A Cowboy's Touch (24 page)
“We can be friends, right?” she asked.
Was he that transparent? She must not feel the same stirrings he did if she thought they could be friends.
“Nothing personal, Abigail. I just don’t let women too close.”
He felt her eyes on him and wished he hadn’t said it, was afraid he’d given too much away.
“Strange thing for a man to say.”
“Not a man with my past.” Too much again. Who was this woman who always managed to loosen his tongue?
“Is this about your late wife?”
She wasn’t going to leave it alone. Irritation kindled inside, but then he looked at her and saw nothing but compassion in those shadowed eyes. She wasn’t trying to conjure up bad memories, she just wanted to understand. Besides, the soothing tone of her voice drew it from him.
“Losing Lizzie was hard. After she died, I decided it’s best I just keep to myself, for everyone’s sake.”
The fire crackled and sizzled beside him, and its golden glow danced and shimmied over Abigail’s features.
“It was terrible, what happened to your wife. But you can’t let that keep you from living.”
“I am living.” He was just doing it alone. Just him and Maddy.
“Most men wouldn’t call it living,” she said. “Most men wouldn’t make it a year.”
“Most men don’t have my self-control.”
“How do you do it?”
“I don’t touch.” He set his jaw. Couldn’t believe he’d let that slip out. Judging by her look, she couldn’t either.
“Not at all?” What was that in her tone? Compassion? Pity? Great, just what he wanted.
Maybe now she’d understand. Maybe now she’d stop looking at him in a way that made him wish he’d never put that rule in place at all.
She let the subject die, and he was grateful. Just as well he went to bed before he spilled anything else, before the compassion in Abigail’s eyes pulled him over to the sofa and made him forget his rule.
“Think I’ll turn in now.” The recliner groaned as his weight left it.
Her lips turned up in a sad smile. “’Night.” Her soft reply was like a beckoning finger, but he resisted. All the way up the stairs. All the way behind his bedroom door, which he locked for good measure. Keeping Abigail out of his room was easy. Keeping her out of his heart was a whole other matter.
A
fter church and lunch with Aunt Lucy, Abigail walked toward the ranch, down the long, winding lane. Aunt Lucy had offered to drive, but Abigail needed the exercise. Besides, the day was mild and sunny, and she was in no hurry to reach the ranch.
Even though she hadn’t gotten any real answers last night, it was clear that Wade was hurting. After he retired, she’d read the
Moose Creek Chronicle
, then picked up Wade’s current issue of
Livestock Weekly
, which sat on the oak coffee table. The format was boring, and the cattle business was more complicated than she’d thought. She didn’t understand half the articles but sifted through them anyway to help her understand the man she was so drawn to.
No, she corrected. The man she was writing about. The man who was the subject of her investigation.
When the fire had died to an orange glow, Abigail retreated to her room and turned on her laptop. She needed to start her column even if she didn’t have all the details. She opened a Word document and started typing. She had no more than a paragraph when Wade’s words flashed in her mind, stopping her fingers.
“After she died, I decided it’s best I just keep to myself, for everyone’s sake
.”
The way he’d said it made her heart ache. It was as if he thought he was contagious. Did he plan on staying single forever? Sure sounded like it. She admired his restraint, but not his reasoning. Sounded like he feared he’d taint any female who came within arm’s length.
Which was silly, especially since his child was female. It wasn’t as if he could avoid Maddy.
But he did avoid Maddy, didn’t he? Wasn’t it one of the first things Abigail had noticed about the pair—that there was a wall between them? Was it possible Wade held back because he feared he’d somehow harm his daughter?
Wade was a good man. He would never hurt Maddy, or any female, intentionally. It was a crazy thought, but she’d heard crazier. People got silly notions in their heads sometimes. That would explain not only why there was a wall between father and daughter, but why Wade didn’t date or seem to have female friends. Why he avoided Abigail at every turn. Like last night, when he’d run for his room when the conversation turned personal.
How could she ever find out what happened to Lizzie when he wouldn’t even accept Abigail’s friendship? Though, if she were honest, that was only half the reason for the heaviness weighing her steps now.
What she’d said about not finding a man who matched up to her dad was true. But also true was the growing recognition that Wade might be the first man who’d reached those heights. He might have hang-ups and misconceptions, but he was a man of integrity. He was strong and courageous. She pictured his blue eyes always hiding in the shadows of that sexy cowboy hat, his masculine frame moving slowly and purposefully. He wasn’t afraid of hard, honest work. In fact, he enjoyed it, had a quiet passion for it. Yes, he measured up.
She’d finally found a man who passed muster, and a relationship was impossible. Doomed before it began. Because she couldn’t have both: the story and Wade. He’d hate her in the end. How depressing was that? She rubbed her temples, where a headache had begun to throb. Her hypertension was acting up again. Too much stress.
Her stride grew shorter as the house came into view. She was in no hurry, especially now, with guilt and dread dragging each step. Dylan’s truck was there, and Wade’s truck was parked near the barn, the hood up. She wasn’t in the mood to face either of them—wanted to hide in her room and be alone with her laptop. Maybe she could sneak inside unnoticed.
She quickened her pace as she neared the truck. The engine wasn’t running, and the sound of her footsteps on the gravel seemed loud. She didn’t even look at the truck, just shot past, eyes on the front door.
“Abigail, hey . . .” Dylan straightened, barely missing the hood.
“Hi, Dylan.” She tossed him a smile and continued. She didn’t see Wade.
“Hey, can you come here a minute?” Dylan asked.
Rats
. Resigned, Abigail headed back to the truck where Dylan held a tool and a dirty rag.
