by Taylor Hart
It hadn’t been easy to get her on the bike behind him because she was still in some pain, but she’d soldiered up about it and gotten on. Her body was pressed completely flat against him, her arms around his stomach, her body tight to his. Her head rested against his back.
He liked it.
Too much.
Usually, he would prefer not to have anyone on his nightly rides. He liked getting some head space after a long day of producing music.
Not tonight.
No space needed when it came to this needling, annoying reporter who was “as cute as a pixie” as his mom would say. He was sure his mom would say that. He remembered stories she’d told him about fairyland and the pixies that lived there. Yes, Liberty would be one of those pixies.
To top it off, she was a Yankee.
He grinned. His daddy wouldn’t like that. Not that he cared what his daddy thought. His daddy had always believed Texas needed a Southern girl.
Would Texas be lying to say this woman had completely taken him off guard when she was in there spouting about all that stuff he was, what he could do? How come it felt like she could see through the wall he’d put up?
He got to the top of Jackson Point and stopped the bike, holding it between his legs. They were alone up here, and he was glad.
She pulled back. “It’s pristine here.”
There it was. The innocence of her voice. Granted, there was preciseness to it. A clear Bostonian ring came through even those simple words.
Staring at all the shades of the sunset, the blues, oranges, and pinks that dipped below the mountain, it felt like he could walk out there. Straight out into the sky. He pulled in a long breath. “Yes, it’s beautiful.” He felt himself relax.
Getting off the bike, he put the kickstand down and gently lifted her off.
“Hey.” She didn’t fight it much.
“Settle down, I’m just putting you over on this rock.” He put her down and grunted. “You hardly weigh a thing.” He took a chance and sat right next to her.
She turned to him, their eyes holding. He remembered how she’d commented on the blueness of his eyes. Hers were like cat eyes. The shape and the way they darted from the page to the person when she was recording for her article. Their color also mesmerized him, violet with flecks of blue. “Cleopatra,” he said softly.
She frowned. "What?”
Turning to enjoy the sunset, he sucked in another big breath of mountain air. “My mother watched that movie over and over when I was a kid. You have the same eyes as Liz Taylor.”
Her brow furrowed, and it looked like she was digging to find the memory of the movie.
“Don’t worry, it’s an old one. You may not have seen it.”
“Probably not. My mother never let us watch television. Movies were a rarity.”
That was interesting. He could not think of a day growing up when the television hadn’t been on pretty much every time he was home. “What did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
He was fascinated. “Like … as a family.” He thought of the countless hours he’d spent watching football, news, or movies on television with his mother.
“When I was younger, I was with my nanny who shuffled me around to a lot of tutors. When I got older, I was away at private school a lot. There was no television there either. We were even limited to the apps they allowed.” She sighed.
He frowned, thinking of the article he’d read on her last night. He wanted to ask about her father, but he wouldn’t. He grunted. “Wow.” It was funny to think about how different this girl was from him.
She had already turned to him, sensing the lag in the conversation. “What?”
“Nothing.” He didn’t usually hold his cards out for everyone to read so easily.
“No, what are you thinking right now, Texas? C’mon, you owe me that. You dragged me up here on that bike.”
He had to smile at the flustered way she said it. “O-kay.” He rolled his eyes. “It was so hard to convince you.” He laughed. “You practically sprained your other ankle getting to the bathroom and back out in such a hurry.” Dang, she smelled good. It was like her fruity scent had intensified.
A small smile played at her lips, and she turned away from him, looking out over the mountainside. “Did not,” she said without much energy behind it. “You’re smelling me again,” she said in a nonchalant way.
“Did not smell you.” He mimicked her private school, Yankee way of talking.
She laughed and shook her head, once again meeting his eyes. “Was that you copying me?”
He wanted to tease her. No, strike that, he wanted to kiss her, which was not a complete surprise to him. After all, she’d been driving him crazy pretty much since the first day he’d met her. At this moment, the intensity of wanting to kiss her, pull her closer, breathe her in, took him off balance. “No, that was my way of copying your snooty Bostonian accent.”
Their eyes held, and another wave of want coursed through him.
There was something different about her. Something that set her apart from the women, the groupies, that hit on him day in and day out on the touring circuit.
Sticking her nose in the air, she lifted an eyebrow. Catching herself, she said softly, “Stop flirting with me.”
“Do you really want me to?” he asked quietly, feeling his heart rate kick up a notch and wanting to do more than flirt with her.
“Please don’t do this.”
People might have thought he was a bad boy, but he’d never seen himself as one.
The curious, happy expression fell from his face, and she turned to look at the sunset again.
Shut down. Was what he would call it. And he didn’t get shut down much these days. He let out a light laugh. “See, you tell me you’re not interested with your words, but your eyes tell me a different story.”
She looked back at him and smiled before saying, “I guess I’m like that one song of yours. What are the words? ‘The closer she gets, the further she goes.’”
