Unlucky in Love (11 page)

Lexi laughed again. “No worries. I'm due back in Maine in less than a month.”

“Yup. I know.” Kyla paused with her hand on the doorknob. “So was Hayley. So was Jess. So was I.” She pointed at the glass of water Lexi had just lifted to her lips, shaking her head.

“I
know
I warned you about the water.”

Later that afternoon, Gunnar pulled back on the reins, stopping Smoky well short of the creek. He peered through the trees, down the little pathway where he'd seen Lexi disappear two hours ago. It was his one day off this week, and he'd intended to pack up his saddlebags, ride out to his own property, and camp out for the night.

But then he'd seen Lexi amble down the path with a giant Thermos and her backpack, her mind seemingly a million miles away, and he'd been intrigued. When she hadn't come back after a couple of hours, he'd decided to go check on her. As a Whisper Creek staff member, it was the responsible thing to do, right?

It wasn't that he couldn't stop thinking of her…wasn't that he was looking for an excuse to get her alone…wasn't that the only frigging thing he could think of to do with his day off
now
was find her and spend it with her.

He hung Smoky's reins over a branch and set off walking toward the path, but stopped in his tracks when he spotted her sitting under a huge pine. Her back was angled to match the tree, and she held a sketch pad on her knees. He was too far away to see what she was drawing, but he could see her fingers moving with fluid grace over the paper.

She was in profile as she looked off in the distance, then down at her sketch, and as he watched, she kept pushing a stray section of her hair back over her ear like it was bothering her concentration. The sunlight slanted down through the trees, touching her with a soft light that accentuated the gold in her hair and the curves of her body, and he knew he should go.

Yes, he should turn around, get back on his horse, and keep right on riding. Because she was obviously fine. She was just peacefully sitting by a creek, drawing, enjoying the silence of a gorgeous summer afternoon.

And that's exactly why he couldn't turn around at all.

Seeing her there, watching her,
feeling
the peace that settled around her did something to his insides that he couldn't explain. Yesterday he'd watched her stomach practically implode as she'd tried to convince herself she could leap off that ridge. She'd been terrified, at the same time she'd been trying to pretend she wasn't.

And he'd been so angry with the person who'd made her feel like she needed to pretend she was somebody else that he'd felt like he could spit nails.

Because this right here—this woman sitting in her jeans and cotton T-shirt by a creek, listening to the birds while she sketched whatever it was she was sketching—this was the real Lexi. It just was. And yeah, he barely knew her, but it was so damn obvious.

She wasn't the girl who partied. She wasn't the girl who would take on a rodeo circuit someday. She
definitely
wasn't the girl who'd willingly strap on wings and fly off a cliff.

And for all of those reasons, he was dead falling for her, dammit.

He must have made a noise, because suddenly, her head snapped around and she spotted him. Color rushed to her cheeks as she tipped the sketchbook away, but she didn't move.

“Hey, Lex.” He walked closer, because he couldn't
not
walk closer.

“Hey, yourself. I thought you were out on the guest ride.”

“Nope. Drew the long straw this week. I actually get to make my own schedule for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Nice.” She closed her pad. “So what are you going to do with yourself for a whole, entire day?”

“I thought I might go paragliding. You want to come?”

She laughed. “Absolutely.”

He motioned to the ground. “Mind if I sit for a minute? Or are you trying to escape all of humankind? Because I can totally respect that, if you are.”

“You did save me from myself yesterday. If anything, I should probably keep you closer.”

He saw her nose wrinkle for the briefest second after the words came out of her mouth, and he knew she hadn't meant them the way he really wanted her to.

“Pretty sure you wouldn't have leaped, even if I hadn't been there.”

“Oh, really?” She rolled her eyes. “Upon investigation, I'm pretty sure I would have
died,
if you hadn't been there.”

“Not that you'll be extreme about it or anything.”

She laughed. “Just being honest. But at least we got a picture, right? In my mind, I can pretend I did it.”

