Page 9 of Boston
The one person—theonlyperson—who could expose her had to be her mother’s pet. What rotten luck.
Now that she rode a bit behind him and to the side, she could easily drink in the width of those beautiful shoulders, and listen to the pleasant quality of his voice as he talked and laughed with her grandfather and Jeremy.
Cora noted that he was more reserved and professional with Momma, and that he couldn’t even hold her gaze for longer than it took to make sure she was still with him.
She supposed hissing threats at a man would do that.
He rode easily, clearly having been in the saddle a lot in his lifetime. He carried confidence in his countenance, something Cora really liked. In fact, other than the fact that it had been Boston’s rope that had slowed and calmed Goldie, she hadn’t found anything to dislike about him yet.
“This here is the best view of the Grand Teton,” he said, slowing his horse to a stop. “Come on up here on this line with me, and you’ll see it.”
Cora arrived last, as she’d been trying to put as much distance between herself and him since they’d started, and Boston waited patiently for her. No one else in the group found it odd that it took her a few extra seconds to join them, and a slip of gratitude filled her.
Then she looked up.
A breath pulled through her lungs, because this had to be the best view on the whole planet. In the distance, the width of the Grand Tetons stretched from left to right, cutting up into the sky with their jagged peaks. Snow still sat on them, and Cora got transported right back to her childhood.
She’d loved Wyoming once, and this was why.
“This used to be the Bluff farm,” Boston said. “My daddy grew up in Coral Canyon, and he and his brothers would come riding out here with their daddy, back when it was an abandoned farm.”
He chuckled, the sound almost out of place in this gloriously quiet, reverent setting. “My daddy and his brothers got into plenty of trouble, but they loved this land. They’d come here and camp in the shadow of the Tetons, and I listened to them all tell different experiences with this spot right here last night.”
“That’s wonderful, Boston,” Momma said. “What did they say?”
“My uncle Tex said they dang near froze out here one October, when he came camping with a youth group from the church. Apparently, whoever was supposed to check the weather didn’t, and he said he’s never been so cold.” Another chuckle, and oh, that sound could worm its way down into Cora’s heart if she’d let it.
She so wasn’t going to let it.
Just because Boston spoke in the exact cowboy twang she’d once liked, and he had the calming demeanor she’d endlessly listened to Kat tell her she needed, and he spoke of a slower, easier time of life just like what Cora craved didn’t mean they could ever be anything.
The man worked for her—or would, once she took over Silver Sage from her mother.
She had no idea how much the employees at the lodge and resort knew, and it wasn’t her place to tell them anyway.
“Let’s keep going,” Boston said. “I can tell stories along the way if you want to hear them.”
“I do,” Jeremy said.
“Or maybe you have some, Darren,” Boston said, glancing over to Granddad.
He gave the younger man a tough cowboy smile—and suddenly Cora wondered how old Boston even was. He rode clean-shaven this morning, and she couldn’t quite see through her panic-hazed memories if he’d had a beard or any facial hair yesterday.
No matter what, she didn’t think him as old as her, and that only put another strike after his name.
When Granddad didn’t volunteer any stories, Boston started giving some history on the Wicker Road Trail. Cora’s memory stirred then, as she’d heard some of this before. A long time ago, sure, and she felt herself relax as he told about the founders of Coral Canyon—a pair of cowboy brothers—and how they named the town after the pink hills to the north of town that lost their color as the sun continued to rise.
“It’s actually one of the towns in Wyoming not named after the people who founded it,” he said in his even cowboy timbre. “And this trail is said to be the original path they took to get to the coral-colored hills.”
“So their last name was Wicker?” Jeremy asked. He cut a look over to Cora. “I don’t think I knew that, and I’ve done this trail ride several times.”
“Yeah,” Boston said. “Jet and Colt Wicker.”
“Totally cowboy names,” Cora said.
Boston swung his attention to her. “I know, right?” He gave her a devastating smile that almost had her sliding out of her saddle because her muscles had just turned to goo. “I’ve got a bunch of cousins with names like that too.”
“You do?” Momma asked. “Like what?”