He was stunned. “You know another one of my songs? Quoting it even.” It made him smile, which was silly because it was a number one hit on the country music charts.
Letting out a laugh, she turned to him and smiled. “Just for research.” Then she sang out the words, “The harder I try, the more she leaves.”
Her voice was nice, he couldn’t help joining in. “If she could only know how much I believe.” They sang together.
Then he sang alone. “Because it never feels like the life that we have.”
She took over. “It’s always in the wind and almost out of grasp.”
Together they sang. “Like the moon in the night after a long, hard day. Like the sun in the morning, I can’t stay away. But the closer I get, the more she leaves me.” He could not believe they were singing together. It actually sounded amazing.
Meshing.
It was like she was some kind of America’s Got Talent girl who popped up in an overnight sensation he’d never heard before, and now, she was right in front of him.
“So I’ll stop getting close,” he sang.
“And I’ll stop moving away,” she sang.
“Our lives will better. Our lives will be better. Because the closer I get, the more she leaves. Maybe this way she’ll stay.”
They were peering into each other’s eyes, and she sang just the right key for the song to match and compliment his. “This way she’ll stay.”
His heart raced. And there was only one thing to do as they stared into each other’s eyes.
He leaned down and put his hand behind the back of her head and pulled her to him.
“You better explain to me if you have a boyfriend or not because I’m about to kiss you.”
For a moment, he thought she might let him, but she pulled back. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”
A hit to his ego, that’s what she was. Slowly, he pulled back his hand. “Hey, I’ll have you know, missy, there are lots of reporters
who would love to kiss me.”
Neither of them was laughing anymore, only staring at each other. All he could see was that pixie face with the cat eyes, and he realized she wasn’t as innocent as he thought.
“Finish telling me about this boyfriend.” He cleared his throat and looked out over the view.
She hesitated, not saying anything before turning to him. “Quid pro quo.”
“This for that. That’s right, you like fancy language. But, no.”
“Yes,” she said wildly. “If I tell, you have to tell.”
He pointed at her. “I’m tired of feeling like everything about my life or rather your life has a cost to it.”
She met his eyes. “Hey, you’re the one who started this."
Without thinking, he suddenly picked up her hand. “Just tell me because we’re friends.”
“Hey,” she said, trying to pull it back. “You don’t hold your friend’s hands.”
He held on to it, already wrapped up in charting the lines in the middle of her open hand. “Give me a second.”
“What are you doing?”
He got to her life line and paused at the center. “My mama taught me how to read palms.”
This seemed to intrigue her because she let him keep her hand in his.
He did a very thorough looking-over of her hand then kept it in his, still studying each finger before interlacing his own with hers.
She tugged back, but a laugh escaped and she left her hand in his. “What are you looking at now?”
He shrugged and gave her a smug look. “I could tell you what I learned, but I need more information from you, so I’m holding your hand hostage.” He knew he was being a bit silly and ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“Information, huh?”
“Hale.” He demanded again, but couldn’t deny he liked having her hand inside of his more and more with every passing second.
Relenting, she let out a long breath and picked up a stone with her other hand and then chucked it. “Hale is just … a good person.”
“Boring.” He corrected her.
“Good. Funny. Loyal. I’ve known him a long time, and it’s just easy.”
“Sounds like a dog,” he said.
She didn’t like that at all.
He laughed. “C’mon, tell me what you like about him. How has he captured your heart?”
After a few seconds, she gave in. “Fine, it’s like our lives are like an intricate tapestry. His mother makes these doilies.”
Confused, he cursed. “What the heck are you talking about?”
She sniffed. “Doilies, like what old people put under lamps?”
He didn’t like this train of thought at all. Not only did he have no idea what she was talking about, he also didn’t like her talking about Hale’s mother. “You’re in worse shape than I originally thought if you like a guy with doilies.”
She laughed. “Shut up. Listen, I think all these years that our lives are like the doilies, all interlaced. They may have gaps from when we were apart or when we changed, but eventually, if you want, you can retrace the doily and see what happened. With Hale, I think we’ll spend our lives retracing the missing years, and it will all be good.”
He kept her hand, pulling it back, and then tracing the inside of it. “That makes no sense.”
She stared at him intently.
It was intimate. It made him feel intimate, and he realized he really didn’t like her talking about some other guy and the doilies or whatever. That part made no sense to him.
He kept her hand and pointed to the center. “The lifeline, now that’s something you can count on.”
“Oh-kay.”
He put his head up, and once again, they were within kissing distance from each other.
“I’m not kissing you.” She said a bit out of breath.
This made him smile. “But you want to or you wouldn’t keep talking about it. Plus, you still haven’t told me if you’re on the on again or off again part of this relationship with the doily guy.”
She let out a ripple of laughter and backed up.
He kept her hand. “Well, that’s it then.” He studied her hand and then let it go.
“What’s it?” she asked, somewhat intrigued.
“Unless you stay right here I won’t tell you what I read.”
She scowled at him then looked at her own hand. “Tell me what my palms say.”
