Page 26 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

Probably. Dalton had been cheerful and pleased to share a bowl of popcorn. When he’d teased me by holding it back, I could see in his eyes that he regretted it. I didn’t know him, hardly at all; how could I imagine that I did?

Maybe he could see in my face that I hated having food taken away from me. Or maybe he’d figured that enough was enough.

I’m only joking, he’d said. He’d held out the popcorn and kept most of his attention on me. Which was unsettling, even though I’d welcomed it.

And he’d seemed pleased that I’d sat down next to him. He’d watched me pet Jasmine. He’d paid attention when I’d pointed out the stars above our heads doing their lazy, dark-skied dance.

But anything between us, a push or a pull, was fleeting because he was leaving. That very day.

Getting up the gumption to tell him how I felt would be pointless come lunchtime. I’d be a memory as soon as he left Snow Creek Ranch behind him in his rearview mirror. A door opened and then quickly shut. An opportunity that would never be.

I didn’t have the balls to tell him, anyway. A man as pretty, as sweet-faced as that would have plenty of men lining up to ask him to dance. To hold hands while they walked down by the bend of the river where the cottonwoods grew. To kiss beneath the open sky flecked with stars. To make something magical and wonderful between them.

It had been a very long time since my hopes had soared that high.

I’d dated a man two summers ago. A smart man. A journalist doing a piece on small-town America. He’d stayed at the motel in Chance, and for six months, those hopes had found enough wind to fly. But after that time, his project was done, and he’d been on his way.

The wound was too quick, too near, to get over easily. That man, with his brown eyes and warm smile, had seemed interested in sticking around—or so I’d thought. He’d not lied to me. I’d assumed, was all.

I knew I should be more wary about doing that again.

In a short while, Dalton was going to bus his plate and silverware, pack his bags, and get back into his sleek little car. Never to set foot on the ranch ever again.

I wouldn’t stop him to say goodbye. It was better that way. Quick, impersonal. Like a cut to castrate a young bull calf. For the betterment of everyone.

On my way out of the dining hall, I stopped to talk to Jesse about going into town. “Fine by me,” he said, as I’d known he would. “Take your time.”

I wouldn’t take my time, and he knew that, but it was nice of him to say, all the same.

As I was patting my front pocket to be sure I had my keys on me, Dalton rushed past me.

He had his cell phone to his ear, and he was listening hard. Those pretty eyes unhappy. That sweet mouth drawn tight, trembling.

When he reached the dirt road that went down the center of the ranch, he stopped and shoved the cell phone into his back pocket. He turned to look at me as if suddenly noticing I was there.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“Do you have brothers?” he asked, then he shook his head. “Sorry. Of course you don’t. It’s probably better that way.”

Something had shaken him to the point where, instead of getting a move on, he stood in the middle of the dirt road, looking like a lost thing on the verge of being run over. Not that there was much traffic on the ranch, but still.

“Say,” I said, keeping it casual, as though it didn’t matter to me whether he said yes or no, except I very much wanted him to say yes. “You figure you might want to come with me to the Mercantile? I need to get a new hat. And you being from the city, knowing all the fashion stuff and all?—”

I stopped. The invitation was already a disaster, and surely he would say no. He had far more interesting things going on than an invitation to accompany a ranch hand like me on an errand that wouldn’t benefit him any. Plus, even though the chance to spend a few hours with him would be like rain from heaven, it wouldn’t be enough, and I’d be left panting.

“We could stop by the Dairy Queen when we’re done,” I added, a desperate swing of the lariat.

He looked at me as though I’d introduced a novel idea. “I’ve not been to one of those in years,” he said. “The only one I know of is pretty gross and in a not-very-nice part of town. You guys probably have a nice one.”

“Oh, this one’s gross,” I said. “Like they all are.” I swallowed the push of nerves that made my mouth dry. “You reckon you might want to come and check it out and see?”

His breath hitched, like he was stumbling over something inside himself. His eyes were bright and quite blue, and the sun danced in his fair hair, a low breeze trailing it across his face. All of this made my knees buckle.

“Sure,” he said. “That’d be nice. I just need to get back by noon to drive to Denver.”

“Of course,” I said. The errand wouldn’t last that long, though I planned to draw it out as much as I could, because I was a weak-willed sucker for his sweet face and the trouble in his eyes that I wanted to make disappear. Self-torture was my middle name.

We walked together in the breezy midmorning over to where Daybreak was parked, by bunkhouse number one. She wasunlocked, but he didn’t know that and waited for me. And I, like a fool, made the gallant gesture of opening his door for him.