then turned to head for his truck. He’d tell Bryn goodbye, tell her this wasn’t working for him. Sure, she’d be surprised, especially after the last hour they’d spent together, and maybe a little hurt, but she’d get over it. Get over him. It was for the best.

  Now he just had to get up the courage to tell her.

  The front door of the house burst open, and Bryn came racing toward him. So much for having to find her to tell her. She was coming to him. And wearing a huge smile on her face.

  “You won’t believe the call I just got.” She met him halfway down the driveway and threw her arms around his neck in a hug.

  “From the way you’re acting, I’d guess it was from the state lottery office declaring your numbers were picked and you just won the jackpot.”

  She laughed as she released him but still bounced from one foot to the other. “Okay, it wasn’t that great of a call, but I did win something. Or I don’t know if I actually won, but I was nominated for something.”

  “Well, are you gonna tell me what it was? Or do I have to guess?”

  “Oh gosh, now that I’m saying it out loud, it’s sort of embarrassing.” She covered her face with her hands.

  “What could be embarrassing to win? Were you nominated for the Best Tail on the Edge of a Tailgate Award?”

  Her mouth dropped open, then she giggled and shook her head. “No, of course not. And that’s not even a real award.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe it should be. And you would definitely be the winner.”

  “Why are we even talking about this?”

  He chuckled. “Just tell me who called.”

  “Right.” She brushed her bangs from her forehead. “It was the Women’s Club of Creedence, and they’re having their annual volunteer banquet where they honor exceptional humanitarians around town. Or I guess in my case, it would be an exceptional animal-itarian, because they nominated me as the most innovative animal rescue volunteer.”

  “Nice. Although that title sounds a little like they made it up. But it also sounds pretty cool.”

  “Right? And who knows? Maybe they did make it up, just for me. Which would be even more special. They said they were really impressed with the work I was doing out here with the three horses and all the dogs, and they somehow even heard about the pig and the lovebirds. I tried to tell them it wasn’t a big deal and that anyone would have done the same.”

  Zane shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t. It takes someone special to do what you’re doing. To take in all these animals on just a hope and a prayer.”

  “Hope and prayers seem to be working so far.” She blew out a breath. “I need to figure out something to wear, but I think I’m going to go.”

  “Of course you should go.”

  She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. “It’s on Friday, so it’s still a couple of nights away, but will you go with me? Like, as my date?”

  He knew this was important—not just because she was being honored, but also because it meant the whole town would see they were together. But what about Doc’s warning and the impending storm? What about his resolve to end things? He’d walked back here to tell her he was leaving.

  But how could he do that now? She was on cloud nine. How could he destroy the memory of this moment when she was so happy? Because right now, they were the only ones who knew anything was happening with them—well, them and two middle-aged women from Kansas. And Logan. And a few thousand Facebook viewers had an idea. But as far as he knew, it hadn’t leaked into town, and that was where it mattered. That was where gossip and innuendo could hurt Bryn. If he left now, only a handful of people would even notice he was gone, but once the whole town knew they were together and that he’d left her, Bryn would suffer even more.

  Still, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter this moment for her. He had time before the dinner. He would tell her tomorrow. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She tipped her chin up and pressed a kiss to his lips—soft, light—then another, this one more demanding. His hands slid up her back and tangled in her hair as the first raindrops fell from the sky.

  He barely noticed the rain even as it fell harder, hitting his arms and shoulders. The brim of his cowboy hat seemed to shield their faces, but he wouldn’t have cared if it hadn’t. All he could focus on was the taste of her lips and warm press of her body against his. Until a flash of lightning lit the sky followed by a quick clap of thunder. He pulled away, then rubbed her arms as a shiver ran through her. “We’d better get inside.”

  He spotted the collie on the other side of the highway and gave a whistle. “Come on, girl.” The dog looked up and started to race toward him.

  It must have been the noise of the rain that drowned out the sound of engine. Zane didn’t hear it, didn’t see it, until he caught the flash of silver from the corner of his eye. By then it was too late.

  He raised his hands, sprinted toward the road, yelling, “No! Stay! STAY!”

  Time seemed to slow down, the sounds magnified—the far-off roll of thunder, the roar of the car engine, the screech of tires, then the sickening thud followed by an agonizing whimper.

  No. No. No. He raced toward the dog, rain pelting his face. He knew it. Knew he didn’t deserve this kind of happiness. He’d been living someone else’s life and that someone had just come back to claim it.

  The car was gone by the time he got to the edge of the highway. The collie was lying on the side of the road. He skidded to a halt, frozen by the sight of the matted fur covered in blood, the bright red drops mixing with the rain pooled on the blacktop.

  Chapter 17

  No. Please, God. No.

  The collie stirred and let out a whimper as she tried to lift her head.

  Zane dropped to his knees, reaching a hand out to gently touch her shoulder. “It’s okay, girl. It’s okay.” Grabbing the hem of his T-shirt, he jerked it over his head and wrapped the collie in it as he picked her up and gingerly drew her to his chest.

  He’d thought Bryn was running behind him, but he didn’t turn to look. His entire focus was on the small warm body clutched to his chest. This was what he got. What he deserved. But damn it, why did the dog have to suffer for his mistakes?

  A car pulled up next to him. The door opened, and Bryn was there, touching his shoulder. “Get in,” she ordered.

  He didn’t thin
k. Didn’t analyze the situation. Didn’t say a word. He stumbled to his feet, his knees threatening to give way, as he got into the car. He cradled the dog on his lap as Bryn pushed the door shut, then ran back around to the other side. She slid into the driver’s seat and had the car in gear before she’d even pulled the door shut. She fumbled for her phone as she raced down the highway, commanding it to “Call Brody.”

  Zane only heard one side of the conversation as Bryn told Brody that the collie had been hit by a car. She tapped the phone and tossed it onto the seat. “He’s on his way. He’s going to meet us at the vet clinic.”

  The windshield wipers slapped back and forth, their rhythmic thumping warring with the sound of his heart pounding in his chest. Please, God, don’t let this dog die.

  Bryn made it to the vet clinic in record time, but Brody’s truck was already parked in the lot. His farm was only a mile or so down the road from the clinic. He held open the door and directed them to the first examining room as Zane carried the dog in.

  “Just set her down here,” Brody said, patting the exam table. “Let me take a look at her. Bryn said she was hit by a car?”

  Zane eased the dog onto the table. “Yeah, and the bastard took off without even stopping.”

  “Let’s just concentrate on fixing her up for now,” Brody said, checking her gums then pulling the stethoscope from around his neck to listen to her heart and lungs. “What’s her name?”

  Shame burned through Zane’s chest. He hadn’t even given the damn dog a name. It would serve him right if she died. “She doesn’t have one,” he muttered.

  Brody glanced up at him, then returned his focus to the dog, moving her joints and palpating her stomach. “It’s okay, girl,” he said soothingly to the dog. He pressed a pad of gauze to the gash in her side.

  Zane had seen numerous gashes on horses and cows—hell, he’d seen a horse’s legs cut to ribbons after a fight with a barbed wire fence. But seeing the crimson blood seep through the white gauze had his chest tightening and bile rising to the back of his throat.