Page 9 of Seaside Cowboy's Second Chance

“If it’s not okay...” Her voice trailed off. “I can put things on the ground.”

Right. He forgot to answer, too distracted by those lush lips and the memories they evoked. “When did I worry about the mess? Especially if an animal is starving? Please go ahead.”

“I appreciate it.” Skylar placed a bowl on the truck’s floor and filled it with kibble.

The dog gobbled up the food fast. Compassion for the hungry dog made his rib cage contract. Once Breeze was done, Skylar cleaned up everything with napkins she’d carried in her asphalt-gray purse. “All good now. We can go.”

“Okay.”

They took off, but all was far from good.

The girl he’d known carried a mass of things in a worn-out purse she’d embellished with shiny crystals and turquoise fabric strips. Chipped-off crayons, colored pencils, and a wrinkled notebook had shared space with her pocket knife, bubblegum, both wrapped and unwrapped, and mint candies, again both wrapped and unwrapped. While she’d also stuffed it with dog biscuits, pins, seashells, a ribbon for seashells, and a myriad of other things.

But the only time he’d seen her carrying a napkin was because she’d drawn his portrait on it while on a date in a restaurant. She’d drawn and painted him and other people many times later, but it had been her first portrait of him. His heart moved. He’d framed that napkin. He still had it. Hidden away in a drawer after their breakup. But still there.

“How is your mom doing?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Good.” He slowed around a curve and stole a glance at her.

Her profile was unreadable while, once, emotions had clearly played out on her face. Or was it now written in a different language, one he didn’t speak? “How are your brothers?”

“Good.” What else could he say?

If she’d expected him to hold up his part of the conversation, she was mistaken. He’d never liked to talk much, but he’d loved to hear her talk. And she used to talk endlessly. The sound of her voice had always smoothed something inside him, especially after his father’s cutting shouts. Her voice was a salve that, like the ocean waves endlessly caressing the sandy shore, could smooth out the edges of broken bottles and craft them into something to treasure. Could smooth out his sharp corners.

Until she’d left the shattered edges of heartbreak. He ground his teeth.

“Anyone married?”

He shook his head. “Nope. We’re all still bachelors.”

Could she care whether he was still single? But then, why would she? And her grandmother would’ve told her if she cared to ask.

Everything was close in a small town, and he could see Mrs. Rafferty’s quirky bungalow in the distance, painted canary yellow with a white door and emerald window trim. The wall overlooking the road had seashells painted on it. Skylar had painted those. Then she’d done them again every time the house had been repainted.

His hand moved to his neck where once he’d worn a necklace strung from tiny seashells he and Skylar had gathered at the beach. She’d given him the necklace as a gift for their one-year anniversary while he’d given her a different necklace. He’d worn the seashells for many years. Then on the day she’d ended their engagement he’d ripped them off and thrown them back into the ocean. Once in a while, even after so many years, he’d forget they were no longer there and reach for them.

His heart made a strange movement as if upset Skylar would disappear from his life—again. He had so many questions to ask her. Ones she’d never answered.

Yet he didn’t say a word. Neither did she, the silence sharp and crackling between them like a barbed wire fence. No, rather an electric fence. If he got too close again, he’d get electrocuted.

Even Breeze stayed quiet in the back as if feeling the tension and deciding to lay low.

“Are you doing okay?” Her voice was barely audible over the motor’s throaty growl, a growl he felt like joining.

All his pent-up anger released. “Like you’d even care.” He pulled up to the quirky canary-yellow cottage he used to love because he’d associated it with her—and fine, because the house and the beach used to be a haven for him and his siblings when Dad would get violent. He parked and jammed the parking brake with too much force.

This time, hurt stood clear in her hazel eyes before her expression became unreadable again.

“Of course, I care.” She jumped out of the truck before he had a chance to turn off the engine and open the door for her. As if she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Guilt stabbed him. But what did she expect?

From the truck bed, he hauled out her mouse-gray suitcase as nondescript as her clothes. “I’m okay, no thanks to you. But if anything happened to me, wouldn’t you hear about it from your grandmother? If you bothered to ask?”

Her gaze lingered on him, making his treacherous heart skip a beat. “That’s not what I meant. Well, never mind.”

Breeze barked in his truck, probably worrying they’d forgotten her. The poor animal could already have abandonment issues, and they shouldn’t be adding to them.

---