Page 60 of Say the Words
“You don’t have to—”
“I’d feel better if I did.” I risked a glance at her and wished I hadn’t. Her confusion had hardened into disbelief.
“Really?” Her voice went flat as she stared at me. “You’d feel better if you paid me for a conversation we had a year ago?”
I cleared my throat, hoping the fire in my lungs would clear my head. “It’s only fair.”
“You are an ass, Ty Hardy.” Her glare held a trace of affection, as if I amused her against her will. “You’re really bad at asking for help, you know that, right?”
Lord, did I ever.
TWENTY
june
Pop frozewhen I walked in the front door, his pen stuck hovering over a crossword. Standing there with wet hair in Ty’s too-big clothes, I could imagine what conclusions he was drawing about how we’d spent our afternoon.
“We got caught in the hailstorm,” I said quickly. Probably too quickly, from the way his eyebrows twitched up.Not guilty at all, June.Nothing had happened today, though.
Nothing except Ty had endured all kinds of pain to corral a horse he thought might hurt me, told me he believed in me so that my heart swelled, and admitted he’d remodeled his house based on a long-ago conversation we’d had.
Nothing sure felt like a whole lot of something.
“We had to bring the horses in,” I went on. “And I got all muddy. So I borrowed fresh clothes.” I lifted the bag of wet clothes as proof before setting it by the door. I’d tackle the laundry later. Spending time on Ty’s ranch was putting a real hurt on my wardrobe.
“Uh-huh. You get them all taken care of?”
“We got them all in. A couple got wet is all, and one got hit with some hail, but Ty said he’d be okay. The horse, I mean. Is everything okay out here?”
Words still spilled out of my mouth too fast, but Pop wasn’t giving me the skeptical eye anymore, so I took that as a good sign.
“Not much damage. I wasn’t sure when I first set it up, but that hail netting was the best investment I ever made on this farm.”
“That’s a relief.” A bad hailstorm could wipe out our whole crop of stone fruit in one devastating afternoon.
Pop absently rubbed at his ring finger that no longer straightened all the way. “I take it Ty rethought his decision to shun your help.”
I hesitated, my emotions in a tangle. Despite Ty’s repeated words of thanks, I wasn’t sure just how much he appreciated my continued presence on his ranch. “I guess so.”
Pop’s eyes were too keen on me, like he could see everything I hadn’t said. “Ty’s a good man. I don’t have much to say on his brother, but Ty...I can respect a man like that.”
“He’s built a good reputation as a trainer.” I knew that wasn’t what Pop was getting at.He’s a good man.He liked and respected Ty—that meant worlds to me. It wasn’t true for everyone we knew, and certainly hadn’t been true for Bret.
“That he has. June, sit down a minute with me, will you?” He gestured at the empty chair across from him.
I drew in a deep breath, shoring myself up. I did not want to have this conversation. He would finally come right out and ask what was going on between me and Ty, and what could I even say? If I didn’t know what I felt or where I stood with Ty, I couldn’t very well explain it all to my father. Even so, I sat down at the table as asked, nerves flaring up in my stomach like a teenager about to get the third degree about a high school crush.
“I, uh, I’ve got something to talk to you about.” He fumbled over his words as if talking with me was new to him. He kept toying with his fingers, squeezing the tips and knuckles as though they were cold.
It took my muddied brain a minute to realize he was nervous.
Oh, no. He wouldn’t try to talk to me about the birds and the bees, would he? I was twenty-nine years old, for goodness’ sake. Of course, I’d just come home wearing Ty’s clothes—maybe he thought a refresher conversation was in order.
“We don’t really have to talk about this,” I said in a rush. “Ty and I are just friends. I’m just helping him out while he recovers, that’s all. There’s nothing more going on between us. Just friends.”
Pop looked at me like I’d tried to feed him the world’s biggest lie. “I’ll remember you said that, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh.” My father wasn’t an idiot. We both knew what an unforced denial meant. At least he didn’t want to talk about it.
