Page 12 of Forsaken Hearts
His gut clenched so hard it pulled a darkness he kept buried to the surface.
On the heels of that came heat, rolling through his blood in one fast wave as she moved between tables carrying a tray against one hip, her light brown hair down tonight, swaying loose on her back.
She wore fitted jeans, cowgirl boots and a black Stockyard T-shirt knotted at the waist, and his fingers tingled to ball the fabric in his fists before ripping it off her.
Fuck.
He wanted to talk to her.
If she was going to give him the time of day, the conversation had to take place here. This was the only ground he’d ever had with her. He needed to respect the boundary she set between them.
They’d never been a couple, never pretended they were building something.
Pope rubbed the back of his neck and looked away before she noticed him staring. For half a second he almost wishedthere were enough people for a round of poker, but it seemed like everyone was line dancing. At least then he’d have something to focus on besides the cramp in the center of his chest. He could sit in the back room and at least have his comfort zone if he couldn’t have Summer.
It didn’t help that he occasionally glanced up to find one of the Malones watching him. Nothing about their stares felt accusing or suspicious—they were just watching, and he wasn’t sure why.
The feeling sat wrong in his gut. He liked them. Hell, the family had done more for him than most people in his life ever had.
But it made him feel a little betrayed too. This was the problem with mixing the family with therapy. Rhae was sitting a few seats away, and she could see every twitch he made.
He couldn’t fuck things up. He needed to prove he could function outside the structure of the Black Heart, and Rhae needed to see his progress, not his problems.
But when Summer stopped beside the table to drop off a basket of chicken wings for him, he overtipped her out of habit.
Her stare flicked down to the cash, then back to him. For one second her expression softened before she wiped it off her face. “Thanks,” she said quietly.
Pope managed to nod once like his pulse wasn’t hammering.
Conversation rolled around him, and he only caught snippets before someone asked him about the horse he was training.
He looked up at Denver and cocked his head. “Sorry—didn’t catch that. Music’s loud.”
“Just asked how the training was going.” Denver Malone’s gray eyes seemed to take in more than Pope was willing to offer.
Months before, Pope purchased a gelding from Willow’s breeding stock. He’d been training it under Willow’s guidance as part of his therapy—but fact was, working with the horse had come easier to him than he expected. He’d never been a ranch guy. Never spent time around animals bigger than military dogs. But training the gelding clicked fast—almost like instinct.
Probably as natural as being with Summer.
He forced himself not to look for her as he took a real sip of the beer. “He’s coming along,” he told Denver.
“Told you Flint would be good for you,” Willow called from farther down the table between Rhae and Dutch.
He’d named the horse himself—Flint, because he’d have to find a spark somewhere if he was going to build a life after he left the Black Heart.
Pope sent her a long look. “I won’t argue your point.”
Willow flashed him a smile “I see how you’ve got that horse wrapped around your finger.”
He got lured into a longer conversation with Denver and his brother Colt about whether or not he planned to take Flint to auction or sell the horse back to their sister.
Willow leaned forward, talking across two more of her brothers to join in. “I can’t wait to see what you and Flint do at auction. You worked hard to get here. But if you change your mind, I’d love to have Flint back anytime.”
“We’ll see.” He pushed away from the table before he could get sucked into more discussions, excusing himself in a mutter. Nobody stopped him.
Skirting around the tables, he settled into awareness of his surroundings. The song had switched to a slow one, and couples glided around the floor, locked in each other’s arms. He avoided looking at them as he cut straight toward the bar. On the waypast, he spotted one of the regulars sitting alone with a burger basket and a beer.
The guy rolled through town every month or two on business, from what Pope gathered. Older, friendly enough and harmless-looking.
