Page 50 of Mister Cowboy
He stuck out his thumb in the direction of the two patrons still left in the bar. “I gotta close out those two and then you’re gonna tell me what in the world is going on with you. You’re a mess. And January Lyle doesn’t do mess.”
While he was gone, she checked her phone. No word from Brecken, which wasn’t surprising considering how she’d acted. Sending an apologetic text to Carrie, she went out on a limb and suggested they meet up for coffee next week. Maybe it was time to make more time for her friends before she ended up alone and looney like she was tonight.
“Okay, shoot.” Michael sat next to her, and they turned toward one another with their feet dangling and intertwined.
January had no idea how much time passed while she talked and Michael listened, but when she’d told him everything, she felt worse than before.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong and going into jealous rages isn’t my style.”
“Well, it’s obvious to me, and you aren’t going to like the answer.”
Raising her eyebrows, she waited for him to go on.
“You like him.”
Rolling her eyes, she groaned. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that tonight.”
“You do. He’s forcing his way in, and you want to let him in. But, you’re scared.”
“We talked about this.”
“No, I don’t think it’s his social status that has you this worked up. I think you’re afraid of getting hurt. Not knowing what’s in his past scares you, as does the thought that he has other options.”
“Of course, he has other options. He’s rich and gorgeous.” A clear picture of his easy and confident smile flashed in her mind, making her heart clench.
“It’s one thing to know that other women are out there. Seeing them fawn over him is another thing entirely. You two have spent the majority of your time together holed up—probably in bed. Taking it public is a big step.”
“Please, I beg you, let’s talk about something else now.” She waved her hands in front of her warm face. The wine had worked its way through her body, and Michael reminding her of how she’d spent the last few weeks had her wanting to drive over to Brecken’s condo and throw herself at him. “Tell me what’s going on with you and Carrie.”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t plan to see her again after the night at Sensual, but she keeps calling, and I keep answering.”
“Sounds like you like her,” January mocked in a deep tone that was as close to his as she could mimic.
“Yeah, I guess I do. Come on, let’s go home. It’s late and you need your beauty sleep for all the groveling you’re gonna have to do tomorrow.”
27
January
The flowers came every hour, on the hour.
“Umm, you can put them over there I guess.” She motioned to the den, which looked more like a floral shop with the large bouquets placed around it. She’d been prepared to grovel, admit she’d overreacted, but instead, he’d reacted like he’d been in the wrong.
With a huff, the delivery boy carried the roses to the den and set them on the last empty surface. It was at least his fifth trip, and his demeanor had become more irritated with every visit.
“I’ll see you again in an hour,” the kid said before taking the porch stairs two at a time. January shook her head and skipped back up the stairs and returned to work. The master bedroom looked worse than when she’d started, but she was determined to meticulously comb through every item.
The books had been the most surprising find. Stashed in boxes under the bed, she’d found everything from Hemingway to Zane Grey. Most were worn and looked as if they’d been read more than once, reminding her of the massive bookshelf in Brecken’s apartment. Maybe he’d gotten his love of books from his father.
With everything else gone through and divided into the appropriate boxes, she started on the nightstands. They felt like the most intimate part of the room, and she’d avoided them until the end for that very reason. What she assumed was his mother’s side had only a few items left inside the drawers: a tube of Chapstick, hand lotion, and aHome and Gardenmagazine from more than a decade ago. Throwing those items in the trash and walking around to the other side, she opened each drawer of what had been Brecken’s dad’s nightstand.
Three drawers were pulled out and the contents placed on the floor before she dared to let her eyes examine a single item. This was a job, and she couldn’t let her emotions keep her from finishing.
Staring at what was left of the personal effects of Mr. Samuel Blackstone, she decided that she had been very wrong to think this man was cold and heartless. There were a few more paperbacks, leather wax and a shoe brush with soft bristles, a keychain with DAD stamped into the leather, and a large bound book. Her fingers glided across the tattered reddish-brown cover. It had no writing on the outside to indicate what kind of book it was, so she flipped it open to the first page.
Her breathing ceased at the small, scribbled handwriting that filled the pages. A journal. Without thinking she read the first entry.
May 22, 2000.
