Page 5 of Boston (Coral Canyon: Cowboys #12)
CHAPTER
FOUR
C ora glanced around, taking in the enormity of the forest, the mountains, the sky. Her gaze came back to the horizon, then immediately jogged over to Boston Simpson.
Of course , she thought bitterly.
The one person—the only person—who could expose her had to be her mother’s pet. What rotten luck.
Now that she rode a bit behind him and to the side, she could easily drink in the width of those beautiful shoulders, and listen to the pleasant quality of his voice as he talked and laughed with her grandfather and Jeremy.
Cora noted that he was more reserved and professional with Momma, and that he couldn’t even hold her gaze for longer than it took to make sure she was still with him.
She supposed hissing threats at a man would do that.
He rode easily, clearly having been in the saddle a lot in his lifetime. He carried confidence in his countenance, something Cora really liked. In fact, other than the fact that it had been Boston’s rope that had slowed and calmed Goldie, she hadn’t found anything to dislike about him yet.
“This here is the best view of the Grand Teton,” he said, slowing his horse to a stop. “Come on up here on this line with me, and you’ll see it.”
Cora arrived last, as she’d been trying to put as much distance between herself and him since they’d started, and Boston waited patiently for her. No one else in the group found it odd that it took her a few extra seconds to join them, and a slip of gratitude filled her.
Then she looked up.
A breath pulled through her lungs, because this had to be the best view on the whole planet. In the distance, the width of the Grand Tetons stretched from left to right, cutting up into the sky with their jagged peaks. Snow still sat on them, and Cora got transported right back to her childhood.
She’d loved Wyoming once, and this was why.
“This used to be the Bluff farm,” Boston said. “My daddy grew up in Coral Canyon, and he and his brothers would come riding out here with their daddy, back when it was an abandoned farm.”
He chuckled, the sound almost out of place in this gloriously quiet, reverent setting.
“My daddy and his brothers got into plenty of trouble, but they loved this land. They’d come here and camp in the shadow of the Tetons, and I listened to them all tell different experiences with this spot right here last night. ”
“That’s wonderful, Boston,” Momma said. “What did they say?”
“My uncle Tex said they dang near froze out here one October, when he came camping with a youth group from the church. Apparently, whoever was supposed to check the weather didn’t, and he said he’s never been so cold.
” Another chuckle, and oh, that sound could worm its way down into Cora’s heart if she’d let it.
She so wasn’t going to let it.
Just because Boston spoke in the exact cowboy twang she’d once liked, and he had the calming demeanor she’d endlessly listened to Kat tell her she needed, and he spoke of a slower, easier time of life just like what Cora craved didn’t mean they could ever be anything.
The man worked for her—or would, once she took over Silver Sage from her mother.
She had no idea how much the employees at the lodge and resort knew, and it wasn’t her place to tell them anyway.
“Let’s keep going,” Boston said. “I can tell stories along the way if you want to hear them.”
“I do,” Jeremy said.
“Or maybe you have some, Darren,” Boston said, glancing over to Granddad.
He gave the younger man a tough cowboy smile—and suddenly Cora wondered how old Boston even was. He rode clean-shaven this morning, and she couldn’t quite see through her panic-hazed memories if he’d had a beard or any facial hair yesterday.
No matter what, she didn’t think him as old as her, and that only put another strike after his name.
When Granddad didn’t volunteer any stories, Boston started giving some history on the Wicker Road Trail.
Cora’s memory stirred then, as she’d heard some of this before.
A long time ago, sure, and she felt herself relax as he told about the founders of Coral Canyon—a pair of cowboy brothers—and how they named the town after the pink hills to the north of town that lost their color as the sun continued to rise.
“It’s actually one of the towns in Wyoming not named after the people who founded it,” he said in his even cowboy timbre. “And this trail is said to be the original path they took to get to the coral-colored hills.”
“So their last name was Wicker?” Jeremy asked. He cut a look over to Cora. “I don’t think I knew that, and I’ve done this trail ride several times.”
“Yeah,” Boston said. “Jet and Colt Wicker.”
“Totally cowboy names,” Cora said.
Boston swung his attention to her. “I know, right?” He gave her a devastating smile that almost had her sliding out of her saddle because her muscles had just turned to goo. “I’ve got a bunch of cousins with names like that too.”
“You do?” Momma asked. “Like what?”
Boston took a deep breath and sighed it out.
