She found him to be both devilishly handsome and endearingly cute—especially when talking to the prayer chain lady, and the diner waitresses who knew him by name and brought a slice of chocolate cake with two forks.
By the look on his face, Ash didn’t remember talking about visiting the gorge and indeed they hadn’t. But Sassy needed to get inside the family home.
“Unless,” she teased, “today’s sightseeing tour of the hospital, the jail, and your old girlfriend are the very best highlights of the area. Here I assumed it was the gorge, waterfalls and the wildlife. Maybe the town should update the brochures.”
A dark cloud passed over Ash’s gorgeous face.
“I guess I dragged you along on my homecoming tour, instead of showing you things you’d like to see,” Ash said as his shoulders dropped. “Sorry about that.”
Sassy smiled and shrugged, then took a sip of her milkshake.
“For the record,” Ash said, “Amber was never my girlfriend.”
“Does Amber know that?”
“I thought so,” Ash said, sincerely. “I’ve barely spoken with her since high school—barely at all in the past few years.”
“Did you kiss her in high school?”
Ash blushed deeply, giving Sassy her answer. But he surprised her with his next words.
“What makes you think I’d kiss and tell?”
“You don’t need to say a thing, Ash. Your face says it all.”
“Dang,” he said, looking down at his own milkshake to hide his expression. “I reckon you’re getting a big picture of me and my life here in West Gorge, yet I still don’t know anything about you. Except you’re pretty and funny, and not afraid of hard work.”
Now it was Sassy’s turn to smile and blush.
“Well maybe you’ll learn a little more about me on our trip to the gorge.”
“Yeah, we could do that,” Ash said.
“After you change.” Sassy smiled at how easy that had been. Ash truly was her passport to the West family residence.
“But I think we’ll go to the gorge another day when we’re both dressed for hiking,” he said to her surprise, “It gets cool up in the mountains, and you’ve got an itty-bitty dress on. Besides, there’s one more stop on this tour.”
In spite of her disappointment, Sassy couldn’t help but laugh. “Let me guess—the drugstore where you used to snitch gum, or a tree where you once carved your initials…”
“…with a stolen knife, of course,” Ash grinned.
“Of course.”
Chapter 23
There was an ease to Sassy that made Ash want to be around her—she was the first woman who made him want to act his age. Ridge was always pushing him to enjoy his youth more while he could, but he never understood the appeal, until now.
She wasn’t high school silly, she was more carefree, with an easy laugh. He could make himself smile thinking about her splinter, and the look on her face when he told her he had to amputate. He was never one to tease a girl in any way, but it just came naturally when he was with Sassy.
He also liked how her demeanor towards him didn’t change after she found out that he was a West, and a manager of the ranch where she worked. Sassy neither pulled away nor moved closer. She merely stayed as friendly as she was at the creek, pulling dead branches out of the muddy water alongside him.
After lunch, Ash drove to the Arts and Culture Center in town, where he offered Sassy his hand as she got out of the Jeep.
“Just in case the altitude makes you dizzy,” he said, gently pulling her soft hand and leading her to an exhibit in the back. Here, each painting had been professionally restored, cleaned and framed, and hung along a curved wall with spotlights. As the two entered the wing, the lights were dimmed to preserve the delicate, ancient paintings, and it was dark and cool. Romantic, almost.
Sassy must have thought so too as she squeezed his hand and moved closer.
Breathing in, Ash smelled new carpet and the wood beams overhead. The architecture of the center was designed to evoke the old west and wide-open spaces of the Wyoming plains. There were alcoves with rustic benches and leather chairs for viewing and contemplating—and Ash and Sassy were completely alone.
“These paintings were done in the 1800s by Pickford West—the founder of the ranch and the town, along with his wife, Addie.” Ash leaned towards Sassy and whispered. He didn’t know why, but wanted to show reverence to his West patriarch and namesake. It was also a chance to place his hand on the small of her back, and gently pull her closer.
