Page 97 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

Not tired of him in an active way. It’s just...when he’d said it was time to end it, it had seemed right to her, too. That wasn’t normal.

Maybe she was dysfunctional. Possibly a cyborg. She’d long suspected. She’d even been accused of it a time or two.

But hard work and doing right were important. Those values had been instilled in her early, and success in those things didn’t come by accident. She’d wanted to show her parents that they didn’t have to worry about her. That she was going to do things...perfectly. That meant good grades, that meant while she was getting established very few things could take a higher priority than her job.

Right now, though, her job was causing her stress. And orgasms were...a form of stress release.

“How long are you here?” she asked.

“Two weeks,” he said. “I have the exhibition and before that about a million meetings and cocktail get-together thingies.”

“You sound enthused.”

“I’m not.”

“What do you like to eat?”

“Stuff that is too big for a toothpick.” He bent down and picked up his pants, then put them on without putting on any underwear. Oh, my. That would be fun later.

He was so hot. All hard abs and pecs, sprinkled with a light dusting of brown hair. For a moment she forgot what they were discussing.

“Right um...pizza? Thai? Indian?”

“Indian would be good,” he said, sinking onto her white, Victorian-style settee. He looked...almost comical on it. So big and masculine and dark against the floral velvet.

“Great, I’ll put in an order.” She walked into the kitchen and pulled up her favorite restaurant on her phone and placed a quick order. “Done.”

“Nothing better than food delivery through an app. We don’t have that living out in the sticks so I live off delivery when I travel.”

“Yeah, I try not to talk to people if I don’t have to. I have to talk to people all day in my business so...”

“So you avoid them later. Good plan. That’s what I do six months out of the year, not in a solid chunk, mind you. Then for the other six months I do things like this. I was in Paris two months ago, and went all through Europe. I have to go again soon.”

She laughed. “Oh, wow. You have to go?”

“Yeah. London.”

“I think that sounds amazing.” She rested her elbows on the kitchen counter and looked at him. “You don’t seem thrilled.”

“I am. I mean... I don’t know.” He took a deep breath and looked away from her, staring straight out in front of him, at nothing. “Sometimes I think my give-a-damn is busted.”

This probably pertained to his ex-wife. And she bet that was off-limits for them, since they were just having sex. And apparently eating takeout.

“How did you get into art?” she asked, a safer question. “You really, really don’t seem like the type. You’re too...”

“Country?”

“Grounded. I think of artists, particularly of the modern variety who are successful, and I think of...whimsy.”

“Whimsy?”

“Yes.”

He spread his arms out wide, the muscles in his forearms shifting. “Am I not whimsical?”

“Not so much, cowboy.”

“What about the fox I drew for you? Wasn’t he whimsical?”

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