“Huh. I had it figured for something different.”
I leaned forward so I could see his face better. “Such as?”
“Oh, you know. Ex-boyfriend broke your heart but left you with a passion for working on engines or something.”
“Nope. That would be why I left Oklahoma.”
He flicked his eyes to me. “You just said you were homesick.”
“No… well, yes. I meant the second time I left. I was working my first mechanic job after school when I reconnected with Owen. He was the son of someone high up, you know how that goes, and he got them to offer me a job with the Miss Rodeo organization. It was a great job. Lots of opportunities for advancement, and it paid well. My parents encouraged me to take it.”
“There’s a ‘but’ in there, isn’t there?”
“Yeah. Owen wanted a piece of arm candy that didn’t think or talk for herself. And he wasn’t too choosy, either. One was as good as another.” I rested my chin on my fist and gazed out the window. “When he got mixed up and came to pick me up for an event he hadn’t invited me to, I got a clue. And then Mom… You know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload all my woes on you.”
“No, keep talking. I like hearing about you. And for the record, Owen is a loser.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m with you. Best move I ever made was leaving Oklahoma when I did.”
He nodded. “That’s how I’m starting to feel about California.”
“Yeah? Why?”
His mouth worked, and then he squinted at me. “Not much to tell. I just like it better here.”
I watched his face for a few seconds, then looked away. I’d hoped to learn a little about him—where he’d grown up, why he chose to settle in our town, what he wanted out of life. I guessed that would have to wait till he got more comfortable. I went back to admiring the truck just to take my eyes off him, and something caught my notice.
“Hey, what’s this?” I asked. A worn leather-bound journal was stuffed in a side pocket, right where it could be picked up easily. I figured it was ranch stats or mileage records or something, but the broken-in look, so different from everything else in that sparkling truck, made me glance at it twice. It had been used a lot, and the leather only looked warmer and richer for it.
“Oh, that?” Austen grinned. “Just a few thoughts, musings. Notes about life. You can look at it if you like.”
I slipped the journal out of the pocket and caressed the smooth cover. I could see the marks where it had been held the most; stains of sweat and probably dust ground into the leather. It was bound up with a narrow string of latigo, and the edges of the pages were feathered and soft, like it had been read and written in a thousand times. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Help yourself.”
At last, a chance to learn a little about Austen Conrad. I untwined the binding and let the pages fall open on their own.
Dusty
I shouldn’t be here.
I kept thinking that over and over, but I couldn’t make my feet move.
Why in the world had Austen asked me to be here tonight? The last thing I wanted was to look across the restaurant and watch the two of them getting cozy over the table. They weren’t exactly holding hands or kissing, but from the way things looked, it was only a matter of time.
Jess was doing most of the talking. Austen was just listening, with a stupid grin on his face. I rolled my eyes and turned deliberately away. I’d probably have an even dumber look on my face if I got to sit across from Jess and smile at her while she talked to me. But I’d never have that chance now, would I? All because I’d felt sorry for Austen.
Had I done the right thing? I risked another look. Jess looked relaxed. Animated. Happier than she’d looked in a year.
Well, that was what I’d wanted for her, wasn’t it? Deep down, beyond even what I wanted for myself. I could live with it if I knew she, at least, would have what she needed and wanted most. I just wished it could have been me sitting at that table.
I downed another drink and was ready to call it a night and leave, despite Austen’s begging, when Jess got up. My head swung around—I couldn’t help it—and I gazed hungrily after her as she walked toward the hall. Why was watching her so intoxicating? It wasn’t that she moved seductively or tried to attract attention. Maybe it was because shedidn’ttry.
My phone buzzed, and I looked down. Of course, it was Austen. I sent a glance over at his table, but he was acting nonchalant, avoiding my gaze. I sighed and looked at the message.
-I’m out of ideas.
I frowned.