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The old, all too familiar ache began to build. The end of one life had nearly brought about the destruction of five more, and only the sheer determination of his mother along with Keller’s willingness to sacrifice his own dreams to hold them together had saved the entire Rafferty family. He wondered, not for the first time, if his father had had any idea how important he’d been to them, how rudderless and lost they’d felt without him, even though he’d often been deployed for long stretches. Perhaps it was a measure of what an amazing man he’d been that he’d still been their pillar, the nexus of their lives, despite the absences. That his death had nearly ripped the heart out of all of them, that—

Latte nickered, snapping him out of his heartrending thoughts. And he found Kaitlyn staring at him, looking almost worried, and he wondered what kind of expression those thoughts had put on his face.

She started to speak, then hesitated. Finally, softly, she said, “He would have been proud of you, you know.” He blinked, and she added quickly, “I know I didn’t know him, but…I know the man who did that painting couldn’t not be proud of a son who produces equal but different beauty.”

He stared at her. How had she known, where his mind had gone?

And how had she so simply eased the old ache and given him the gift of a certainty he’d never really had? He’d thought Dad would be proud, but he’d never been sure. But now, thanks to this woman and her gentle words, her intuition, he had the thought that if he were here, Dad really might be proud of him.

And he couldn’t find any words to explain how that made him feel.

Chapter Twelve

Kaitlyn looked atthe expanse before her with the same kind of longing that came over her every time she left the city. That she was here, on the back of a sweetheart of a horse who had never put a foot wrong—although she’d pretty much decided the camera would not come out while she focused on this first ever ride—and whose pace was so steady and even that she, a first-time rider, had never felt a moment of concern, only made the longing fiercer.

“I’m a little afraid of this,” she’d admitted before they’d set out.

“Don’t be,” Ry had assured her. “He’s as gentle as a newborn pup.”

I didn’t mean the horse.

She’d been a little surprised she hadn’t blurted it out. Admitted that it wasn’t the horse she was afraid of so much, it was being alone with him. Her mind—and mouth—seemed to lose all restraints under that particular condition. But she somehow managed to keep that one to herself. And was thankful for it; she much preferred being overlooked to being laughed at. Or about.

She’d known this place the moment he’d reined the gorgeous Flyer to a halt. Even without the carpet of bluebonnets, it was recognizable. They dismounted and he led her north as she scanned the breadth of the landscape before her.

When they reached the flat spot a few feet away, he stopped.

“This is it, isn’t it?” she asked. “The scene in the painting.”

“Yes. Not quite as dramatic without the blooms.”

She glanced at him. Whatever had hit him so hard back in the barn, he seemed past it now. She understood; sometimes memories of her father welled up and overwhelmed her and it took her a while to find an even keel again. At least he hadn’t seemed upset with her, even though she’d let her mouth run in ways she usually never did.

“I think it’s more that it’s dramatic in a different way. Not in color, but in shape and expanse, in the roll of the hills, the sharp edges of the stone outcroppings, and in the distant horizon.”

He stared at her. He looked a bit…stunned. Had she done it again, somehow overstepped? Maybe this had been a bad idea, this ride alone with him. Staying here alone with him. Being anywhere alone with him.

She wasn’t used to this. Her social life was beyond sparse anyway, but this had been a particularly long stretch, after the disaster that had been Professor Bates. The disaster that had shaken what little confidence she had. That had to be the only reason she was so…so…not herself. Why she couldn’t seem to shut up around him, when usually a man who looked like this had the opposite effect on her, and she was unable to get out a coherent sentence.

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop it!”

A chill enveloped her as he snapped it out in obvious irritation. She really had done it now. She’d have to explain why he’d pulled out of the project, and Jillian would be furious. Not to mention she’d blown her own chance at any future gigs withTexas Artworks.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” he said almost immediately. “But just stop apologizing.”

“I’d much rather stop saying things I need to apologize for,” she said contritely.

He turned to face her then. His steely-gray eyes seemed darker than usual, even in the full sunlight. “You haven’t said anything that would need an apology. So stop.”

She frowned. “But just now, the way you stared at me, you looked…I thought—”

“I reacted because what you said echoes my own thoughts about it. Almost word for word.”

“Oh.” She felt her cheeks flush. She hated that she could never stop that; when you embarrassed yourself as often as she did, it would be nice not to have the whole world know. “Really?”

“Really. So that’s one down.”