Page 17 of Forecasting the Forward

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

His lips twitch as he nods. “I do. Quite a few, actually.”

“Is it true that if you wear a man’s cowboy hat, it means you’re theirs?” I ask.

“Some view it that way, yes.”

“Some?”

“Well, if a man has a favorite hat, and he gives it to a woman, that has meaning behind it. He’s not only saying he’s interested in her, but also that he trusts her, and values their connection.”

“Have —” I stop, clearing my throat.

“You want to know if I’ve ever given my cowboy hat to a woman?” Jacob asks, already sensing exactly where my mind is heading. “No, darlin’. I’ve never done that.”

“Oh,” I whisper. Heat dances across my cheeks as I look anywhere but at him. “Does everyone know how to ride a horse in Texas?”

“Not everyone, but I do. We didn’t own any horses, but the people next door did. They knew I didn’t get along the best with my mom, and they taught me how to care for their horses. They’d pay me an allowance as if they were my real parents, and that’s how I managed to get extra hockey gear when I needed it. My dad left a small stipend for anything hockey related, but sometimes things broke, or I outgrew things too quickly. Momcertainly wasn’t going to pay for them herself,” he says with a shake of his head.

Assuming he doesn’t want to talk about his mom anymore, I soldier on. “Have you ever seen a tornado in person? I know the meteorologists and storm chasers in Oklahoma and Texas are all over the place during storm season, so you’ve undoubtedly seen some on television.”

“I have seen one, yeah. Big one came through town when I was about ten. Scared the hell out of me. We didn’t have a shelter, but the neighbors with the horses did. It was one of those outdoor underground ones. There were so many fucking spiders in that thing, but what scared me the most was the roar of the tornado. Never heard anything like it,” Jacob says quietly.

“I’ve done some chasing here,” I confess. “One of the most picturesque tornadoes I’ve ever seen. It was fully white from the base of the wall cloud all the way to the ground. I got within a half mile, and the roar is something I’ll never forget.”

“Was that your first tornado?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. I grew up in the Midwest, and I saw one from a few miles away when I was a kid. Then I did a couple years working in Mississippi, and they’d get tornadoes pretty much any month of the year. But the white tornado here is always the one I remember.”

“Did you always want to be a meteorologist?”

“I did,” I say with a smile. “I’ve had a love affair with the weather since a meteorologist came to talk to my second grade class. I can sit and watch clouds roll down the mountains for hours, or the lightning from a storm passing by. It just never gets old.”

“That’s how I feel about hockey. It’s the only thing I’ve ever truly loved in my life,” Jacob says, smiling fondly.

“How long is a hockey career normally?” I ask.

“It depends. Some guys can skate into their late thirties. Most don’t. I’ve been in the league for twelve years. I don’t figure I have but a couple more years left.”

“How old are you?” I ask, wracking my brain on what has come up when I’ve Googled him.

“Thirty four. How old are you?”

“Thirty three.”

“For some reason, I thought you were a lot younger than me,” he muses.

“Why?”

“For one, I have more wrinkles than you.”

“Is that really due to age, or the lack of a good skincare regimen?” I tease.

“Are you saying I’m supposed to use something other than a bar of soap on my face?”

I gasp in horror. “Please tell me you’re joking. I can’t tell if this is you being a smart ass, or if you really use the same bar of soap to clean your face and your butt.”

“Relax,” he laughs. “I have soap for my face. I promise it’s not the same bar.”

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