He switched off the computer and closed the lid. He had to get going, anyway.
He washed his bowl and spoon and set them aside to dry. He stepped into his boots, shrugged on his coat, reached for his black wool cowboy hat—and stopped.
He’d see Margot again this morning. Margot Dunn. A fancy, pretty name for a fancy, pretty lady. He’d spent weeks wondering how to talk to her, or whether he should. Then last week she’d worn her dark hair down around her shoulders, and that pale blue knit cap made her eyes look even bluer, and the next thing he knew he was talking even though he had no idea what to say.
He figured she’d be an educated, sophisticated type, and he wasn’t wrong. She spoke all crisp and confident, and although she’d told him the name of her job he had zero idea what she did. Doctor, maybe? Scientist?
Either way, he didn’t think she was the type to go out with a man wearing a busted old Stetson. He pulled on a khaki-colored ball cap he’d gotten free from a feedlot.
“See you later, bud.” He stepped over Bear, his boss’s border collie. Bear had taken to sleeping outside Tyler’s trailer since Mr. Morse had gotten sick, as if he knew there was enough stress up at the ranch house without a dog adding to it.
His truck started on the first try. He put the pickup into gear and eased onto the winding dirt road that connected the ranch to the highway.
He didn’t mind the long, straight drive into town. Gave him time to think. Usually about ranch business. Sometimes about the women he’d see that morning. The choice they had to make. The news they might’ve just been given. Only occasionally did he spare a thought for the protestors, and then he tried to be fair. Consider their point of view. Everyone was entitled to their own.
Lately, though, he’d spent every forty-minute drive preoccupied by his fellow volunteer.
Now she had a name.
Margot, he silently repeated with a smile.
He didn’t know why he kept wasting so much brain space on her. He wasn’t exactly the dating type. Barely knew what a relationship looked like after the shit show he grew up in. And a woman like her—no way.
Yet no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get her out of his head. Her big smiles of hello. Her little waves goodbye. That look on her face when the mornings were quiet and she stared off toward the horizon, eyes unfocused, teeth worrying her lower lip. She struck him as the kind of person who had it all together, but in those moments she looked so upset he wished he could get his hands on whoever made her feel that way.
Which was the other reason he had no business thinking like he was. She didn’t seem like the type to look kindly on a man who’d spent years solving his problems with his fists.
Margot’s hatchback was already in the parking lot when he arrived. He pulled in next to her, glancing at the sparkly Kansas sunflower hanging from her rearview mirror. He liked it even more now, knowing she was new to the state he’d never left. Liked that she was taking pride in a place people were usually quick to criticize.
He didn’t see Margot on his way into the clinic. He hoped for the millionth time that he hadn’t made things awkward by speaking to her last week. He didn’t want her to feel like she had to talk to him, and he definitely didn’t want her to know how he felt about her. He understood how special these Saturday mornings were. For four hours every week they got to be friendly and supportive to total strangers who were usually having one of the worst days of their lives. He loved it. He would hate to start something that made her feel like she couldn’t keep standing next to him every week.
“Good morning, handsome man.” Ayana had greeted him the same way for the last eighteen months, but every week his face heated as he accepted his pinny with a ducked head and a shy smile to say thanks.
Margot was in position when he walked back outside. She turned as he stepped into place next to her, and he saw that her hands were full with two cups of coffee and a white paper bag.
“I brought breakfast!” She hoisted the bag, her face lit up like she’d just won the lottery.
Well, shit. She’d gone and spent money on him. Maybe she’d let him pay her back. Or maybe she already assumed he would? He supposed he should ask, but–
“How do you take your coffee?” She set the bag down to pry the two drinks out of the cardboard holder.
“Black.”
“I guessed that.” She shot him a pleased grin, but then her face fell. “Crap, they gave me two skinny lattes. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” He accepted the cup, slightly apprehensive about what was inside that made it skinny, but figured it couldn’t kill him.
