Page 114 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

Then she went through the room and to the next piece. A man. Bent at the waist and tied up in barbed wire, unable to move. She stopped there. Because she recognized that man. She recognized his pain. The grief that kept him there. The fear that made fighting against it impossible, because pushing at the bonds would hurt so badly. Would make it dig in deeper before he was ever free.

The room was filled with Zack’s art. With him. And she was so glad she’d come. So glad she’d been given this window into the man who had her, mind, body and soul.

There were some paintings, too, some sketches. Some work by other artists. And each piece had a box in front of it with bids inside.

She reached into her purse and pulled out the fox. He was still in there, on the note card. The fox in the big city. Too bad her New York chicken self hadn’t really been able to protect herself from him in the end.

She took a deep breath and walked through the display area, to a woman who had a name tag on, signifying her as part of the auction staff.

“Hi,” Grace said. “I... I have this piece here—” she showed her the fox “—by Zack Camden. Only...there isn’t anywhere for me to bid for it.”

The woman frowned. “That’s strange. It should be on display.”

Grace had a sudden vision of being run out by security. “Well, no... I mean...he made it for me. But I want to...bid on it. What I mean is I want to...buy it. For the charity.” She was guessing the big metal pieces were being bid on in amounts far above her pay grade.

“I suppose you could...donate,” the woman said.

“Great. But...but you can you please make sure it’s listed that it was for the fox?” She just wanted him to know she was there. Not to be impressed that she’d given, but to know she cared. That she always would.

The woman nodded slowly. “I can do that.” She pulled a card out from behind her name tag. “Put all the information in here.”

Grace started to write on the card, her hands shaking as she entered an amount nearly equal to her month’s rent. But hell, who needed a savings account?

“You’re overpaying for that.”

She turned and her heart stopped for a second, then went into overdrive. It was Zack, looking perfect in a black tux, his hair brushed back, a glass of champagne in his hand. He looked...every bit the part of a suave, urban artist. As much as he looked the part of cowboy. But it didn’t really matter to her what he wore. In her eyes, Zack was perfect everywhere.

“I probably am,” she said, trying to force a smile, “but... I actually think it’s a pretty priceless piece. The artist made it for me in the back of a cab. I actually got to watch him draw it.”

“Impressive,” Zack said.

“Yeah, well, I’m attached to it.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t set it on fire.”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t even tempted to. I love it as much now as I did the day you gave it to me.” And you, too, jackass.

“That’s a compliment I’m sure it doesn’t deserve.”

“Ah, well. Sometimes in life we get things we don’t deserve. On both sides of the good and bad spectrum, huh?” He nodded slowly. “You’re definitely a spot of good.”

“I don’t deserve that, Gracie.”

“I quit my job,” she said.

“Do you still need me?” the woman asked, looking between her and Zack.

“Oh.” Grace scribbled out her phone number and handed her the card. “No, sorry.”

The woman took the card and slowly sidled away from her and Zack.

“Awkward,” Grace said.

“A little. But I don’t really care about awkward.”

“I should have known.”

“You quit your job?” he asked. “Why?”

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