“Oh, let’s see. We’ve got a Tex—how much more cowboy can you get than that?
” He grinned at Cora’s mother. “Maybe Blaze. Trace. Otis. Those are just my uncles. I’ve got a cousin named Cole, Ryder, North—Cash.
” He beamed then. “My cousin Cash is a bull rider on the pro rodeo circuit.”
He gave a light laugh. “And my uncle Jem; let’s not forget about his completely cowboy name.”
“Jem is pretty western,” Granddad said. “I had a cousin named Jem.”
Boston grinned at him, and he seemed so at-ease with all of them. Cora didn’t even feel as comfortable as he looked. “We’ve got Lars, and Ladd, and Ridge. I mean, Ridge .”
“My name comes from Coral,” Cora said.
Boston looked at her again, something so good about him. “I have a cousin named Canyon too. They’re not bad names.”
“Mountains and canyons are strong,” Granddad said. “They’re good names.”
“Yep,” Boston agreed easily. “My family loves their cowboy traditions.”
“They’re Country Quad, aren’t they?” Jeremy asked.
Cora pulled in another breath, which earned her another look from Boston. “Yes,” he said, his voice a touch more guarded now. “Some of them, at least.”
“You’re a Young?” she asked. “I thought you said your last name was Simpson.”
“It is.” His bright blue eyes turned a shade cooler. “My mother married Maverik Young when I was seven years old. I’ve lived in Coral Canyon—with the Youngs—since.”
She immediately wanted to ask how many years that was, because then some simple math would give her his age. But she nodded and kept her mouth shut.
Boston entertained them with more history and another story about a grizzly bear sighting from another of his uncles—not one of the famous country music stars—and then he nodded to the left. “This here is where we’re going to stop for lunch and a rest.”
He swung out of his saddle like he’d done it a hundred thousand times in the past, and he immediately moved to help Granddad down. Thankfully, that gave Cora at least a whole minute to figure out how to get out of her saddle without falling on her face.
She accomplished it, and moved to help Jeremy with the reins of Momma’s horse. He grinned at her and took both steeds over to a patch of shade where they could graze, and Cora turned to find Boston bustling around.
He unstrapped something from the side of his saddle, and the next thing she knew, a chair materialized. “Here you go, Darren, sir,” he said, and Granddad gave him a grateful smile as he sank into the chair.
Boston got three more chairs out, and Momma sat down about the time he collected an armful of firewood from the saddlebag of her horse.
Cora stood there and watched him, marveling at the quick ease with which he moved, at how adept he was to existing outdoors, at how much he’d been able to pack into the bags the horses carried.
Momma and Granddad talked in soft voices, and Jeremy tried to help Boston. “No, I got it,” the cowboy said as he crouched to light the fire. Cora couldn’t believe anyone could do that, but within sixty seconds, Boston had bright orange flames licking up into the blue sky.
He glanced over to her, and their eyes locked. He straightened, dusted his hands together, and came toward her, all with those gorgeous blue eyes on her. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low enough to not be overheard. “There’s a chair for you.”
Cora wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt like crying. She’d done very little that day, besides getting dressed and showing up on time. She looked into the depths of his eyes, imagining herself floating in cool, cool water.
“You have really pretty eyes,” she said, the words just spilling from her throat.
Boston smiled and ducked his head. “Thanks. I get ‘em from my momma.” He lifted his gaze back to hers. “And my daddy too, I guess. My biological one. He lives in Pinecrest. Florida? I think you came from the Miami area, didn’t you?”
Cora nodded, everything inside her coiled tight. “Yes,” she said. “I lived in South Miami, actually.”
Boston nodded. “I’ve been there. It has a fun downtown vibe.”
Cora found herself smiling. “You’re right. It does.”
He nodded his cowboy hat back toward the fire. “Come sit down. I’ll get lunch together.”
“I’m actually supposed to be learning from you,” Cora said. “So maybe you could show me how you made those saddlebags into Mary Poppins bags.”
Boston tilted his head back and threw a laugh up into the sky. Oh, he couldn’t do that. One, Momma would hear him and look this way. Then she’d see Cora flirting with Boston, which she couldn’t even believe she was doing.
Two, Cora would hear that rich, beautiful sound every time the silence crowded in too close.
He smiled at her and shook his head. “You’ll have to ask Cotton about that. He did most of the packing while I stressed about which horse y’all would ride.”
Cora laughed lightly. “Well, you got it right, so there’s that.”