Be supportive but casual. He was good with kids. He’d interact with the kids for a couple of minutes and then leave before Ashni could wonder at his motives.
He shifted into drive, squinting through the windshield. Was the sun always so bright? The sky so blue? He felt like he’d just been thrust into a world where everything was too bright. Too vivid. The air shimmered with heat. It was like he was seeing everything for the first time—different, but the same, only more glaring.
It took him a moment to realize he’d been so thrown by his conversation with Ash that he’d left his hat behind. Better than leaving without his boots or pants. That had happened to Bodhi once. Best call for help Beck had ever received. They’d been in college and, for once, Bodhi’s Prince Charming crown had been just a bit tarnished.
As if thinking of his cousin conjured him up, he saw Bodhi enter the Java Café and take a seat in the window with the same woman he’d been talking to and dancing with at Grey’s last night. Nico somebody. They spoke animatedly. Bodhi spotted him through the window, smirked, and gave him a thumbs-up. Then Beck received a text.
“Game on?”
“Definitely.”
He just needed a strategy. And the four people he relied on most as his north stars were all on opposing sides.
The road was now clear so Beck continued slowly down Main Street. He’d call in the order to the café—seeing Bodhi in full suitor mode didn’t sit well. Work would clear his head so he could formulate a plan of attack.
“Supposed to be love, not war,” he murmured.
As he drove by the Graff Hotel, he saw Bowen exiting down the wide curved staircase of the entrance, walking hand in hand with a woman with short platinum hair.
She looked a bit familiar.
But it was the handholding that shocked him. His cousin had pulled into town near sundown last night, and just past sunup, he’d raced all of them into town and now he was coming out of a hotel with a woman and heading toward the Main Street Diner. It wasn’t Shauna from last night. She was likely nursing a hangover from deeper than one of the seven pits of hell.
“Hey,” Beck slowed down and shouted out the window. Had even Bowen lost his mind?
Bowen looked both ways and jogged to the truck, still holding the woman’s hand. She was much smaller than Bowen and had huge, amber colored eyes that reminded him of whiskey. Her smile was impish.
“What are you doing?” Beck asked, stupidly—as if he didn’t know, but seeing Bowen faux wooing turned his stomach. Usually their challenges pitted their strengths, skills and wits against each other—no one else was involved so no one could get hurt.
“Remember Langston? Best barrel racer on the Montana teen circuit back in the day?”
“Hey, Beck. Good to see you. Bowen’s doing a huge favor for me this week.” She stood on tiptoes and kissed Bowen’s jaw. “For practice.”
Her smile looked like the sun. Bowen stared into her heart-shaped face like he was under a spell. What was going on? Bowen needed a favor. What did Lang need?
“Earth to Bowen,” Beck muttered.
“Looks like we’re running the board.” Bowen grinned at him and knocked twice on the truck. “See you back at the ranch.”
Sliding his arm around her slim waist, Bowen walked them back to the sidewalk and toward the diner. It wasn’t until Beck heard the light toot of a horn behind him that he realized he was just sitting there, idling in the middle of Main Street.
With Bodhi taking the same woman out twice in a row and Bowen publicly holding hands, the Rodeo Bride Game was most definitely on.
“Dummmm. Dum. Dum. Dummmm.” He hummed the wedding march or something like it under his breath.
It was a dumb game. Someone was going to get hurt. But Granddad’s future was on the line. Hell, all of their futures were on the line, and he was all in.
*
Ashni sat on the floor with the twelve students who’d signed up to take the mural class. She’d expected mostly girls, but perhaps the cartooning description had sounded more graphic like video games or anime, so an equal number of boys had signed up.
For the first half hour of class, they’d played an introduction game by doing a quick sketch illustrating a memory of something they had done or an accomplishment, and kids guessed the meaning. The ice breaker had been a hit. The students were engaged, and the energy and creative buzz was heady.
