Travis

Apparently, she wasn’t thrilled with being compared to … anything, let alone an ice cream. “Not the ice cream,” I corrected. “The flower. Your eyes are the same blue as a desert bluebell flower. It’s what I first noticed. Out there on the road the other evening.”

As I stood there, lost again in those eyes, they flashed with something that might have been irritation or arousal, or maybe something else. I wish I knew which, but before I could discern, she was moving off.

I caught her hand and tugged her closer. “Hey, it’s just a nickname. I won’t use it again.”

“No, no, it’s okay. You can call me whatever you want. If I don’t like it, I won’t answer. I was just thinking about how much energy you’re gonna take.” She shot him a considering look. “And I’m trying to figure out if it’s sweet that you compared my eyes to a wildflower or disturbing that you know the name of one.”

Self-consciousness was an unfamiliar feeling, made me itch between my shoulder blades. “I know the names of a lot of wildflowers,” I admitted, fighting the need to squirm the itch away. “My mom liked flowers. She spent a lot of time teaching me and Grant about things other than cattle.”

“She sounds amazing.”

“She was. She’d have liked you.” When Christine raised a disbelieving eyebrow, I nodded. “She would have liked your independence and admired your… spirit.”

Christine laughed. “I guess spirit’s one way of putting it.” With a pointed look at his hand on her arm, she added, “If you want to eat, you’d best let go.”

Oh, I wanted to eat, all right, but it wasn’t food on my mind. Reluctantly, I slid my fingers along her palm, lingering where our fingertips met. She drew a sharp breath as I dropped her hand, and I smiled. When she ambled off toward the kitchen, I unabashedly followed her smooth sensuous walk with my eyes. Hell yeah, it was going to be fun. When was the last time I’d allowed myself anything solely for pleasure?

And how would Christine do in the city? The thought was a mood-killer and I frowned. Did I really want to go back? Maybe it was time to stop doggedly pursuing a dream that was proving too elusive.

I pushed back the thoughts that dampened the moment and looked around the bar. Being nearly deserted gave it a different feel from the evening before. I wandered over to her computer. An expensive digital camera sat next to it, connected by a thin white cord. I didn’t know what I expected to find. Maybe she was just doing the weekly accounting or balancing her checkbook. When I looked at the screen, though, I was immediately grabbed by the photo of a group of bison trekking single-file across a valley.

Technically, it was a good photo. Artistically, it was great. A still picture, yet it conveyed a sense of unrelenting lumbering forward. Curious, I rolled the mouse over the album, bringing up the next picture, a close-up of a bison in profile, lazy and unconcerned. I flipped through image after image, prairie dogs playing, a mother moose and her twins, black bears, grizzly bears, foxes, coyotes, rock formations, cloud formations, dead trees, budding trees, snow-kissed mountains, and a powerful red sunset over Diamondback Bluffs.

The pictures pulled me in. The pieces of home I’d missed. Over and over her images captured the Wyoming I’d once described to someone else with the hope of one day bringing her home with me. Once again past and present began a battle centered in the region of my heart, and I considered making my excuses and leaving. Instead I clicked the mouse on the next picture.

Then the next.

I was so caught up in the images, I didn’t notice Christine’s return until she spoke. “House specialty burgers and fries coming up.”

Heat swamped my face and I slowly turned away from the computer, expecting to see anger or at least irritation. Instead, she was setting up the table for our meal, completely unconcerned about my snooping.

I gestured toward the computer. “Sorry. I should have asked.”

A gentle smile curved her lips, and her eyes, those amazing eyes, glittered with humor. “If it was something personal, I would have turned off the computer. They’re just pictures from my rides with Cloud. I was wondering about framing some of them. Still a few bare spots on the walls.”

I took a moment to study the bar’s framed pictures I’d seen, but hardly paid attention to, the evening before. “Those are yours?”

“They are,” she acknowledged ruefully. Then she shrugged. “Just a few personal impressions of the area since I moved here.”

“A woman of many talents.” It didn’t seem quite the right time to ask what other talents might be in her repertoire, but my body reacted to the fleeting thought. “They’re really good. They remind me of everything I missed while I was away. Do you sell many?”

Her hands stilled in the middle of arranging silverware. She blinked a couple of times in surprise. “That’d be a no, since they aren’t for sale. They’re just something I play around with.”

Her tinkling laughter tiptoed across the air between us and settled against my ears with a little sigh. “I’d buy them.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud until she chuckled.

“Just tell me which ones you like and they’re yours.”

I found myself grinning along with her as she told outrageous stories about shooting the photos. I rolled the mouse over another album, surprised when I found pictures of wild mustangs. She had caught them running, grazing, with foals. There was even a series of photos illustrating a disagreement between two stallions.

“I know where this is,” I said, lightly tapping the screen with a forefinger. “This is Hawk MC high pasture.” I frowned. “We got mustangs running there?”

She shrugged. “Apparently. At least they were there last week. I wanted to stay longer, but it’s a long ride and Cloud was getting ornery.”

I snorted. “When isn’t that horse ornery?”

“He’s a good horse,” she insisted.

“He tried to take a bite out of me.” I chuckled then related my experience mucking stalls.

* * *

Christine

“He… might be a little touchy,” I admitted. Why did I have to feel so damn defensive? Better to change the subject. “Anyway, I want to go back to see the mustangs. But I’m afraid of Cloud starting trouble with the bay stallion.” I stopped talking when I noticed Trav had stopped going through my photo albums and was sitting, chin propped on one hand, watching me as though entranced.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked.

“Not a lot,” I drawled. “What are you doing tonight?”

He just stared.

Really, the look on his face was comical. Like he couldn’t believe his luck and then suddenly realized he’d left his only condom at home in his other pair of jeans.

“Relax, Cowboy, I’m not inviting you up to my room.”

Yet.

“Okay.” His voice sounded a bit strangled.

I laughed. “Saturday crowd here’s usually pretty fun. And it’s the first Saturday of the month.”

He angled a look at me. “What happens the first Saturday of the month?” A slow smile tugged at my lips.

He’d see… if he showed up.