CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The baby calf wandered over in my direction and stopped at the fence, interrupting my thoughts. His big brown eyes stared out at me and locked onto mine. I couldn’t have looked away if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t want to. He was beautiful. Looking for signs of distress, I saw none. I held out my hand, wanting badly to touch his forehead, but a little afraid. Maybe he’d jerk his head really hard and moo at me and make me wet my pants.
A long pink tongue snaked out of the calf’s mouth and licked my finger.
“Oh my god,” I said, laughing a little over being taken by surprise. It felt like the roughest sandpaper in the world. “Aren’t you a bold little monster.”
He pumped his head up and down several times as if nodding and happily agreeing with me. His long eyelashes made him look like a pretty little girl cow.
I grinned, rubbing his wet pink nose with my hand. His tongue came out and grabbed my index finger, pulling it into his mouth. I gasped, thinking I was about to lose my dialing finger to Jaws, the killer calf, when he began to suck on it instead. He was sloppy and loud and had a hell of a strong suction going for him, making me wonder if it was possible to get a hickey on a fingertip.
“Cute little bugger, isn’t he?” asked Mack.
“Yeah. He’s sucking my finger like it’s a cow’s udder.” I laughed a little at the ridiculousness of it. The calf didn’t miss a beat. He was way too happy about the idea of finding some milk in my hand to worry about the big bad cowboy coming up behind him.
“They’re like little pigs. They’ll eat all day if you let ’em.” He pushed the calf’s head away, and my finger came out with a pop.
I looked down at it and saw it was covered in calf drool. Some of my good humor evaporated. “Ew. That was a bad idea, I think.”
Mack pulled a bandana out of is back pocket and laid it flat in his hand. He grabbed my wet finger and slowly pulled the soft blue cloth down, drying it off. “Hungry and messy. Every last one.”
I wanted to come up with something funny to say, to respond in a way that was both cool and casual. But I couldn’t, because he was touching me. Even that little bit of cloth between us wasn’t enough to keep the feelings from rising up to take over my common sense.
“We need to talk,” I said, sounding like someone was strangling me.
He was so close I could see the fine wrinkles in the skin around his eyes telling me he smiled a lot when I wasn’t around.
“We will,” he responded softly. Staring over the top rail at me, he put the bandana in his pocket while resting his other hand on the fence just inches from mine. My gaze dropped to the strong, sun-bronzed hand and thick fingers that were huge in comparison to mine. I became obsessed with the thought that I could shift my hand to the right just a little and touch him . . . if I was bold and stupid and willing to risk throwing my lifeplan in the garbage.
I closed my eyes and counted slowly to three, getting a grip on myself. My hand stayed where it was. I had been working on my lifeplan for way too long to throw it away so easily.
“When can we talk, do you think?” I pressed. “I really have to get going back home soon.” I was trying to choose between crying and smiling after the words came out. He was so close and yet so far. I shouldn’t even want him to be close, but I did, and that was nothing but a recipe for disaster. Up until now I’d been thinking that the only thing standing in the way of me marrying Bradley was a piece of paper and a signature. Now I was starting to think it could be much more than that.
“We’ll talk tomorrow. I have to get back to work.” He turned to go, his hand sliding away from the rail.
I grabbed it and held on. “What about later tonight?” I was afraid if I waited too long, I’d do something entirely stupid and ruin everything I’d been working toward. Something about this place was messing with my head and making me forget what was important, including the future I’d planned for myself.
His fingers curled around mine and gripped my hand gently for a few seconds before they slid away. “I’ll be working until after midnight, and then I’ll be too tired after. Just catch me after my chores tomorrow morning.”
“What time?” I asked, hating that I sounded so desperate and needy and anxious about getting everything over with. Instead of feeling like the smart thing to do, hurrying him towards divorce felt cold and heartless. I definitely had a fever. I was sick. Heartsick.
“Nine o’clock.” He walked back to the other men.
I might have argued more, but I suddenly had a really great view of his backside and it rendered me momentarily speechless. I was like a dog getting distracted by a small animal running by. Squirrel! Fine ass! I made a mental note to find out where the gym was in this town. If I was going to be staying for a few days, I’d need to work out. He obviously did.
Stay a few days? Where’d that come from?
My mind was spinning in so many different directions I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or eat a fried calf testicle.
“You ready?” asked Maeve, coming up behind me.
I jumped in surprise, yanked out of my weird thoughts by her unexpected arrival. “Yep.” Glad for the distraction, I followed her into the house. Part of me was relieved to be getting away from Mack. Seeing him made me lose focus, forget what I was supposed to be doing, forget Bradley, even. But another part of me was kind of wishing Maeve hadn’t come so soon. Watching Mack work was doing something to me. I did not know what it was exactly, but it was pleasant. Just touching his fingers brought back the ghosts of warm, dangerously sensual memories. So many of my memories were unpleasant, the kind I wanted to never bring back. It made the good ones extra special as a consequence.