But she’d yet to approach the idea of building their individual story panels into a cohesive theme for the mural, which would be critical. That was her goal before they ended class today.
The only problem—Ashni was suddenly hungry. She’d been too keyed up to eat after her conversation with Beck this morning.
Stop thinking of him.
She refocused on the group and then encouraged them to brainstorm themes for their mural panels.
“Rodeo,” one pre-teen boy called out.
Beck flashed through her mind again—his smile, his swagger when he’d walk toward her, arm out, palm up, fingers beckoning, the wicked heat in his eyes…
Stop!
She was stronger than this. Beck was a habit she could break. She typed rodeo onto her tablet, and it showed up on the large interactive whiteboard behind her.
“The history of Marietta,” another kid called out.
“That’s like school. Boring,” William, the kid with the rodeo suggestion, dismissed.
“Gunfights. Blood and guts, hookers at Grey’s,” a kid named Jacob countered, and she wondered if she should object to his language.
“That would be all right then, like a video game,” William admitted. They fist-bumped and made exploding noises.
“We want ideas. And discussion. Not judgment. Please don’t shut anything or anyone down. We want a large list.” Ashni ignored the blood and guts and hookers themes. “As an artist you need your mind to be open to bounce around a lot of ideas before settling on one you want to explore. Then the real play and fun begins.” She smiled at her students. “You need an open mind and to be kind or else the creativity—yours and others’—will get shut down.”
It would have been a great moment—maybe—except her stomach—iffy for the past few weeks—chose that moment to interject. Loudly.
“Oops!” She had to laugh at their surprised expressions. “Excuse me.”
She’d meant to buy snacks for her students. She’d discussed it with Sky over the lunch she had picked at but not eaten, but then she’d been too busy setting up the room, changing and rechanging her mind and making plans with Sky to come out and see her studio the next day.
“Tomorrow I’ll bring snacks,” she promised.
“How about some snacks today?” a way too familiar deep drawl of a voice interrupted.
Beck.
And her stupid heart hopped and jigged.
He entered the classroom, wearing a different Stetson because his was still on her couch, judging her until she had picked it up and put it in the coat closet on the top shelf. Beck’s black tee stretched tight over his sculpted torso, Wranglers faded and worn hugged his hips and thighs in a way she should not be noticing in a room full of children.
Please don’t let him turn around.
Beck’s prime ass had been her undoing countless times. Even after all these years together, his backside still struck her stupid. And when he was walking…Ashni felt a wave of heat wash over her. Humiliating, because she’d told him they were breaking up and she didn’t want to be sending mixed messages, but her body wasn’t mixed up at all. It wanted Beck. Badly.
If she could kick herself, she would. Stupid body.
The kids goggled at him, then peppered him with questions.
“Beck.” She had to take charge of the situation. She was the teacher. It would be easier if her heart would stop fluttering in her throat so she could breathe and speak properly.
“You shouldn’t…you…” She wasn’t quite sure what to say. What about break up did he not get? She’d been clear this morning.
Adamant.
“Stalker” was not what she’d been intending to mutter under her breath while he grinned.
“C’mon now,” he said. “You know I can’t stay away.”
He could learn.
But she was standing too close and staring at him like he was some kind of superhero who’d just swooped in to save the day in a Hollywood blockbuster.
“Yeah, rodeo cowboys.” One of the older girls nudged one of her friends. “That should so be our theme.”
“Where should I put the food?” Beck asked, looking around the room.
Half the group jumped to their feet.
“Hey now, settle,” Beck said, and with no more than a nod of his head, the boys and several girls sank back down on the floor. “Your teacher will tell when it’s break time. I was trying to sneak in the back—” he smiled like a sunrise “—but picked the wrong door.”
Like Beck could sneak into any room in the world unnoticed.
Swimming against the tide.
No. She’d been letting herself get sucked into Beck’s orbit for far too long.