It didn’t hurt that her hair smelled like lemons and vanilla, and every chance to be near her was a delight to his senses.
Sassy’s mouth formed a silent “oh” as she gazed in true admiration at the works.
They moved slowly along the gallery of paintings depicting long horn steers, covered wagons and girls in gingham bonnets. Ash kept his hand on Sassy’s waist to guide her, and she didn’t pull away when he gently moved his hand up and down.
When they stopped, she was very close—practically nestled against him, putting the entire side of his body on high alert.
“This girl in the bonnet, that’s the great aunt of my sister-in-law, Paislee. She came to town with a very old painting, trying to find some information on the artist, P. West. She had no idea until she met my brother Pike that he had the other piece of the puzzle—these drawings and paintings that Pickford, P. West, did of her ancestor while on the trail. He had them tucked away in the attic of the family’s homestead barn. That’s how she and Pike met and fell in love.”
“You’re kidding,” she said. “That’s amazing. What a heritage you have, Ash.”
She nuzzled closer and he looked down in wonder. They’d been touching and standing side-by-side since they entered the center, and it had felt so natural. Sassy’s eyes were so wide and beautiful as she gazed up at him in the cool, dark room, that he found his head dipping down as he leaned in closer.
He was planning on whispering to her that it wasn’t really his heritage, but what came out of his mouth was completely different.
“You smell so pretty, like a summer day,” he said. She started to say something in return, but seemed to change her mind. Instead, she lifted her head and tilted towards him.
Did her lips taste like summer? Ash decided he wanted to find out. He swallowed hard, and her lips parted slightly as a small ribbon of air escaped her, and landed on his neck. Sending a shiver down to his toes.
He bent his head closer until he could almost feel her lips touching his.
“Ash! Sassy!”
A sharp voice pushed them apart, followed by a rustling of noises.
The voice belonged to Rowdy, of all people, who was tumbling out of an office off the gallery with a laughing woman close behind. It was Daisy Shire, Paislee’s assistant curator at the art center. In awkward surprise, the foursome stopped and stared at each other.
“Rowdy,” Ash nodded, remembering his manners before the others. “Daisy, have you met Sassy… er, sorry, I still don’t know your last name, from the ranch?”
“Just Sassy,” the younger girl said, nodding to a blushing Daisy, who reached out and shook the girl’s hand.
“How do,” Daisy said. “We were just… Rowdy was just helping me with…”
“With art?” Ash suggested with a half-smile and an audible exhale of frustration, knowing how close he’d been to a much-anticipated kiss; also knowing that whatever spell he and Sassy had been under at the gallery was definitely broken.
“Art,” Rowdy said as if a lightbulb went off, “exactly.”
Sassy remained near Ash as the four squared off, and when she reached her hand up to his, he took it easily and confidently. If Rowdy and Daisy could be doing art behind closed doors, he could certainly hold a girl’s hand out in public.
Chapter 24
Rowdy West came to visit his Wyoming cousins five years earlier, along with his brother Gray, and the two never left. In his early forties,
Rowdy had been a long-time rancher in Montana, helping his family run their cattle empire. He also spent time on the rodeo circuit, and had the trophies, prize money and permanent limp to show for it.
When he and Gray came to Wyoming for his uncle Ridge’s birthday bash, they were the last two remaining members of the Montana Wests, and at loose ends. They had flush bank accounts from the sale of their ranch, and nothing to tie them down.
Gray was a pilot who spent several months every year extinguishing wildfires in the mountains. But Rowdy had a restlessness he couldn’t identify until he came to West Gorge, and saw how stressed and overworked his cousin Gunnar had become under the weight of his sole responsibilities. Ridge was still grieving the loss of Randi Lynn. Pike was pulling away, longing to leave the ranch and follow his passion for painting. Even Colton had his sights set on a different life than the ranch offered.
