Page 13 of Destined for the Cowboy

It was all Logan could do not to look at Tris. It wasn’t just that she apparently stunned him too much to speak normally, it was that he was stunned at himself. He couldn’t remember ever reacting—or acting—this way around a woman before. He felt as if he were that awkward kid back in high school, too shy to initiate a conversation, and too shocked if anyone else tried to start one with him to really participate.

His thought about high school made him go suddenly still. Because it also made him remember that Tris was a teacher, an experienced one. Maybe that was all this was. She was using that experience to deal with him. Trying to draw him out. It made sense, more sense than the other paths his imagination wanted to careen down. She was going out of her way as he was certain she would with a withdrawn, shy, or awkward student.

Great. Thirty-six years old and you’ve got this gorgeous woman behaving as if you were half that.

“So,” Nic said, sounding as cheerful as she almost always did these days, no doubt thanks to Jackson Thorpe and his son, “where are you off to this weekend, Logan?”

It was all he could do not to look at Tris. “I…think up to Irving. The Mustangs of Las Colinas.” He gave a half-shrug. “The sculptor just died a while ago, so I kind of felt the urge.”

He heard a smothered sort of sound but was too distracted to look because Nic was gaping at him. “Wow, talk about being on the same wavelength. Tris just told me she was heading there this weekend, for that exact same reason.”

She looked over her shoulder at the woman who stood there, her auburn hair pulled back today but with a few strands loose around her face, strands he wanted to touch, so much that he had to curl his fingers against his palms to stop himself from reaching out to do just that.

“Well,” Nic went on, “no point in both of you making that long drive—you can go together.”

He guessed he knew now what that stifled sound had been. Tris had expected Nic to suggest just that. And was probably scrambling, mentally, to find a way out of it. But she was looking at him, with those deep blue eyes so like her famous brother’s, not uncomfortably but more…nervous? Why on earth would she be nervous?

And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, she said, “I could drive. It would be good for my car. Too often I only do local stuff, short trips, and it’s a little rough on the battery life.”

He didn’t know what to say. So Nic wrapped it up for him, so quickly it was almost suspicious. “There you go, then. Take photos, both of you. I’ve never made it up there, slacker that I am on things historical.”

And then she was off to take the bay back to his stall at the therapy center. Thorpe’s Therapy Horses was, even after only a couple of months open, a going concern. He’d seen more thanone article in high-profile publications about it, especially after Lily Highwater’s piece inThe Defenderhad been picked up by a couple of, as Jackson called them, Hollywood rags.

Richard had vanished somewhere as well, leaving him to finish packing up his gear…and deal with Tris.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said hastily. “I know Nic kind of backed you into a corner and—”

“I’d like to,” she said, and to his surprise she said it almost shyly. “And she’s right, there’s no sense in both of us driving separately.”

He sucked in some air. “I…no, there isn’t.”

He must have still sounded doubtful to her because she tilted her head and asked, “Do you mind my driving?”

“No,” he said quickly. “You wouldn’t want to ride in my truck that far anyway.”

She smiled. It was a lovely, kind smile that put him in mind of his earlier thought, that she was approaching this like a teacher with an awkward student. Which was how he should probably think of it as well. It wasn’t like she was flirting with him or coming onto him with the idea of a long drive together, to someplace where no one knew who they were.

Belatedly something else occurred to him. And it jolted him as sharply as a kick that landed from an unruly client. It was well over two hundred and fifty miles to Irving, a good four-to-five-hour drive, depending on how hard you were willing to push it. Add in a probable gas stop, and they were looking atat leastten hours just on the road. It was nothing to him. He’d roll out at five-ish, on the road by six, be there by eleven, spend a couple of hours, maybe twice that, and be home by eight. But that was him, alone, with no one else to take into consideration. And not everyone was happy with getting up and moving at that hour.

“I…were you planning on doing this in one day?” he finally asked.

“I was, yes,” she said, looking as if something similar had just occurred to her. “But I usually get an early start, so I can spend a couple of hours at least, and still get back before it’s too late in the evening.” He stared at her as she recited practically an identical plan back to him. Then she gave an almost embarrassed half-shrug. “I used to be a late-nighter, but I got in the habit of early mornings with David, and now that seems to be normal to me. But if you—”

“No, no, that’s fine.” He said it hastily. There was no way he wanted to get into even the idea of making this an overnight trip. Not with her. He’d do something stupid for sure. “It’s how I’d do it, too.”

The memory of telling her about taking a weekend to go to the King Ranch and Brownsville, with a stay on South Padre, flashed through his mind, but that idea now—now that they were talking about a trip together—seemed so far beyond stupid he stomped it to dust the moment it appeared. It only took remembering a few things.

I got in the habit of early mornings with David.

That was what he should be focusing on. David Carhart. Her husband.

David was never less than ethical.Spoken with both love and respect.

He remembered her answer about vacations.I haven’t even thought about them for a while.Because she’d been consumed with grief? Of course, he should have guessed that.

And suddenly the tension building in him eased. Because understanding had just solidified. She had been greatly in love with her late husband. By all indications, she still did love him. This wasn’t a woman looking for…anything new. And she certainly wasn’t foolish enough to look for it with the likes of him.

As long as he remembered that, as long as he kept that foremost in his mind, along with the simple fact that she was the sister of one of his larger, new clients, his boss in a manner of speaking, and as long as he freaking chanted all this to himself if he had to, it would keep his suddenly reckless imagination in check.

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