“You look fetching today,” he said as she approached, his dimple making a divot in his cheek.
Abigail was in no mood for his flattery, but she smiled anyway. “Thank you.”
He gestured toward the truck. “Wade said she made some kind of noise before she bit the dust.”
“There was a
clunk
ing noise right before I lost power.”
“Nothing before that?”
“Not that I noticed. It kind of shuddered when I shut off the engine, and that was it. Sorry I can’t be of more help.” She turned toward the house.
“Wait, Abigail.” Dylan wiped his tool on his rag. “You like country music?”
She could see where this was headed. “Not really. More of a classical music gal myself.”
“Give me a chance to win you over. We have a great local band, the Silver Spurs, and they’re playing at the Chuckwagon Saturday.”
“Marla’s brother’s band. Tina from Mocha Moose told me about them.”
“You’re getting around.”
Not in the way he hoped. “I like meeting people.” She knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as she said it.
“Then come with me Saturday. Everyone from town’ll be there, and it’ll give you a chance to hang out with the home crowd.” He winked.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so. Have fun, though.” She turned toward the house.
“I won’t give up, you know,” he called, teasing.
“I’m getting that impression.”
She heard his chuckle before she took the steps and escaped into the house. She went to the kitchen and gulped down three Tylenol. It was quiet inside. Wade wasn’t around, and she found Maddy passed out on top of her new quilt. Her overnight bag sat inside the door, spilled onto her new rug. She looked sweet, her dark lashes fanning the tops of her cheeks, her hair splayed across the pillow. Abigail smiled as she pulled the door closed quietly.
She needed to get back to her article. She had all afternoon and could probably get a large portion of the first draft done. After settling on the bed with her laptop, she checked her e-mail. Her mom had written. The layout team was excited about designing the cover for Wade’s story, and Mom would send the cover proof as soon as she had it.
Abigail went online and looked for a tidbit about Wade’s past for her article. Along the way she got sidetracked by other articles, stuck looking at the plethora of rodeo photos. Mercy, he was gorgeous.
He’d smiled more in those days, or so it seemed. Life must’ve sucked the joy from him. She understood it, wished she could relieve him of the load he carried. He seemed so carefree in the pictures.
A warning box appeared on her screen. She was almost out of battery power. She looked on her nightstand, but her cord wasn’t there. What had she done with it? It had been in the case she’d taken to the computer store the night before. She checked the case and found it empty. It must’ve fallen out in Wade’s truck.
Rats
. She needed the cord if she wanted to write. But she didn’t want to face Dylan again, not to mention Wade.
She closed her laptop and peeked out the window, realizing the headache had finally faded. Dylan was rooting through a toolbox in his truck. Wade was nowhere to be seen. Maybe if she hurried . . .
She slipped on her sandals and trotted down the stairs. If she could just get into the passenger side, grab the cord, and return to the house before Dylan spotted her. She hustled down the porch steps and across the grass. All this to avoid Moose Creek’s own Don Juan.
Dylan’s back still to her, she slipped around the fender, between the truck and barn, and pulled open the door. Spotting the black cord coiled on the floor, she reached for it just as she heard the toolbox lid slam closed.
Abigail peeked out the back window, saw him coming. Then she realized the barn door was at her back. She could slip through and enter the house through the kitchen door. She made the decision in a split second.
Abigail pushed the truck door closed quietly and turned toward the barn door with the cord in hand. A few steps and she’d be in the barn, free and clear.
She checked behind to see Dylan rounding the back corner of Wade’s truck just as she entered the shelter of the barn. She turned the corner. Almost there, almost there . . .
Thud
. Her body smacked into something hard and unmoving. The cord fell from her hand. It hit the dirt with a dull
thunk
as she looked up into the surprised eyes of her favorite cowboy.
A
bigail meant to pull away. Had every intention of pulling away once she gained her balance. Then she felt the warmth of Wade’s hands on her arms, the warmth of his hard stomach against her. She inhaled the musky scent of him.
And those eyes. Shadowed under the brim of his hat, they were the color of new denim. They caught her and held her in a grip as firm as that of his hands on her arms. His initial surprise had given way to something else. Something that held her rooted to the ground. Something that made her ache for more.
Then his fingers were loosening, and she wanted to cry out her disappointment. His words echoed in her mind. “
I don’t touch
.”
But instead of drawing away, he slowly lifted his hand to her face. His calloused fingertip trailed down her cheek in a touch she felt clear down to her toes. It was tentative, a measure of her response.
He was touching her. A simple touch, and yet she realized it was more than that to him. So much more.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Wanted to get lost in those eyes. She wondered if he felt her reaction, then realized she didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything, so long as he touched her again.
His eyes locked on hers, conveyed what he wanted, asked permission.
The answer was
yes
. Unequivocally, undeniably
yes
.
His arm moved around her, then he lowered his head, tipped her chin. His lips moved across hers as softly as butterfly wings, tasting, testing. She trembled in response. She hadn’t known he was capable of such gentleness. It only endeared him to her more.
She wanted to stay in his arms all day. Maybe forever. He fit against her like he was made for her, like he was her cowboy and hers alone. She remembered his words about women from the night before. Was he willing to take the chance?
Was she? Abigail shushed the thought—didn’t want to think about any of it.
His hat nudged her forehead, tipping back as he deepened the kiss and drew her closer. His jaw was rough against her palm, and she savored the feel of it before slipping her fingers through the soft waves at his nape and straight up through the back of his hair. His hat hit the ground.
“Abby . . .” he whispered. It was a plea, and she gladly answered it with her mouth.