She retrieved the white bag and pulled out two complicated-looking pastries. “Wait ’til you try these. This amazing coffee shop just opened near my office. The pastry chef is French—he met his wife while she was backpacking around Europe. I think she’s a teacher, now—anyway, the pastries are fantastic. This is the bichon au citron, but the pain au chocolat is also super decadent and delicious.”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he wasn’t in the business of being rude.
“Thanks,” he said, and took a bite.
Tasted expensive.
Margot was watching for his reaction, so he managed a smile. “Nice.”
She beamed, and he decided he’d eat fancy French doughnuts all day long if it made her happy.
“I didn’t know if you were more of a chocolate or cheese kind of guy. I figured the bichon was sweet but also tart. They also do these really nice breakfast quiches – maybe I could get those next week. What do you think? Sweet or savory?”
You don’t need to buy me food. The response was close to spilling from his mouth when he second-guessed it. Pulled himself back.
She looked so hopeful. Blue eyes big and sparkling, mostly excited, maybe a tiny bit nervous. As though her whole life hinged on whether or not he liked the pastries she’d brought.
“Sweet.”
Her smile could’ve fired every furnace in this freezing-cold city. “Got it.”
A car pulled into the parking lot. He put down his coffee and walked out to meet it, not bothering to look at the protestors scrambling to pass out their signs so they could call this woman a murderer before she made it inside.
He greeted the car’s passengers with a nod—two college-age girls. One of them clung tightly to his arm as he walked them to the clinic door, her grip tightening in time with the protestors’ chanting.
He held open the door, ready to pass them over to Ayana, who already smiled a welcome. The girl who’d clutched his arm let go, then looked up at him with an urgent expression.
“I’m not a bad person,” she whispered.
He nodded. “I know.”
Without warning she reached up and threw her arms around his neck. He patted her back gently, then watched her walk up to Ayana’s desk before he returned to his spot beside Margot.
Margot gave him a sympathetic look before turning back toward the protestors. In the grand scheme of things, that interaction was mild. Women fainted in his arms, men broke down in tears… Once a teenage patient was shaking so badly with nerves she asked if he would piggyback her to the door.
“Have you noticed that people visiting the clinic always seem to have a much stronger reaction to you than to me?” Margot asked.
He nodded. Maybe that long job title of hers meant “mind reader.”
“Maybe it’s because they’re expecting a woman,” she mused. “They don’t doubt that most women will be empathetic and understand, or at least respect, what they’re going through. Seeing a man come up to the car, though – maybe it’s a shock. Or maybe they see you and see someone else. The asshole ex-boyfriend who refused to come. The older brother who lives too far away. The husband who’s deployed and had to be told over the phone that the baby has a fatal defect.”
She finished speaking. He hoped she wasn’t waiting for an answer, because he sure as hell didn’t have one.
“It’s good that you do this. I bet it helps some
of these women more than you’ll ever know.” She gave him a soft smile.
He took off his hat, his face suddenly hot despite the cold morning. He ran his gloved hand over his short hair, shifted his weight, put his hat back on.
Margot gave him way too much credit. He liked hearing her talk like that about him, though. Liked it an awful lot.
They passed the next several hours in silence. Occasionally she glanced at him like she wanted to ask a question, then changed her mind. Part of him wanted to tell her to go ahead, that he wanted to get to know her too, but he shot that down pretty quick. Right now the quiet was comfortable. It would turn awkward if they started talking and ran out of things to say, and that seemed inevitable considering he had no opinion on French cooking and he doubted she was interested in beef prices.
About a half hour before the clinic closed her phone rang in her bag. She looked at him apologetically, but he raised a shoulder. Nothing wrong with talking on the phone as far as he was concerned. They weren’t in church.
“Hi,” she answered flatly. After what seemed like kind of a long time for one person to be talking she said, “To be honest, I’d rather you… Well, what about his house? Doesn’t he… All right. Fine. I said it’s fine. Bye.”
