Page 33 of Whiskey Proposal
It’s hard to swallow. I will not cry.
“He followed your high school graduation. College. He stalked the companies you worked for, but I had to help him find out that you launched your own. He said he was tickled that you’re strong enough to take on that challenge.”
I’m not going to hold on to my tears, but I cannot cry. Not in front of Lane. I’ve given my tears to too many people who didn’t care about me. Except maybe Dad did more than I thought.
“Brooks and Hillary were harder to stalk,” he says as if he senses the topic is too much for me. “Short of sitting outside his house and taking photos, I couldn’t tell your dad a lot about them.”
The water twinkles, calming me along with his humor. “I’m glad you didn’t pick that option. I don’t have much for socials either. Just a few images.”
“I know.”
I glance over my shoulder, but return my focus right back to the water. Knowing a hot guy like Lane was looking at my inane love-yourself images? I could vomit. I was trying to cheer myself up after another bad date, while Lane was probably making a million dollars during the span of my failed relationship.
“My favorite is the navy bikini.”
I sputter and bury my face in my hands. A giggle escapes, and well, I’ll take the compliment. “It was a revenge picture after getting dumped.”
I was twenty-eight at the time. When I look back, it’s absurd how much mental energy I wasted, but I have a pattern of doing that.
“Hillary wanted me to go into the house today, and I couldn’t. How ridiculous is that?”
He approaches, his boots rustling the grass. “I’ve learned a lot about you, and you’re definitely not ridiculous.”
I twist toward him. I should’ve kept my attention on the water. The cowboy hat makes the strong cut of his jaw more defined, and the awareness inside me starts to heat. “You’re obnoxious and I’m ridiculous.”
Instead of smiling, emotions I can’t identify play across his handsome features. “You’re determined. Driven. Ambitious.” He brushes a tendril of hair away from my cheek. “Scrappy.”
My eyelids flutter at the almost touch. Then he runs the rough pad of his thumb over my lower lip, tracing it from one side to the other. My heart beats faster.
“I want to get to know you better,” he murmurs.
“No, you don’t.” As muddled as this whole mess is, I’m clear on that. No one who really knows me has ever wanted to be around me.
He drops his hand. “Don’t be so sure.”
The breeze carries away my dry chuckle. He’s got everything, and he could have anyone. “You’ll get there. I’m sure of that.”
Lane
I walk back with Emerson to my house. We cross through Cruz’s property by going over the fence. I hold the barbed wire lines apart so she can wiggle between them. Her lithe body climbs through like she’s done it most of her life, and she probably has for about half of it.
“I was afraid this was the bull pasture or something,” she says when she straightens. She does the same with the fence for me, and I’m through in seconds.
“Nah, this is where we winter the cows. Cruz and I own the fields, pastures, and outbuildings together. Our houses are each ours, and my shop is mine.”
She nods. “Do the mamas walk themselves into the calving barn before they give birth?” At my puzzled look, she laughs. “It’s nice. Our calving barn did little more than keep the big predators from getting an easy snack. Yours probably has a spa and a massage table.”
“It has a tilt table for branding.”
“You don’t go full cowboy for branding? Dad used to live for that. Brooks too. Roping and branding.”
I chuckle. “That’s fun, don’t get me wrong, but the tables seem to stress the calves less, give us a better brand, and I’m not as stiff the next day. We run them through the chute, table them, vaccinate and brand them, and they’re on their way, only slightly confused about the metal hug.”
“You really care about them.”
“Yes, but not like Hutch.” Did I touch on a sensitive topic?
She surprises me by laughing. “You mean you don’t hang on to an open cow who’s past her reproducing years, name her Daisy, and keep her in the yard as a natural lawn mower?”
