Page 6 of Destined for the Cowboy

It was a moment before he said, in the same quiet way she had, her exact words. “So do I.”

Her breath jammed up in her throat, as if she’d been given some kind of award. She remembered everything she’d heard from others about this man, about how quiet he was, a loner, isolated, kind and gentle with the horses, but pretty unsociable with people. Yet here he was, being quietly sociable, with her. And she decided that it truly was some kind of award, and that it made her happy in a new and strange kind of way.

By the time they reached the courtyard, with its series of plaques honoring those who had served, she wasn’t surprised at all when he paused at the same places she did. Or when he nodded as if to himself looking at then General later President Eisenhower’s words about hating war as only a soldier who has lived it can.

She gave him a sideways look. He caught it and she said, in the spirit of that award he had no idea he’d given her, “This place…it makes me feel incredibly proud and completely humbled at the same time.”

He blinked. Started to say something, but stopped. She waiting guessing silence might be her best prod with this man. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a little rough.

“I never put it into exactly those words, but…yes. That’s what it does.”

They walked in respectful silence back out to the street, where she struggled to think of something, anything to say. The best she could do was, “It was nice to have company who appreciates this place.”

It was apparently the right thing, because it got her the widest smile yet. Then, a bit awkwardly, he said, “I was thinking about…maybe…getting some coffee or something.”

She wasn’t sure if that was an invitation or not. But from all those things people had told her, she realized he probably wasn’t very practiced at it. She realized she was reading him as if he were one of her students—and laughed inwardly at the idea of taking this man for anything less than the six-foot specimen of pure masculinity he was—and that made her say impulsively, “I’m not settling for anything less than some Clear River ice cream.”

To her surprise, he laughed, a less hesitant, almost relieved one this time. “Personally, I’m a fan of their peach cobbler.”

“Well, if you’re going to getthatserious, we’d better hurry. That stuff sells out fast.”

And so she found herself walking with him up toward Main Street. The classic diner-style shop was a quick two-block walk, and there were enough pedestrians now, during the last weekend of the Bluebonnet Festival, to make it difficult to carry on a conversation.

When they reached the familiar, bright red doors, Logan pulled one open and held it for her.Like the Texas gentleman he was at the core.

Fortunately it was a little early for the popular place to be jammed yet, and they found one of the booths free. The cobbler—she weakened and went for it too—was as good as ever, itsfame well deserved. And she knew their server, a young woman who had been one of her students a couple of years ago.

“Your brother mentioned you’re a teacher,” Logan said when she’d gone. “At Creekbend?”

“Not now. I originally taught at Creekbend High, but moved to the private school on Hillbend when my husband’s plan for remodeling the school was accepted. We agreed it seemed a conflict of interest for me to stay.”

He lifted a dark brow at her. “Ethical of you both.”

“David was never less than ethical,” she said, proud of the evenness of her voice. He only nodded, and for that, and the lack of platitudes—again—she was thankful. And said so.

He shrugged as if it were nothing. “Sometimes the only thing that gets you through a hell like that is knowing that someone else really knows how you feel, and what won’t help.”

He said it with a certainty that told her this man had some experience with such things. Then another thought struck her as she remembered just who he was. What she’d seen him do with one of the particularly nervous horses on Nic’s—well, and Jackson’s now too—ranch.

Making sure there was a smile on her face now she asked, “Is this how you do it? The horses, I mean? You get through to them that you know how they feel?”

She counted his startled look then as a victory, because she doubted this man was taken aback very often. Then, slowly, he smiled back, and it was a lovely one.

“In a way, yes,” he said, and the tone of his voice matched the smile.

Tris found herself smiling the entire drive back home. And it lasted until she got inside, among all the familiar things that reminded her of why she hadn’t smiled like this in a very long time.

Chapter Four

He’d earned thisFriday morning trip, Logan thought nearly a week later. It had been one of his busiest weeks, including making a special, protective shoe for one of the Rafferty horses who’d injured a hoof. He’d worked almost nonstop for the first four days of the week, and he hadn’t wanted to do this on a weekend when the crowds would arrive. They capped the number of people allowed in at once, but the number was too high for him. He didn’t mind a few people, but crowds were another matter.

He headed toward the Fort Sam Houston Quadrangle. The oldest part of the fort, it contained the flocks of ducks, frequent deer residents, of course the peacocks—the birds he often thought could be an army in themselves, at the least an early warning system with their amazingly loud squawks—and the limestone clock tower that he was zeroed in on now.

He always liked to stop at the Quad on his way to the museum. It was such a peaceful place, especially given the history of the fort, which had stood here in one form or another since 1845. Now part of Joint Base San Antonio, which also included two Air Force bases, Lackland and Randolph, it was a unique combination of history and the future. He’d never had time to get here when he’d been briefly stationed at Lackland, but this would be his third time since he’d been out. And each time he picked up on something he’d missed before.

And this time he had something else added to the list. Something he’d wanted to do anyway, but now had a bigger reason. His next stop after the museum would be the FortSam Houston National Cemetery. Because the Medal of Honor winner they’d read about in Fredericksburg was buried there.

They. He winced inwardly as he realized she’d invaded his thoughts again. Which she seemed to do no matter what barriers he put up in his mind.

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