“Sorry. My ex—my roommate—wants to have people over tonight. Again.” She exhaled, practically throwing her phone back in her bag.
“I still live with my ex-boyfriend,” she confessed, though he hadn’t moved a muscle. “It’s a long story, but it’ll end eventually. He’ll move out of Topeka in a few months and I can find somewhere else. For the most part it’s okay, but lately he keeps bringing all these people over for dinner parties and—well, they’re just not my people, if you know what I mean.”
He thought he probably did, being not one of her people himself.
“I don’t want to have a fight with him about it. He’ll sulk for a week and the atmosphere is toxic enough already.” She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, then snapped her head up. “Do you want to come to my dinner party?”
He just stared at her. He must’ve misheard.
“Sorry, I guess I didn’t really sell it.” She rolled her eyes. “The upside is Rob—my ex—is a great cook, and I’m an even better baker. His guests’ hearts are in the right place, really, I’m just going through some stuff, changing perspective… Anyway, you can talk to me. We’ve been standing out here for months and I barely know anything about you. I’d like to change that, if you’ll let me.”
He blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. Was she…interested in him? Like interested interested? Or just being friendly to someone she correctly guessed spent most of his time in his own company?
Forget what she thought—he had no chance of figuring that out. What did he think?
He thought she was all kinds of beautiful, from her cheeks reddened by the cold to the way she’d spoken so kindly and encouragingly to a patient leaving in tears. She was smart and considerate and good, and he wanted to know her too, even if he couldn’t offer nearly as much in return.
Her smile faltered. “Oh, I didn’t think about how long a drive it is for you. I don’t want to put you out. Maybe next week we can get lunch, or–”
“Okay,” he blurted before he could stop himself. “I’ll come.”
She threaded her hands together in a gesture of delight. “Awesome! Give me your number and I’ll text you the details.”
Twenty minutes later Tyler climbed into his truck. He returned Margot’s wave through the windshield, then put the pickup into gear and left the clinic.
Traffic was light, and within minutes he was on the highway, trundling back toward the ranch. He sat back in the driver’s seat, took off his hat, put it back on. Turned on the radio. Changed the channel. Turned it off. Wondered whether he was supposed to bring something to the party. Wondered what her guests would think of him. Wondered what she would think of him once she knew what little more there was to know.
But mostly he wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.
3
Tyler was twenty minutes late.
Margot knotted her fingers in her lap, pretending to pay attention to Rob’s friend’s story about winning a political argument in the comments section of an article while straining to listen for the approaching rumble of Tyler’s truck. All afternoon she’d vacillated between excitement and apprehension, wondering whether inviting him was a stroke of genius or a hideous mistake. The increasing likelihood that he might not come at all tossed her between disappointment and relief so rapidly she felt dizzy.
Probably better he didn’t come. Rob’s guests were extra opinionated tonight, vociferously livid yet quick to dismiss any constructive solutions she raised to address the many social injustices they railed against. Eventually she gave up and sat in silence, sick of trying to introduce productive optimism to people who preferred perpetual outrage and dismay.
She chewed on her lower lip as Rob’s friend Luke ranted angrily about people who didn’t vote. What if Tyler didn’t vote? What if he voted for the wrong candidate? For all she knew he harbored far-right political leanings and volunteered at the clinic in some odd, fundamentalist Christian twist on loving the sinner but hating the sin. Topeka was the home of the Westboro Baptist Church, after all. Just because they stood within two feet of each other every weekend didn’t mean their lives weren’t worlds apart.
Yet her gut told her that wasn’t him. And despite every indication that inviting him to this party was a bad idea, she really wanted to see him. Find an excuse to get him alone. Ply him with freshly baked pie until he opened up and gave her a glimpse of what lay behind his serious, silent exterior.