So Rowdy jumped on an ATV with Gunnar and offered to come alongside him for a time. He and Gray moved into the West’s guest house and made themselves at home—Gray coming and going as needed. But Rowdy didn’t want to be a guest forever.
After a few years, Casey came into the family with a wealth of knowledge about the real estate market in West Gorge. One day, out of the blue, she asked Rowdy to meet her at a foreclosed log home in West Gorge, just outside of the ranch.
“I wondered if you might like to hang your hat in your own home again, Rowdy,” she told him. “This house made me think of you.”
He smiled when he walked in and smelled the oak and pine, and saw the soaring vaulted ceiling in the great room. It was a smaller version of the West family home in Montana, but large enough for a growing family, if Rowdy were to have one someday.
The open kitchen had a long granite island, and half a dozen or more stools facing copper-trimmed appliances. A field stone fireplace, flanked by mountain-view windows, would be the perfect location for snowy nights and Sunday mornings.
Outside, there were fenced-in pens for horses, and a pole barn to house Rowdy’s ATVs and four-wheel drive cars. Even enough room for his little red sports car that liked to come out and play in warm weather.
There were guest rooms enough so Gray to stay with him when he was in town.
“It’s perfect,” he told Casey and hugged her. “I’ll take it.”
Everyone in the family celebrated his official move to Wyoming. Kat West helped him shop for the perfect leather chairs, oversized sofas, and fancy linen bedding and down-filled quilts. Liu stocked his freezer with meals. Colton sent one of his crews out to frame and build a massive deck overlooking the mountains, complete with an outdoor fireplace. Pike gave him an original oil painting of the gorge.
But the best gift began with a simple phone call.
“Now that you’re settled, I’m sending a friend over to help with the finishing touches.”
It was Paislee West calling him out of the blue.
“Finishing touches?” He was curious. “What is this house missing?”
Paislee laughed at his question, but didn’t answer directly.
“Just be home Saturday morning, Rowdy,” she said, “and keep an open mind.”
More than a little bit nervous, Rowdy showered and shaved early, and was jittery from drinking twice the coffee he usually downed. When the doorbell rang, he jumped a mile and spilled creamer on the floor.
“Coming…” he shouted, throwing a paper towel on the oak planks.
Open mind. Open mind, he said to himself.
The beautiful woman standing on his threshold had a laptop case in one hand, and held the other out to him.
“Daisy Shire,” she said, and smiled.
“Rowdy… West.”
There was a long pause as Rowdy tried to assess her reason for being at his house—he thought he recognized her from the grand opening of the Arts and Culture Center, but couldn’t be sure.
“Mind if I come in?” Daisy asked, grinning with private amusement.
Rowdy followed her to the great room, rubbing his leg self-consciously. His limp always became more pronounced under duress. And the caffeine wasn’t helping.
“Ah, this is a beautiful room,” Daisy said as she looked up and around. Rowdy watched her face light up at the high windows and lighting. “Paislee was right.”
Nodding, Rowdy tried to keep up but felt lost.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, perching on a stool by the massive granite counter. “What was Paislee right about?”
At the helpless tone of his voice, Daisy’s face softened as she turned towards him. Setting her computer on the counter, she walked over to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup.
“Mind?” She asked, taking a sip.
Rowdy was speechless. Was she trying to sell him curtains? A time-share in Florida?
“Paislee thought it was time for you to add a few paintings to your house, to finish off your spaces. Maybe a bronze sculpture or two. I came to show you a few artists that Painted Bird Gallery represents, and see if anything appeals to you.”
You. You appeal to me, Rowdy thought, relaxing at her words and calming tone. A woman who looked right at home pouring coffee in his house—a woman who regarded his eyes and not his injured leg—was someone who could stay as long as she wanted to.
Daisy was about his age or a little younger, he thought. Her hair was a pretty sandy color, and fell in loose waves over her shoulder. She wore snug jeans that showed off her toned legs, and a white blouse with soft ruffles near her neck and wrists. When she was sipping her coffee, he dared a glance at her hand but saw no wedding ring.
