Page 20 of My Cowboy Salvation
She glances up, meeting my gaze, curiosity in her eyes.
“What do you want to do for dinner? I was thinking, if you’re up to it, maybe we can go into town and eat at the diner. It would be good to get a change of scenery.”
Her full mouth wavers into a slight smile, and some of the warmth returns to her eyes. “All right. Dinner sounds great.”
Her agreement came easier than I expected, and if I were a smarter man, I might question her sudden change of heart. But if she’s okay with pretending there isn’t a big white elephant between us, so am I.
Chapter 10
Dylan
“You see, you did fine,”Hope says Saturday afternoon as she helps me climb down from Verona.
She was being generous. I definitely wasn’t one of those people who took naturally to riding, as I worked at controlling my terror and lack of any skill. But I did it, and like she said, the more I ride, the easier it will get.
And Verona really is a sweetie. Tying her off, I stand next to the beautiful chestnut and, following Hope’s instructions, remove her saddle and blanket and carefully brush her out, taking a few minutes to work out the pebbles from her hoofs. My left fingers are a bit tender today from the hours I spent playing the cello. It’s been a while since I felt that tenderness. The calluses I developed strumming the cello strings saved me from the pain. Apparently, taking two months off, I need to build them up again, and the prospect has me grinning eagerly.
Verona neighs softly, as if she notices my attention wavering, and I pat her and continue my administration. This part, right now, might actually be my favorite part of today’s ride. Being on level ground with the horse, working on gaining her trust while we familiarize with each other.
It also gives me time to think about Logan. Despite his outright rejection of my overtures, we managed to have a nice dinner in town as I talked about my time at the conservatory after high school. And even though he was clear that we couldn’t be anything more… provocative, it felt a lot like a date. Probably thanks to the high sexual energy that ran between us he tried to ignore.
Energy that, as our hands touched briefly last night when we both reached for the popcorn in the bowl between us, was more thrilling and exciting than the show we were trying to watch. It had me even more convinced the more time we spend together, the more chances I’m going to have to push that envelope until he has no choice but to give in to what we both want.
“The invitation to ride her again is open anytime, you know,” Hope says a little later as we finish grooming the horses and guide them into their stalls. “You would be surprised how therapeutic it can be.”
“Therapeutic? Oh, I don’t know if I need anything like that,” I say, carrying the tools back to the tack room.
“Well, if there was anything you were trying to work out, equine therapy is an excellent way to help anyone. As is talking to a trusted friend. So if there’s anything you want to talk about, I hope you see me as such. Believe me, having gone through some stuff myself, I know what it’s like to feel alone.”
I stare down at my boots, not sure what to do with her offer. Maybe with time, I could see the possibility of confiding in her, but right now, I just want to enjoy our fledgling friendship without adding the burden of my trauma.
“Oh, before I forget.” She draws an envelope from her jacket pocket. “It’s your first week of wages.”
“Thanks,” I say and take the envelope from her, feeling the heaviness of cash inside, and I want to take a peek, but don’t want to look like I don’t trust her.
“Thank you. Having you here has really helped me out a lot.” We head outside and to her Jeep. Although I’ve been able to drive Logan’s truck to and from the ranch, today Logan is using it to help carry stuff to the Fall Festival, where he’s spending the day doing several unofficial duties. He dropped me off at the ranch, though, and was offering to come pick me up when Hope came outside to say hello and insisted she’d either take me home when we were done here, or bring me along to the festival.
I told them both I was still undecided. The prospect of a big crowd filled with strange faces—faces that might not be as friendly as they might seem—has my stomach twisting in knots.
She shuts the door, and after buckling up, starts the engine. “So. Have you given any thought about going to the festival?”
“I’m kind of tired. I was thinking I might just go home and take a long, hot bath and play a little.”
“Play?” she asked, pulling out and onto the road.
I realize my goof, and I sit paralyzed for a moment, cursing my stupidity in divulging so much. For two months I’ve been careful not to reveal anything about myself to the people I meet, terrified I might say something that would risk revealing my identity. So it takes me a few more seconds to relax and realize that this tiny detail about my life, shared with a friend, isn’t going to put me in harm’s way.
I run a hand through my hair, hoping she didn’t notice my freak out. “I’m a cellist. Well, I used to be a cellist. Now I play more for myself.” Or I do as of yesterday.
“You play the cello?” she asks, sounding impressed. “Wow. That’s really cool. I play a little piano, but I’ve never been passionate enough about it to get very good. Maybe you’ll let me hear you sometime.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” I say noncommittally. Just like when Logan asked me to play the other night, something inside me won’t allow it. It’s like, for the past year, Simon put me on display, like I was part of his collection, like a special music box. It stopped being for me. And right now, the need to play is only surpassed by the need for privacy. When I play, it’s going to be for me, no one else.
Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to notice my evasiveness. “So? You want to come tonight?”
“Probably not. I’m not sure if I’m up for a big crowd.”
“Big crowd?” She laughs. “Dylan. This is Castle Creek, Montana. I wouldn’t exactly say we’ll be expecting a big crowd. Just friends you haven’t yet met. Besides, if you don’t go, Logan will probably have to fend off half the women of his town who will throw themselves at him. Unless you don’t care that he’ll be hard-pressed not to dance a song or two with a few of them…”