Next week she’d take him out to lunch, she resolved as she checked her phone for the thousandth time. He wouldn’t stand her up unless he had a good reason. Any minute now she’d get a text explaining–
The doorbell rang.
Margot shot to her feet so fast she banged her shin on the coffee table, nearly overturning a bowl of guacamole.
Rob arched a brow at her from across the room. Evidently he’d also given up on her last-minute dinner guest.
She rushed to the front door, straightening her pink sweater as she went, her heart thumping wildly. She paused with her hand on the knob, exhaling slowly to calm herself, then flung the door open with a smile.
“You made it,” she proclaimed happily, taking stock of the big man on her doorstep. He wasn’t wearing a hat, revealing butter-blond hair and light-blue eyes that had no business being tucked away in the shadow of a brim. His familiar barn coat was open over a gray plaid shirt, and although his boots were the same scuffed pair he always wore, she was pretty sure he’d polished them. He held a tinfoil-covered casserole dish, which he shoved at her by way of greeting.
“Bierocks,” he explained as she peeked inside to find a dozen deliciously fragrant turnovers. “My boss’s wife made them. I had a few extra things to tend to on the ranch so I didn’t get to the store, and she didn’t want me coming empty-handed. Made me leave a little late. Sorry.”
That was the longest string of words she’d ever heard him put together. She grinned encouragingly. “Your timing’s perfect. We’re just about to eat. Can I get your coat?”
He shook his head, and added his thick barn jacket to the overloaded hooks by the door. She’d never seen him without that coat. He was slightly leaner than she expected, and she was considering how much taller that made him seem when the swish of air from the closing door brought her his scent.
Old leather. New hay. A cold, sweet breeze promising autumn at the end of a long, hot summer.
She breathed deeply, fingers twitching with the need to touch him. At the pinnacle of her relationship with Rob, when she practically glowed with happiness and had absolute faith they’d be together forever, he’d never mesmerized her like Tyler.
She pulled herself back to the present, suddenly conscious she’d been staring. He watched her patiently, without expect
ation. Like he would stand in that hallway all night if she wanted.
Had he spent the last three months silently wondering about her the same way she’d wondered about him? The thought warmed her more than the casserole dish she clutched to her stomach.
She led him to the dining room, introducing her guest as she put the bierocks on the table and removed the tinfoil. Everyone had taken a seat, forcing her and Tyler to choose chairs at opposite ends of the table.
Tyler wound up next to Kristina, who smiled appraisingly at him while Rob began serving the coconut eggplant curry.
“How do you know Margot?” Kristina asked.
Instead of responding Tyler looked across to her.
“We’re both escorts at the clinic,” she supplied.
Every straight woman and the one gay man at the table sat up in unison like marionettes on strings.
“What do you do, Tyler?” Libby asked.
“Ranch hand.”
“Don’t get me started on the cattle industry,” groaned Luke, who’d long had his eye on Kristina, but she didn’t acknowledge him as she picked up the wine bottle.
“Can I pour for you, Tyler? Or there’s beer in the fridge. Locally brewed.”
He shook his head. “I don’t drink.”
“Oh.” She put the bottle down. “Out of curiosity, is that for religious reasons? Or–”
“My dad’s an alcoholic,” he replied matter-of-factly.
The convivial atmosphere screeched to a halt. Belatedly, Tyler seemed to realize the impact of his sudden, personal disclosure, and he studied his untouched plate as rosy color bloomed over his cheekbones.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” Margot volunteered, breaking the tension as she stood up.
Other than that initial hiccup, dinner went better than she expected. She worried some of Rob’s friends might look down their noses at Tyler, but after a few introductory questions—all of which he answered in three words or less—the conversation largely flowed around him, uninterrupted by the silent cowboy poking uncertainly at his dinner. She cleared his still-full plate and served him an extra-big slice of apple pie, then watched with her heart in her throat as he ate it quickly and methodically, fisting his fork in a way that made her think no one ever taught him how to hold it correctly.
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