“He’s always going off somewhere for business.” I put the key in the lock again. “So, which one of us is following in our father’s footsteps, really?” I opened the door. Let it creak and snap open. So what, I didn’t get it fixed! Maybe I like it that way.
“I am so glad I dumped you, Lincoln.” She stormed off.
I watched her fast walk down the road. My anger quickly subsided, and I found myself staring at her ass. Ruby was cruel and quick-tempered, but damn she had a great ass.
3
Ruby
I was not going to let Lincoln ruin my day. I’d given him too many of my days, already. I wasn’t going to give him this one. This was my first day back in Magnolia, and it was beautiful, sunny with a warm breeze.
I gave up on Magnolia!? Discovering something new doesn’t mean giving up on the old! Lincoln, what an idiot.
Try as I might, his insults still rang in my head and I couldn’t shake them. “Augh!”
I needed to punch something and kick someone or kick something and punch someone, any combination would do. I needed to get this ugliness out of me. Blow off steam. If I hadn’t been carrying the basket of goodies for Gran, I would have taken off on a run.
As soon as I turned on to Cullen Road, I knew just what I would do to set my mind right and shake off the anger: go see the horses.
I’d told Mom I wouldn’t take the shortcut, but that was before I knew I’d be running into Lincoln. I told myself that she’d understand. Then again, she would never know. Plus, I was twenty years old, perfectly capable of making my own decisions, perfectly capable of looking at a few horses, perfectly capable of looking at a few rough and rugged cowboys without swooning or falling head over heels and getting myself pregnant.
I could just picture myself. ‘Hi there, handsome. My, what strong hands you have. I bet there’s no bull in all of Wyoming you couldn’t wrangle into submission. I bet there’s no amount of bucking that would throw you off, is there?’
I had a laugh. What was my mother thinking?
Soon after, the ranch came into view, and Lincoln and his petty grudges were the furthest things from my mind.
Rodeo season wouldn’t officially start for another three weeks, but already a caravan of trailers filed from the stables, around the riding ring, to the end of the lane and down the side of the road. In the distance, I spotted a cowboy leading a black horse out of one of the trailers and into the stables. He and the horse disappeared from view as quickly as I’d noticed them.
I stood on the road and watched for another horse to come out of a trailer, but apparently, I’d arrived too late; I’d just missed the last of them.
I’ll just go in and have a quick look. No harm in having a quick look.
I walked up the lane along the file of trailers leading up to the stables. Occasionally I’d get a glimpse of someone weaving in between them, hauling crates or signs. No one seemed to notice me. If they did, they didn’t pay me any mind.
The dirt was soft and worn under my feet, and I regretted the shoes I’d put on. City shoes! What was I thinking?
I tried to walk on the grass, but the slope was uneven, and I kept stumbling. I must look like a complete idiot, stumbling up the lane in city pumps with a big wicker basket hanging from my elbow.
I hated the clothes I was wearing, too. The wrap top was one Gran had got me a few Christmases ago. I’d put it on for her, not for rodeo cowboys.
I stopped walking and mentally chastised myself for caring what people I didn’t know might think about what kind of top I was wearing when the back door of the trailer a few feet ahead of me opened and out came a man.
In New York, I might be walking down the street and spot a cute guy. But here in Wyoming, I spotted a man. That’s what he was: tall, broad-shouldered, the sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up exposing thick bristled forearms bulging with muscle. He was gripping a roll of coiled rope slung over his shoulder and wore dark tan leather gloves, creased, scratched, weathered from use like the leather saddle he carried. The brim of his Stetson was pulled down low, casting a shadow that hid his eyes yet ended where his suntanned stubbled jaw began.
As a reflex, I slipped my hand into the wicker basket and pulled out my camera.
He turned my way, the shadow lifted from his face and his deep-brown eyes caught mine. The corners of his mouth rose slightly, cutting sharp dimples in his already well-chiseled cheekbones. He gave me a subtle nod.