“Thank you,” she said, sounding so prim she wanted to kick her own darn behind. “Please set the food on that table over there. Do you need some…um…?” She broke off not wanting to walk into any flirty games with Beck.
Too late.
His eyes crinkled with warmth and gleamed.
“Help? Desperately,” he whispered the last word at her as he put down the massive plate of sandwiches. He also carried two bags—one from Monroe’s grocery store, which contained apples and oranges. The other bag was from the bakery.
“Beck.” She wanted to be stern, but the gesture was so sweet, so Beck, that for a moment she was afraid her willpower would sputter out.
“You’re welcome.” He leaned toward her. He was going to kiss her. Her eyes fluttered shut, but then she remembered.
Kids.
They’d broken up.
“Is that your boyfriend?” one girl asked.
“No.”
“Yes.”
They spoke at the same time.
“Oooooooh.” A multitude of voices shared their thoughts on the contradiction.
“I call yes,” one girl named Meghan said.
“Definitely,” another girl sighed.
“Hey, if we do a rodeo theme, we’d need a model,” Meghan sounded like she was thirteen going on thirty. “All sketch classes have models pose.”
Beck smiled. “Wouldn’t be my first time.” He grinned at the group, and Ashni wanted to kick him in his prime behind. Why were her thoughts so violent? Beck looking gorgeous and posing was not in her curriculum.
“Naked,” Meghan’s friend Crystal said matter-of-factly.
Beck’s smile faded. Ashni laughed.
“Time to go. We’re keeping this class G-rated.” She motioned Beck toward the door. “Thank you very much, Mr. Ballantyne, for the snacks.”
The confusion on Beck’s face along with the kids’ ping-ponging gazes was pretty funny. No one knew where to look—the longed-for food so temptingly displayed on the table, Beck, or her.
What story would this scene tell?
Of course, Ashni had no intention of asking the kids that question because she didn’t want to know. But their next exercise was to come up with abstract feelings—happiness, anger, excitement—and figure out how to represent them with images.
After their snack.
But she wouldn’t admit that to Beck because she didn’t want to give him an excuse to linger.
“Ma’am.” Beck winked and tipped his hat. “Muralists.” He tipped his hat to them. “Can I steal your teacher for a moment?”
Oh. No.
“Ooooooooooh,” the Greek chorus of doom sang out again.
Not wanting to make a fuss, Ashni smiled and walked Beck toward the door with a confidence she didn’t feel.
She pulled him out into the hall so she could still see her group in the small art room, but they couldn’t overhear the conversation.
“Beck, thank you for the snacks. It was very thoughtful,” she said quickly, “but I meant what I said this morning.”
“I know you did, Ash.”
“So, you need to stop coming by.”
Why was this getting harder, not easier? And why was he nodding?
“I will,” he said. “I just feel like I don’t really understand, and I want to. You really sprung this on me. I know you’ve likely been thinking about it for months.”
Guilt coursed through her. She hadn’t. Not like this. Breaking up. Had she? She’d been unhappy traveling. She’d felt at loose ends. Professionally unfulfilled. But Beck…Confusion clouded her judgment. She didn’t know how to explain it to him. Or she did, and he wasn’t listening.
“I just feel like I need a little…closure. And maybe if I could take you to dinner and we could talk, I could say what I need to say so that I too can move on.”
Move on? She blinked. He was moving on? One dinner and chat, and he’d be ready to move on—after half their lives together?
Isn’t that what you want?
“I want you to enjoy your week of teaching. I know you’re going to do great. You’re fantastic at everything you do, Ash, and I mean that.”
Her rush of happiness was visceral. “Thank you.” His opinion still meant so much to her.
“And I’ve got a lot of work to do at the ranch this week, and the moms are coming in and the rodeo will be starting, so I’ll be out of your hair, but I need to be able to concentrate so if we could talk tonight over dinner it might help me to get in a better headspace.”
He paused, and his voice lowered. “I’m worried about Granddad.”
