Page 21 of The Soldier and the Cowboy

“Am I allowed to play the piano on Sundays?” she asked.

He opened his mouth and closed it again, amending what he was about to say. “I’m going to skip over the part where I’m surprised you can play the piano and try to embrace the fact that there are no limits to what you can do. I would love to hear you play the piano.”

“I’m rusty,” she warned.

“Now’s the perfect chance to change that,” he said, waving his spoon toward the formal living room where the piano was housed. A moment later songs began to drift out to him, some he recognized and some he didn’t. His mom used to play and still did whenever she happened by the house. Hearing the sound now filled him with his own nostalgic longing. The ranch had been such a happy place once, before. And it also gave him a bit of hope. Maybe it could be so again. Bailey was right—he wasn’t dead yet.

It would be worth any amount of money to get rid of Isabel, to let go of the weight of something that had been dragging him down for far too long. He had tried, earnestly tried to make things work. Even after she cheated on him he had tried to make it work. He had wanted to go to counseling, had gone so far as to make an appointment but, like always, Isabel ground her heels and said no. She had wanted it both ways, to have her fun on the side and keep him hanging on while payingthe bills. For a while that had been okay because Cal was too deeply hurt, too wounded to do anything more than hang on and hope for the best. But his marriage was over and had been for a long time. It was irrevocably broken with no hope for salvation. Maybe at long last he could finally begin to let go. And to do that, he’d have to tell his family, to call his parents and his brother, swallow his ego and pride, and admit how badly he’d failed. He glanced at the phone.Not today, but soon.

A piano wasone more thing Bailey loved and didn’t own. She had taken lessons as a child, thanks to her mother’s insistence her children have some culture. Bailey had taken to it with far more ease and devotion than either of her sisters. She had enjoyed being able to make ordinary black notes on a page come alive and turn into something beautiful. But like everything in her life, it had taken a back seat to her career.

Playing soothed her, and she wondered why she didn’t do it more often. It wasn’t that owning a piano was expensive—she often saw them for free or cheap. But she moved so often it would have been a nightmare to lug around.

She was so lost in the music it came as something of a surprise when Cal sat on the bench beside her. She jumped, startled, and her hands stilled on the keys.

“Don’t stop on my account, I enjoy it,” he said sincerely.

“I didn’t hear you approach.”

“You can thank my coach for that. Soft feet,” he said, tossing her a wink.

“Do you play?” she asked.

“I know exactly one song,” he said. He set his fingers on the keys and began playing the bass part of“Heart and Soul.” Bailey joined in, playing the top part a few times until henudged her with his elbow. “Breakfast is ready.” She followed him to the kitchen and saw the table loaded with a heaping plate of bacon and a hearty stack of waffles.

“Exactly how many people are you expecting?” she asked.

“I’ve seen you eat. I think we’ll be okay,” he said.

She laughed, and he smiled. Isabel was always watching her weight, counting calories, and cutting out life’s best tasting foods. Cal had spent most of their lives together eating alone while she picked at rabbit food. It was nice to be with someone who ate freely, who appreciated a good meal.

“Is this real maple syrup?” she asked.

“Yes. A colleague in Montana sends some every Christmas.”

“What do you send him?” she asked.

“Humidity,” he replied, and she laughed again.

They finished breakfast and cleaned up. It had been a pleasant morning, but Bailey saw the day yawning before her, an endless chasm of nothing.

“Would you like to take a ride with me?” Cal asked.

“Do you mean a tour from the owner himself?” she asked.

“I only do it for the really VIP guests,” he said.

“You know I’m not a guest,” she said. “I’m an, what’s the word, employee.”

“It doesn’t feel that way to me, Bailey. It feels like you’re an honored guest who’s come to consult on ranch business.”

“That’s nice and all, but I’m still getting paid, right?” she joked.

“Why would you need money when you have all this?” he asked, spreading his hands wide to encompass the ranch.

“There’s more truth in that than you know,” she said, surveying the ranch as she sat atop her horse beside him. “I’ve missed this, being out away from people and back to the land. It does feel a bit like a vacation.”

“Do you always tote a gun on vacation?” he asked, tapping the rifle strapped to her back.

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