Page 30 of Destined for the Cowboy

The thought reminded him of the whole point of bringing her in here, and he led the way to the door out onto the deck. He opened it and paused. “Close your eyes for a minute.”

Her brow furrowed at the words, but almost as quickly her expression cleared, as if she’d already figured out why. He wasn’t surprised. He put a hand on her elbow as she took the suggestion and closed her eyes. He guided her out onto the deck, and the moment they were clear of the doorway he reached back and flipped off the interior lights, leaving the deck in darkness.

He gave it a few more seconds, then said only, “Up and just to the right.”

She opened her eyes and looked where he’d told her. And he heard her quick intake of breath, then the small sound of wonder. It was enough of a reaction that he led her to the lounge that was set up at the perfect angle. She didn’t protest—she was still staring upward at the amazing sweep of their galaxy overhead and kept doing so even as she dropped down onto the canvas of the chaise lounge.

He sat in the single chair that was also out on the deck, one each since he was usually the only one who was out here. He watched her watch one of his favorite sights in—or off—the world. It was a long time—a silent stretch he didn’t mind at all, in fact was thankful for—before she spoke.

“How,” she said, not taking her eyes off the array of stars, “do you not spend all night out here?”

“It’s been known to happen,” he admitted. And it was true—sometimes he had drifted off while lying where she was right now. They were some of the most peaceful nights he could remember.

Of course now, he’d just be remembering her long, slim, shapely body stretched out like this, and probably wouldn’t be able to sleep here or anywhere else.

She lapsed back into silence, still looking, clearly savoring. He had no words for how much he appreciated that she seemed to have no problem with the silence, no problem with just…being.

He was so content with the view—and not just of the starry sky—it took him a while to realize what that gnawing feeling was. Actual gnawing of his stomach, from hunger. He belatedly realized that the quick snack they’d grabbed before starting home had long since given its all.

“Are you hungry?” He blurted it out before he thought, since the next obvious question was what to do about it if she was, and he had no idea.

“Starving,” she admitted, but then gestured at the sky. “Although this feeds a lot more than my stomach.”

He lapsed into silence again as she once more put into words what he’d thought and felt many times while out here during this season.

“You know, I can’t imagine even Enchanted Rock has a better view than this,” she said, referring to the designated Dark Sky Park near Fredericksburg, dedicated to exactly this activity.

He agreed with her, pleased anew. But then his stomach complained again, and food moved up on the priority list.

“I’m not sure I have anything you’d want,” he said as they at last moved back inside.In more ways than one.He mentally slapped down the errant thought as he closed the door behind them, but when he turned back, she was looking at him in a way that made his gut clench for entirely different reasons.

Now he wished he’d never mentioned food at all.

“We could go get something, but that seems a waste since you’re already home. And I’m guessing delivery this far out is iffy.”

“I’d have to tip as much as the gas would cost to go myself,” he said, his nerves eased by her ordinary tone. Obviously he was the only one who was wound up here.

Of course you are. You think her mind went where yours did?

“A practical man, too,” she said, and he told himself he was imagining an approving tone in her voice. He didn’t know what her financial situation was, but he doubted a man like David Carhart would leave his widow in need.

She was looking around the cabin—that’s what he usually called it, since it didn’t seem big enough to him to be a house—and he couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking of his simple space. True, she’d said she liked the wood, and that it reminded her of her brother’s place, but she could have been just being nice. She would be, kind person that she clearly was.

“I know it’s not much,” he began, but stopped when she shook her head.

“I told you, I think it’s lovely. Only thing I’d miss would be someplace to hide things.” He blinked. She laughed. “I have a tendency to leave things I’m using, or books I’m reading out, until I have to clean up in a hurry. Then I run for the spare bedroom to hide it all if someone’s coming over.”

“And I don’t even have a bedroom.”

She looked toward the end of the room, where his bed—which he’d thankfully made this morning—sat, in full view. “You don’t miss that? Privacy and all?”

His breath jammed up in his throat. “Privacy,” he said, his voice rough as he forced the words out, “hasn’t been an issue since I moved into this place.”

Her gaze went from the bed to his face in a split second. For an instant he thought he saw something there, an answering heat, but he told himself it was wishful thinking. Again. And then she proved it by going on in the most normal of tones.

“I lived in a studio apartment for a while, in college. I missed the privacy of an enclosed bedroom, and it was a small space, but I did it to avoid a roommate, so essentially it was all mine. I thought it was worth the tradeoff.” She gestured around the bigroom. “But this feels huge. And I’ll bet in the daylight when you can look outside, it seems even bigger.”

“It…has a great view,” he admitted. And stopped just short—barely—of saying she should stay and see it in the morning, as the sun rose over the hills with lingering pockets of bluebonnets here and there.

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