“I’ve got you just down the hall from Mack. Normally he stays in town, but lately he’s been back in his old room. It saves him a bunch of sleep hours not having to travel.”
“Does he live alone?” My hands clenched into fists as I waited for her answer. I didn’t know what I wanted it to be. Either one would complicate things.
“No. He has a roommate. I suspect that’s another reason why he’s been here so much lately.”
I got dizzy again and instantly melancholy over something that made zero sense. Why did I think he’d still be single two years after being with me? He’s gorgeous, smart, comes from a good family, and has a ranch business. He’s more than a great catch; he’s . . . my husband. Anger and jealousy and sadness all washed over me at once, threatening to push me to tears. That girl in the picture. It’s her. That’s who he lives with.
Maeve climbed the step into the house and then the stairs from the foyer, giving me time to collect myself. By the time she started talking again, I was back to my new normal—confused and angry at myself.
“We normally just grab a bite to eat and a coffee before we do some work around the place, then we sit down and have a real breakfast around eight thirty or so.”
“Mack and I were going to have a chat around nine. I guess we’ll do that after breakfast.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” She walked down a hallway and stopped at an open door. “Here you are. Bathroom’s just there down the hall, and if you need anything, you can either tap on Mack’s door there or find my room downstairs off the dining room.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” My face went red as I pictured myself tapping on Mack’s door. Like that’ll ever happen. I stepped into the room, noticing my satchel sitting on the end of the bed and the troll doll on the sidetable. Good. I can call Bradley and get my head on straight. Taking in all the baseball memorabilia on the walls, I quickly realized where I was. “This is Ian’s room,” I said.
“Yes, how did you guess?” Her smile told me there was no point in answering. “He was a superstar in high school, but he wasn’t interested in doing it in college. We never could figure that one out. He had offers.”
“I don’t want to put him out.” All Ian needed was another reason to not like me.
“No, he doesn’t sleep here anymore. This room has been empty for a few years now.”
There were several photographs around the room that had someone missing out of them. Whoever it was had been cut out roughly with scissors. I picked up the nearest one off a dresser. Ian looked about ten years younger, fresh-faced and not as tall or as broad. He had one arm around a taller boy and the other over an empty space that used to have a person in it. “Looks like a bad break-up,” I said, putting the frame back down.
“Ginny. They were together forever. Engaged to be married and then . . . well . . . not. It ended right after he got back from Las Vegas.”
I moved farther into the room. “What happened? Or is that too personal a question?”
She sighed. I glanced back and caught her leaning on the doorframe as she crossed her arms and looked at the carpet.
“I wish I knew. Ian’s not that open about his relationships and things he has going on outside of his life here on the ranch. I’m not even sure Mack knows. I know Angus doesn’t.” She pushed off the doorframe and dropped her arms to her sides. “It’s neither here nor there, though. It’s over and they’ve both moved on as best they could.” She gave me a brief smile to try and cover up the sadness that had descended. “Is there anything else you need?”
“A towel maybe?” I hated putting her out, but I felt like I had Baker City dust particles in every single crack and crevice of my body. A shower sounded like heaven. Maybe it would wash away my confusion too. My failure to push Mack into signing the papers was definitely due to exhaustion.
She smacked her forehead lightly. “I’m so sorry. Of course you need a towel. In the bathroom, under the sink. Take any one you like. There’s a robe on the back of the door, a small white one we keep for guests. Feel free to use that too. I laundered it just the other day.”
“I don’t want to steal anyone’s robe.”
“It doesn’t fit any of my men, so you don’t need to worry about that.” She tapped the doorframe with her palm a couple times. “Goodnight then, Andie. It was nice meeting you, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes, thank you for everything. See you tomorrow.”
I closed the door behind her and walked over to sit on the bed. Scanning the walls and shelves around the room, I counted no less than twelve pictures with Ginny’s face cut out of them. I wondered how much the trip to Vegas had messed up Ian’s life, just like it had Mack’s and mine. I also considered how much better off we all would have ended up if the trip had never happened.
I reclined on the bed and tallied up all the effects on my life, courtesy of Las Vegas: Without Vegas, I wouldn’t have this marriage to dissolve. Without Vegas, I wouldn’t be sneaking around behind Bradley’s back out here in no-woman’s land with rattlesnakes and dust up my ass. Without Vegas, I wouldn’t be sitting in a strange man’s bedroom looking at his life in tatters. Without Vegas, I’d be dining at the private Mar-a-Lago Club with Bradley, talking with a disinterested group of so-called friends about how much we were paying for the flowers and cake. Without Vegas, I wouldn’t have met Mack. I wouldn’t have seen him sitting there, played blackjack with him, rode the elevator up to my room with him, and had crazy monkey sex with him. Without Vegas, I wouldn’t be married to a stranger in a cowboy hat. I rolled over onto my side with a loud, sad sigh and took the troll doll off the sidetable, tucking it under my chin.
So why, oh why, didn’t Vegas feel like a mistake? And why did it feel like the only smart thing I’d done in the last ten years?