Page 66 of Wild, Wild Cowboy

“That cowboy who follows you around, looking at you like you summon the sun every morning.”

I scoffed. “He does not.”

“You look at him kind of the same way.” He studied me for a moment. “This one is different. Those other boys you dated, they weren’t right for you.” In case I hadn’t already been aware of his opinion of them, he put the slightest emphasis onboysto drive his point home.

I rolled my eyes. “They were fine.”

On paper, they were perfect for me. Academically minded, somewhat timid in mannerisms, generically courteous and kind.

“Fine.” He shook his head. “That’s what you said about them at the time, too. They were all fine. The truth is they bored you. You liked them because you thought you weresupposedto like them. They were good for you. Like broccoli.”

All right, that analogy was a little more apt than I’d like. Maybe I had been a little bored. Certainly, not a single one of them would ever had a race against the clock to get dressed. And despite all of them being bookish, none of them would have imagined Jimmy using his wife’s favorite spatula as a toilet plunger, either.

It was the same thing I had realized a month ago. IlikedZack. I liked him in a way that went beyond mere compatibility on paper. We had nothing in common but were somehow in perfect sync.

But I still felt obligated to point out, “There’s nothing wrong with broccoli. It’s healthy.”

“Sure,” Jeremiah allowed. “But too much of it gives you gas.”

I made a face. “Jay! That is disgusting.”

He smirked and took a sip of coffee, his gaze moving to the distant mountains. “You deserve more than broccoli, Hannah,” he said gruffly. “That’s all I’m saying. You deserve chocolate.”

That same songwas on the radio again. It had followed us from Colorado, to Utah, to Montana, to Wyoming, and now it was playing again as we crossed the border into Colorado. We had come full circle. I had the feeling five years from now—ten years, twenty years—if I randomly heard this song, it would bring me right back here, to this road trip. To Zack.

Five days. It felt like a lifetime, and now it was ending in the blink of an eye.

I had taken the first shift driving, and now Zack was behind the wheel for the final stretch. I was feeling restless. We were so close to home, comparatively, but we still had a couple hours to go. I read a chapter on my e-book, and then, since this stretch of highway was smooth and straight, I took out my embroidery. But after a while, even that failed to keep my focus.

What I really wanted to do was talk to Zack about something that had been eating at the back of my brain ever since he took me to the rodeo. I had the feeling neither of us was going toenjoy this conversation, but I couldn’t ignore the shadows I saw in him. Anyway, what better time to talk about it than now, during a long drive where no one could interrupt us and he couldn’t run away from me?

“I’ve been thinking.” I turned down the volume so he could hear me. “When you make that appointment to see a massage therapist, maybe you could also make an appointment for a mental health therapist.”

His hands tensed on the steering wheel, and then slowly he flexed them and laughed under his breath. “You saying I’m crazy, duchess? I guess I know a few people who would agree with that assessment.”

That laugh didn’t fool me for a second.Lord, grant me patience to deal with stupid patriarchal ideals of manhood.“I don’t think you’re crazy, Zack,” I said, with all the patience of a saint, if I did say so myself. “At least, I don’t think you’re crazier than any other man who thinks a good time is riding a nine-hundred-pound animal whose sole mission in life is to buck you off.”

He smirked. “Don’t knock it until you try it, darlin’.”

“I will not be trying that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you ride pretty well.” The look he gave me was heated with meaning. “But suit yourself.” He turned the radio back up.

Oh, absolutely not. He was not going to charm me out of having a difficult conversation. I cared about him too much for that.

I turned it back down and he narrowed his eyes at me.

“I saw a therapist when I left the compound,” I said. “Social services insisted on it when Jeremiah filed for guardianship of me with the court.”

“Yeah, Hannah. You grew up in a cult and were forced to marry your uncle at fourteen fucking years old. I should fucking well hope they sent you to a therapist.”

“Then you understand that therapy can be helpful.” Pushing further, I added, “Jeremiah saw a therapist regularly a few years back.” This was also more to adequately deal with my issues than his, but I didn’t volunteer that information. Jeremiah and his whole team would greatly benefit from therapy, but unfortunately they were suffering from the same nonsensical, patriarchal ideals of manhood that Zack was.

“It’s not the same thing. I had a physical accident. It’s a dangerous rodeo sport, so it’s not like I could claim it was unexpected. I didn’t lose a limb. I lost a career that I wasn’t going to be able to do much longer anyway, because eventually your body is just too old and too broken. So, really, what does it matter?”

What does it matter?

I twisted in my seat so I could fully face him, even though the only thing I could see was his profile, since his eyes remained forward to the road. “You said you never expected to make it out alive. That you didn’twantto make it out alive. But here you are, alive. That accident changed everything for you. That’s why it matters.”

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