Page 81 of Strung Along

Anna’s squeak flies into the cold. My laugh is a throaty sound as she whips around to swat my arm. “We’re playing like that, are we?”

“Better get used to it, sweetheart,” I tease.

Even though she hasn’t tripped getting into the truck since the one and only time, I still linger at her back, waiting until she’s plopped safely onto the seat with her belt done up before going round to my side.

The truck is warm when I slide into my seat and turn the heat down a bit. Anna unzips the first inch of her jacket and shifts to face me.

“My fine ass is in the truck now,” she smarts, the corner of her mouth quirked.

Pulling the truck from the curb, I say, “So it is. We need to get you a pair’a boots before you can step back onto the ranch. A pair all your own.”

“You were serious about that?”

Risking a quick glance at her, I frown when I notice she’s frowning. “Why wouldn’t I have been? I want you around as much as possible these next few weeks. We’ve gotta start somewhere.”

“I believe you. I thought maybe you were just being nice.”

“I don’t have it in me to do things just for the purpose of bein’ nice, sweetheart. You’re here with me ’cause there’s nothin’ else I’d rather do today than spend time with you,” I say firmly, not leaving anything for her to contemplate.

The soft pull of her lips as she relaxes in her seat has me nodding to myself, pleased with the trust she has in me. After turning out of town, I let her fiddle with the radio while I lift the top of the centre console to grab the brown bag of gingersnap cookies my grandma shoved in my hands this morning.

“Hungry?” I ask, offering her the bag.

Anna takes it gingerly, appreciation heavy in her features. The crinkle of the bag fills the cab when she slides her hand into it and grabs a cookie.

“Grandma?” She brings it to her nose and sniffs, hearts filling her eyes.

Taking the bag from her, I set it on top of the console and continue stealing looks across the truck as she bites into the cookie. “’Course it was. She whipped those up the moment I said I was seein’ you today. Stayed up way past her bedtime doin’ it too.”

“She’s incredibly sweet. Tell her thank you for me, please.”

I nod, my chest cavity suddenly feeling far too small for all the feelings I’ve got for this woman. “Eat up. There’s a spot I want to take you when we get to Calgary, but we got a couple hours still.”

“Before or after we find boots?”

“Before. It’s a drive-in that I used to go to all the time as a boy. I was thinkin’ you could get a banana milkshake.” I watch her for a reaction, far too pleased when, just as I expected, her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink.

“I was waiting for you to start teasing me about that,” she mutters.

“Banana? Were you called Anna Banana as a kid?”

“My sister actually calls me that. I don’t know why I decided to have you use it as my contact name.”

My stomach pinches as I draw a deep breath. “My ma called me Bo. Not sure why I offered it to you either. Especially not before I knew a damn thing about you.”

“If you ever want to talk about her, Brody, I’m more than willing to listen.”

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel as we hit the highway, swarmed on both sides by snow-dripped pine trees. Frozen mountain streams lie beneath, flanked by wire fencing meant to keep animals from wandering onto the road. It’s beautiful, even in the winter when the grass is dead and brown beneath the heavy layers of snow. The air is clear and crisp, so different from the polluted city air I’d grown accustomed to in Nashville. It’s home, the root of all my childhood memories.

Clearing my throat, I give myself a gentle push. “She loved horses. Loved them more than I thought possible. We bonded over that shared love and passion. There wasn’t a day we didn’t spend out in the stables together. Every day after school, she’d be waiting by the fence to ride alongside my bus up the ranch road.”

“She sounds incredible.”

“Yeah, she was. Sweeter than cotton candy but a rebellious risk taker. She loved horses a little too much. Wanted to heal the broken ones, even when they didn’t deserve it.” My throat is scratchy; every word I speak sounds garbled.

“Does she have to do with why you were so at odds around Sky?” she asks, always so observant.

“I stopped riding shortly after Ma died and my dad took off. Couldn’t bring myself to get close to them afterward.”

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