Page 9 of His Cowboy Heart

I held it together all day and texted Miguel at a quarter to five.

Drinks. Now.

I sat at a table in Vince’s bar and waited. Vince’s was a block away from the office with darkened windows and red leather booths. It was a good place to forget the when and where of the world.

Miguel walked in grinning. “Happy Friday my man.”

“What the fuck were you thinking this morning?” I asked.

His face fell as he read my expression. “What, today?”

“You remember the summer I came home from Salishan, right?”

“Seriously,” Miguel said, cringing “I kind of did in the morning but you didn’t say anything all day. So I thought maybe I remembered it wrong.”

“Do you remember how fucked up I was when I came home or not?”

“I do. I do. But I didn’t think you were worried about it and it was ten years ago man. I was hoping it might be good for you.”

“I do not see how this is good for me,” I said, taking a swig of whiskey.

Miguel’s phone beeped. “Shit. Nanthany is asking me all about Salishan now, whether you are going to get the project . . .”

“I’m fucked,” I said, running my hands through my hair.

Miguel sat at the bar in silence for a moment. “You could have reminded me and I would have helped you out. You know Nanthany is practically a psychic link to your crazed fiancé.” Miguel shook his head. “I’ve stirred up a pot of trouble for you. Not my intention.”

“She is not crazed.”

“She is wound really fucking tight my man,” Miguel rolled his eyes.

“So she’s wound tight.”

“And she will lose her freaking marbles when she finds out about Shea.”

“Please don’t say her name,” I said, cringing. “Abigail is not going to find out about her.”

“Dude, what is going on with you? You have to tell her.”

“I dreamed about her last night.”

“No shit.”

“I was back, outside her room and apparently I cried out her name when we were in bed last night.”

“Holy shit, you are one dumb mother fucker. Dumb or just unlucky.”

“Come on, it was just a dream.”

“Dreams don’t lie, my man,” Miguel took a sip of his beer and shook his head. “My Grandma has been telling me for years listen to my dreams . . . I can’t tell her that I dream of worshipping at the altar of women.”

“Whatever dude,” I said, rubbing my forehead.

“Don’t you think it’s a sign? The dream, then the project,” Miguel said.

“My engagement party is tonight,” I said, pointing at the clock above the bar. “That’s my sign. Can you just keep the whole pipeline of information between Nanthany and Abigail from blowing up until I have a chance to tell her myself?”

“Man, I have your back.”

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