“What? Why?” Alarm skittered through her. “He seemed fine when we made dinner yesterday.” But he’d acted strange when she’d mentioned she’d be staying in town because of the class. He’d seemed…she wasn’t really sure. Almost like he’d been expecting something.
He’d actually looked at her like Beck was now—like he was trying to see into her soul.
“I think he’s worried. Covering something up. I was going to talk to you about it, run a couple of ideas by you, but now…”
“You can tell me anything,” she said quickly, and then she nearly groaned.
He couldn’t. They were broken up. By her request. But she felt like Ben Ballantyne was her granddad too. And she had a room full of kids who were definitely getting restless.
“Fine. Dinner,” she said hastily, already regretting it.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“No, I’ll meet you,” she insisted. She needed control and a sense of separation.
Beck didn’t like that. He was too much of an old-school cowboy, and for a moment, she nearly smiled. Even when they’d been kids, he’d insisted on walking her home, carrying her backpack, even though she lived in the opposite direction.
“Rosita’s?” he asked.
She nodded and turned away before he could do something to further weaken her resolve. It was ridiculous how all he had to do was show up, and she felt gooey inside. She needed to remember him speculating about some other woman imitating a vacuum cleaner. Or squirming under Jerry’s questions.
Her phone buzzed with a message. Crawford County Health Department. Her heart nearly jumped in her chest. That was fast. Good news or bad? She had to resist the urge to check the voice message. She’d do it during the break. She looked behind her, one hand on the doorjamb to the art room, feeling like she was straddling two worlds.
Beck walked away. The kids in the classroom and the message regarding her impulsive job application waited on the other side.
Ashni walked back inside her classroom and kicked the door shut with her foot.
Chapter Seven
Beck dipped a tortilla chip into the fresh, house-made salsa and crunched down. He’d been to hundreds of Mexican restaurants during his travels. Rosita’s was in his top three—maybe number one because it was local, like he was. A
lmost. But that feeling of belonging, just like the hazy view of his future, felt like a puff of smoke dissipating in the night sky.
Nothing felt right anymore.
He’d thought hard about his approach with Ash all day as he and his cousins had repaired part of the barn roof and some loose slats, but no plan had emerged except trying to understand what really was the problem so he could fix it. He, Bodhi and Bowen had worked mostly in silence. Bodhi and Bowen hadn’t mentioned their evening escapades or breakfast dates. Their rhythm was off to the extent that Bowen had even missed a nail and hit the knuckle of his thumb while he’d been up on the roof. It had been his hold hand, and although rodeo cowboys and ranch hands got injured a lot, it just seemed like one more foreboding messenger of disaster.
Beck kept watching the door and trying to not check his watch. His stomach churned, anticipating Ashni. She’d been his other half since high school. And now he was nervous and worried about making things worse.
“You ready for that margarita yet, cowboy? It might stop that leg you keep bouncin’ from spilling any more chips,” the server casually flirted. “First date?”
She scanned the outside sidewalk the way he’d been doing for the past ten minutes. Ashni was never late. Never. Her punctuality was only one of the many traits he admired about her.
“Feels like.” He couldn’t dredge up a smile.
“I’m sure she’ll come unless she’s stupid.”
“Definitely not stupid.”
And maybe that was the problem.
Maybe he did need to play this more—like this morning when he’d leaned close like he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t, or this afternoon when he hinted about Granddad and walked away. But playing with Ashni felt all sorts of wrong. And yet he’d tossed his hat into the Rodeo Bride Game, betting he’d really marry her.
Maybe if he gave her space it would reinforce that she was making the wrong decision. Or what if she realized it was the right one?
His stomach flopped nauseatingly. No. She wouldn’t walk away from thirteen years together. She was feeling neglected. She’d want him to give chase. He needed to keep thinking of this as a game—with astronomically high stakes.
The Cowboy Says I Do Page 10