He nodded reluctantly. Yep, they had. They'd faked it, but on her phone was a picture that looked very much like she was gliding through the air with a big-ass smile on her face, not a care in the world.

So her feet had been firmly planted on the ground. So the flight instructor had been crouched behind her, holding up the glider wings so it looked like she was wearing them. So Gunnar had been lying on the ground with her phone, shooting upward like he was free-falling below her.

It had seemed like the least he could do, given the fact that her face at the time could have given Casper the Friendly Ghost a run for his money.

“So did you send the picture? Is The Idiot suitably impressed?”

“I—don't know.” Her smile turned quickly to a frown. “I don't really even know if he's getting my messages.”

Gunnar nodded. “Well, like you said…maybe he's somewhere where signals are bad or whatever.”

“Sure.” Her voice was sad. “I'm sure that's it.”

“So what are you drawing?” Gunnar pointed at her sketch pad, not wanting to give her ex any more air time than he deserved. Which was none.

“Just fiddling around. I'm actually pretty terrible at it, but it's relaxing.”

Gunnar tipped his head, a sudden memory leaking through. “My mother used to draw, way back when.”

“Really? What did she like to draw?”

“She used to like to try to draw me, actually. But she'd get so annoyed, because I never stayed still long enough for her to finish anything.”

Years ago, when he'd been packing to move to Whisper Creek, he'd come across one of her old sketch pads, buried in some suitcase. He'd flipped through it, floored by her talent. That's when he'd remembered her art degree…remembered her getting dressed up sometimes in long black dresses for her shows, smiling as she dabbed her favorite perfume behind her ears and on her wrists.

But then he'd remembered the desperation in her voice as she'd talked quietly to Dad on the phone. He'd remembered the constant packing, the constant moving, the constant not knowing whether to bother to make friends. He'd remembered her changing her perfume when she smelled another one on Dad. It had been sharp, musky, and not her at all, but she'd assumed he must like that scent better.

She'd changed her clothes, her hair—even the way she'd talked, for one strange summer—but none of it had brought him back, at least not for more than a night here or there.

And then he'd remembered the drive-bys—the Saturday afternoon jaunts disguised as ice-cream outings—when they'd roll slowly by Dad's new house in Dad's new neighborhood…and see Dad's new wife in the window.

Mom hadn't drawn much since their third move, but he'd taken that pad with him when he'd left. It served as a stark reminder of a woman who'd lost herself while trying to put on someone else's life.

“I'm terrible at portraits,” Lexi grimaced. “But I can do a pretty kickass pine tree when inspiration strikes.”

Gunnar smiled. “And has inspiration struck?”

“It has.” She wiggled her eyebrows, tipping the pad toward him. “Behold, a pine tree.”

He took the pad, looking at the sketch she'd been working on. It was just shades of charcoal, but he'd almost swear the picture was in color, for all of the nuances she'd created. He could see individual pine needles in one spot, shadows on grass in another, and he could almost hear the burble of the creek, looking at the way she'd drawn the water flowing over the boulders.

“You really do draw a kickass pine tree, Lex.”

She smiled, taking the pad back. “There was a bunny over there for a few minutes, but he didn't stay long enough for me to get him in the picture.” She squinted, pointing at the page. “I think I only got his ear done before he scooted.”

“Tough models, those rabbits.”

“Speaking of models,”—Lexi started, then broke off, looking the other way—“never mind.”

“Okay.”

“What?” She turned back to him.

“You said
never mind
. I said
okay
.”

She sighed, picking up a little bunch of pine needles. “You know, Gunnar, when a girl starts a sentence, and then says
never mind
, you're supposed to insist that she finish it.”

“Really?” He felt his eyebrows rise. “Is that a rule?”

“Absolutely.”

“Okay, go ahead. Finish.”

She laughed. “But first you're supposed to let her argue at least once.”

“Um, okay, though I'm lost. Argue. Then finish. Right?”

She smiled. “Never mind.”

He nodded, finding it amusing that even though he had no idea what they were talking about at this point, he was still enjoying the conversation. Then she cleared her throat, motioning with her hand, and he smiled.

