Page 14 of Destined for the Cowboy

It had to. Otherwise he’d make the biggest mistake of his life, with the woman he least wanted to make it with.

Crossing a line she didn’t want crossed.

Chapter Eight

“Don’t be silly,”Tris said when Logan suggested he would drive into town and meet her at her place. “You said your place was northeast of town, so it’s practically on the way.”

“But it’s a few miles northeast of town,” he said. He looked away when he added, “It’s pretty isolated.”

Because he wants it that way.

The thought came with such certainty she knew she was right. And she wondered if he didn’t want anyone visiting him out there, or just her. Before she could dwell on that egocentric thought, he spoke again.

“Besides, if we’re—” Did he stumble a little on that word, or was she imagining that part? “—leaving that early, you don’t want to have to find your way out there in the dark. I’ll just meet you at your place at six. Outside your place,” he added quickly, as if he was reassuring her he didn’t expect to be invited inside.

Or didn’t want to be.

Mr. Logan Fox was indeed an enigma. An enigma she’d have several hours to chip away at tomorrow, if she wanted to. The question was, did she? She didn’t really have any right to peck away at him, trying to get details out of him. And why would she? It wasn’t like she was trying to get a handle on a new student. Just because she found him a bit…okay, fascinating, was no excuse to go poking into things he didn’t want to talk about. Which seemed to be almost everything, other than horses and history.

She’d been used to David, who had never met a stranger in his life. Meet someone new and within an hour he had their kidshanging on him and an invitation to dinner at their house. But this man was the opposite, Nic had told her Logan had always been reserved, or as she put it, “a tough nut to crack.” So, she wouldn’t even try. He wasn’t a student, nor was he a challenge she had to take on. Surely a couple of book and history buffs could keep a conversation going without veering into personal spaces.

Still, she had a restless night, waking every couple of hours and fighting to get back to sleep. It was going to be a long day, bookended by two long drives, and she needed to be alert.

“And preferably awake,” she muttered to herself as she turned over and pounded her pillow into shape once more.

Although driving aside, how she could ever fall asleep in the close quarters of a vehicle with Logan Fox next to her, she didn’t know. She couldn’t deny the man was intriguing, but she wondered how much of it was that reserve of his, and a desire to, as Nic put it, crack it.

He’s not a challenging student, nor does the trip have to be filled with meaningless chatter.

That lecture to herself delivered—bringing a laugh at the very thought of that man indulging in meaningless chatter—she finally got back to sleep.

As was her wont she woke up two minutes before her alarm was set to go off. She sat up, rubbed at her eyes, double-checked the time and dismissed the alarm. She told herself she wasn’t anxious, or nervous, and went about her morning routine, albeit today with the inside lights on since it was still dark. She started the coffee brewing, then headed back to the bathroom for her shower.

When she caught herself leaving her hair down, then pulling it up into a ponytail then letting it down loose again, she chastised herself silently. When she caught herself fussing over her makeup, using more mascara than she normally did,she stopped herself with a grimace. When she caught herself dithering over what to wear, when normally it would have been a simple choice, she gave herself a stern, mental lecture, in an exasperated tone.

“You’re being an idiot.”

That part came out loud, and it seemed to have been what she needed, because her focus sharpened and within ten minutes she was done and dressed, in the jeans and sweater she probably would have worn anyway, with her most comfortable sneakers, for walking. She hesitated, then, telling herself she’d have done it anyway, she added a light touch of her favorite gardenia-scented perfume.

She sipped at a mug of coffee while she double-checked what she called her excursion bag, a canvas multi-pocket tote that held whatever she might need, from water to snacks to a towel and Band-Aids. She slid the tablet she’d made sure to put on the charger last night into the outside pocket, in case she needed to look something up; sometimes she just wanted something bigger than her phone to look at. Then her notebook and pen—for these jaunts that generally involved history she went old-school—went into the pocket next to it, and she was ready for just about anything.

Except for nine or ten hours enclosed in a car with Logan Fox.

When he arrived, when she opened the door to him standing on her small front porch, taking up most of the space and so tall his hair nearly brushed the hanging light fixture, her compact SUV suddenly didn’t seem big enough to hold him at all. He was wearing clean, nicely snug jeans—blue and newer than she usually saw him in, which she supposed meant no horses had been shod while wearing them—and a lighter blue button-down shirt, tucked in neatly behind a belt that, besides emphasizinghis trim abdomen, had a buckle very appropriately in the shape of horseshoe.

No cowboy hat, she noticed, trying to remember if she’d ever seen him without it, other than when he was working with the forge and had sparks to worry about. Then he wore a baseball cap that bore the marks left by those sparks.

It took her only a moment to decide as much as she liked the cowboy style, she liked more being able to see his thick, dark brown hair, and how the lack of a brim to shadow his face made his eyes stand out all the more.

The open collar of the shirt drew her eye to the solid, muscled cords of his neck, and she could not help thinking that if she were looking, she’d be hard pressed to find a more attractive man than this one. But she was not looking. No, definitely not. But if she was…

“Good morning,” she said hastily, wondering how long she’d been standing there gaping at him in awed silence.

“So far.” His voice sounded early morning rough, like they were the first words he’d spoken. And perhaps they were—not everybody talked aloud to themselves as she did when trying to make sure she got her own point. But then he added, “And it just got better,” and her pulse kicked into overdrive.

Luckily for her his expression changed instantly, clearly showing regret for having said it, and she was able to calm herself inwardly and ask casually, “Where did you have to park?”

“Up a block,” he said.

---