“On again or off again.”
She ignored his question. “Tell me about my palms.”
“What’s it worth to ya?” he asked, flirting with her again.
The moonlight was just coming up, and her hair looked even more pixie-ish. She was beautiful and fragile, like a flower that should be put in glass and preserved. Her violet eyes assaulted him, unamused. “I guess nothing.”
For a few moments, they didn’t say anything. Then she sighed. “Just tell me about the lines on my hands.”
“What does Hale think of you going to get your story in Nigeria?” He tried not to sound too worried about it.
She shrugged. “He supports me.”
“Idiot.” He coughed into his hand.
Quiet. Hesitant, she tugged her hand back.
But he reached for it. “Nope, still doing my reading.”
They were silent.
Finally, she sighed. “He doesn’t really know much more than I’m going to a conference. I haven’t told him where.”
He swore and let her hand go.
She held her hand back out. “Tell me I’ll live a long life.”
“What?”
“Any good palm reader tells you that. Or, if you’re in a dystopian novel, she tells you something mysterious."
Texas sat back down, acting bothered, but secretly loving it. He pulled her hand into his palm and traced the long line. “Do you know what happens in those lawless countries? The ones where women don’t have rights? Shoot, the ones where nobody has rights?” He looked her up and down. “Pretty little things like you don’t fare well.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Letting out a long sigh, he turned back to her hand. He touched the line right above the long line, horizontal to it. Truly, he really didn’t pay much attention when his mother read other people’s hands. But he did have enough skills to get by. “The love line.”
Their eyes held. “What does it say?” she asked clearly, ready not to believe anything he said.
He flashed a grin and pressed his hand to the warmth of her palm right above it. “It says, ‘You’re going to be attracted to a bad boy, and you won’t be able to resist him.’”
Her lip quirked, and she rolled her eyes.
Lifting his hands to surrender, he laughed. “Hey, I’m just reading what it says.”
They both sat there, enjoying the sunset for a few moments.
She turned to him. “Tell me about your ex-fiancée.”
Leaning back, he surveyed the landscape. He’d been to Jackson a couple of times and, honestly, liked it but had never seen the appeal as to why all these big-time billionaires—his friends now—wanted homes here. Tonight though, looking out over the Tetons, something started to shift inside of him. He didn’t look at her. “After high school, I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know where I fit in. I didn’t like school. I was getting into a bunch of trouble, and my daddy told me the military might be good for me.” He scoffed. “But I didn’t believe that. How could I? I had no schedule in my life. I basically got jobs when I needed them and then worked them until I couldn’t stand to show up anymore.” Swinging his eyes to hers, he saw her look up. “I was like that Kansas song ‘Against the Wind.’"
She smiled.
Nodding, he thought of Tammy. “I met Tammy, and she didn’t know what she wanted either. We were kinda perfect I thought. She was pretty. A bit erratic, but I kinda like erratic women.” He flashed a smile at her.
She scowled at him. “How misogynistic of you.”
He laughed. “Again wit
h the big words. Kidding. Sheesh. Anyway, about a year after I’d left for Afghanistan, we were still pretty into each other. She was always Skyping or writing. Told me she was pregnant, so I asked her to marry me.” He shrugged and looked away. “She miscarried, or that’s the story I got. After the Purple Heart and all that crap, I got discharged and got to come home. Didn’t tell anyone my head wasn’t right. I showed up at her apartment unannounced, and I got to have my own version of ‘Redneck Crazy’ by Tyler Farr—you heard it?”
Looking confused, she shook her head.
Letting out a sputtering laugh, he looked off the side of the mountain. “Well, you should listen to the song sometime because it’s exactly how I felt. I’m not about civility if I feel a man has invaded what I call mine.”
Giving him an incredulous stare, she laughed. “You looked at her like your property?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s not cool.”
Taking her wrist into his hand, he grabbed it harder than he meant to.
Her eyes met his.
“No. Not property. But when you give your word, it’s your word. If you break it, there are consequences in life. For me, one of them is getting to beat the devil out of a guy.”
After a few moments of quiet, she pulled her hand back.
“So you beat the devil out of him?” She didn’t have the right accent to pull off devil, but it was still cute.
A big grin covered his face. “Tommy Hinkins had it coming. Can’t say I minded the night in jail for it either.” His eyes grew darker. “Now, Tammy, well of course, I don’t touch a woman, but that woman, all the stories of her cheating I heard later, well, she deserved something I didn’t give her.”
This was a side to him she wasn’t sure if she liked. Dangerous. Fierce. Intense.
They both sat in silence for a couple more minutes. “Tammy dang near spent all my money too. Money I had saved to build a life after the army.”
Okay, now it all made sense to her. More than just a break up, more than cheating on him, she’d taken it all. From someone who hadn’t had much. “What’d you do?” she asked.
Swinging a challenging look to her, he lifted his eyebrows. “You want to know as a reporter?” Leaning back, he crossed his ankles over each other and looked relaxed.