Impossible, he thought, with cautious optimism.
Daisy was a romantic, Rowdy guessed by her ruffles and dangling earrings. He liked that. He supposed anyone dealing in fine art must be a romantic by nature. Rowdy himself had a romantic streak, though most people didn’t it see under the rough denim and leather his ranching life required.
But he was a sucker for a few frills and a little bit of lace on a woman; throw in some untamed curls, and Rowdy was on high alert.
He found himself smiling at her beauty and easy ways, and gestured to her computer.
“Let’s take a look,” he said, recovering from his earlier nervousness. “Let’s just see what this house is missing.”
Chapter 25
As it happened, what the house had been missing was Daisy Shire herself.
After they hung the first painting over his giant fireplace, they sat for a few hours on his sofa and gazed at it together—making sure to catch the landscape in differing lights as the sun traveled over the log house. Daisy brought a bottle of Chardonnay to celebrate, and Rowdy happened to have a charcuterie board in his refrigerator, compliments of Liu.
Hours later, they declared the acquisition a success, and moved on to the north facing walls of the room.
“A trio of seasons,” Daisy suggested. “There’s a new collection by an emerging painter up in Jasper, Alberta, I want you to see.”
Rowdy agreed, and weeks later they celebrated with dinner and a leisurely drive into the mountains.
By the time they got around to discussing the south-facing wall, Rowdy had driven Daisy to her house after a date, where, on her doorstep on a star-filled Wyoming night, he took off his cowboy hat and gently leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. When she smiled at him, and placed her soft hand on his face, he felt the courage to touch her lips with his own, holding the kiss for as long as he dared.
Since that first kiss, Rowdy West began wooing the beautiful art lover in creative ways. In addition to the flowers he sent to her gallery, he attended online art auctions to find unusual pieces he thought Daisy might enjoy. The first time he sent her an 18th century portrait miniature, she was blown away.
“Do you know how collectible these are?” She sputtered in shock.
“I found out,” Rowdy laughed. “I made a few enemies in the art world trying to win this tiny painting.”
“It’s beautiful—I’ve never owned anything like
it,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Daisy, for bringing such beauty into my life,” Rowdy gushed with a crooked and bashful grin. “And for the paintings.”
Daisy soon discovered that Rowdy was much more than the sum of his outward parts. He wasn’t just a rough and tumble rancher, but an appreciator of the subtle beauty found in art, nature, and in her. He listened for hours as she talked about paintings and lighting, and finding the perfect frame. And how the right matte could be the difference between a painting feeling “constricted,” and coming to life.
Rowdy felt as though he was coming to life under her attention. She saw past the limp; the rodeo injury had been a hit to his confidence, making him shy away from dating.
“When I took the tumble years ago and landed in the hospital, someone who I thought was special, left me,” he confided. “She got tired of driving me to physical therapy, and waiting for me to walk again.”
Daisy nearly cried when she heard this, and it broke her heart that Rowdy had curled up inside for fear of rejection. He was a wonderful giving and loving man who drank her in like he was parched for her company.
His limp was incidental to her, like the endearing silvery strands in his jet-black hair. Rowdy’s beard was also highlighted with the same salt and pepper, and as she spent time with him, she found herself longing to feel his face against her own, and wondered what that would be like.
As it happened, it was soft and heavenly.
It took him forever to have the nerve to kiss her, and she didn’t want to let him go when he did. Daisy had already decided that if he opened his heart to her, she would never grow tired of him, or run faster than he could—he could always catch her.
He could trust her.
Before long, Rowdy was popping in to see Daisy at her gallery, or at the art center where she assisted Paislee West in curating exhibits and paintings. Often, he’d ask if she was free for lunch. Sometimes he only had a few minutes for a quick kiss and to make plans for their next date.
Sassy Cowgirl Kisses: A Sweet Romance (A West Brothers Romance Book 5) Page 7