“Wait. This is a test, isn't it? You said
never mind
again.”

She smiled in encouragement, but didn't speak. He rolled his eyes. “Finish your thought, woman. I insist. Better?”

Lexi laughed out loud then, and it was the first time he'd heard her actually
really
laugh, from the bottom of her stomach. Then she pulled her arms across her middle and took a deep breath, letting her head fall back against the tree.

His first thought as he saw the cascading auburn waves was that he was dying to run his hands through her hair.

His second thought was that he hoped there was no pine pitch running down that tree trunk, or she was going to be dealing with one sticky, snarled mess later.

“I was talking about models. My sister told me I should try to get one of the cowboys here to pose so I could draw him. I'm trying to get better at portraits. That's all.” Lexi waved off the words like they were ridiculous. “She's seen the website, so, you know—”

“Ah.” He nodded. “And have you approached any of the guys about this?” He could name at least three of them who'd gladly pose in the stable with no shirts, despite the fact that any cowboy worth his salt wouldn't get within ten
yards
of hay or livestock without clothing on.

“Not yet, no.”

“Need some names?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I was kind of wondering—maybe—if
you'd
do it?”

“For the sake of art? Or for your summer bucket list that you still haven't admitted you have?”

“There's no list.” She laughed again, but he sensed her pulling back a tiny smidge. He'd still bet that ten bucks that she had a list.

“Can't say I've ever pictured myself as a model, Lex. And though I appreciate the invitation, I'm not so big on taking my clothes off for art.”

“No clothes!” Her face immediately flushed. “I mean, lots of clothes! Oh, God.” She buried her face in her hands. “Please never mind. Seriously. I never asked.”

“Is this when I'm supposed to argue? You said
never mind
again.” He couldn't keep the smile from sneaking across his face.

“No. No argument necessary.”

“How
would
you draw me, Lexi? Just out of curiosity, since this is a new one on me. Can't say I've ever been asked.”

She looked straight at him then, and he felt his throat tighten as her eyes did a slow assessment of his face, then traveled slowly down his neck, his chest, right to his boots.

“I would draw you just like…this.” She framed her hands like she was looking through a camera lens. “With your hat and your half-smile…and your clothes.”

“Oh-h.” He pretended to ponder. “But does that mean you'd have to ask the other guys to do the half-naked model thing?”

“No!” she whacked him with the pad. “I don't draw half-naked men. Promise.”

“All right,” he said, an idea hitting him. “I'll make you a deal.”

“No paragliding.”

He laughed. “No paragliding. I'll sit here quietly for the next half-hour and let you draw, if you'll let me take you out to dinner tonight.”

“Out? Like, in town?”

“Yes. Like, at a restaurant, just the two of us—no gaggle of guests at the table.”

“Oh.” He saw her swallow, like she wasn't at all sure what to answer. But what did he expect? Here he was, asking her out, while knowing full well she was still carrying a blazing torch for her idiot ex. She wasn't exactly likely to leap into his arms with a resounding yes.

“Just dinner,” he clarified. “Just friends. Ma's not cooking tonight because there aren't any guests onsite, so we're on our own, anyway. Figured it'd be better than the peanut butter sandwich I would normally have, and I don't know if you even
have
any food in your cabin.”

“Granola bars and raisins.” She wrinkled her nose again. “That's it.”

“Then this is a good deal, right?” He smiled, wishing he didn't want so much for her to stop thinking about it and just be able to say yes.

She finally nodded, smiling as she turned to a fresh page in her pad. “Okay, but I get forty-five minutes of posing first.”

He nodded, taking the win for what it was, and as he sat there looking out at the forest, hearing the tiny scritches of her charcoal against the paper, feeling her eyes trace the shape of his hat, his forehead, his mouth, he felt an intimacy he'd never before experienced—with anyone.

Four weeks
, he told himself.
Don't get involved.

But as he snuck a peek at her, earning a finger snap that had him turning back around with a smile, he knew his own advice was as empty as one of his old bedrooms.