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Page 26 of Small Town Hero

W hen they got back to the truck, she was still mulling over what she was supposed to say about that. When they got in the truck, he handed her the gloves, and she clutched them tightly, pressing them down into her lap.

“Feels like the kind of day to maybe just go for a ride,” he said.

“What?”

“Yeah. We’ve both been working really hard. Don’t you think?”

“I guess so. But you know, ranch work is never done and all of that.”

“It never is. Which is why sometimes you have to take a break. Not that my dad ever would’ve thought that.”

“He sounds like an interesting guy.”

“He was.”

She looked down at the gloves and rubbed her thumb over the top of them. She thought about the time Gunnar had touched her hand. Then she swallowed hard, trying to push that memory aside.

“Well, I would love that. If I could ride Pegasus.”

“Alfalfa Sprout?”

“I said what I said.” She shot him her cheesiest grin.

“Why do you like that name so much?”

“Because Pegasus is just like me. A horse that has wings, and it’s going to fly away.”

“Still intent on flying away?”

Her eyes caught his, and something felt strange in her chest. She couldn’t say that she had ever thought the town of Sisters felt much like home.

But there was something about his eyes that felt like home, and as soon as she had that thought, she wanted to push it away.

As soon as she had that thought, she wanted to never have it again.

Another person couldn’t be home. That was ridiculous.

And far too much weight to put on another soul.

“She doesn’t respond to her name. If you want to call her Pegasus, you can.”

Pink gloves and Pegasus. He really was just a little bit too much.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“You keep asking me that. You keep acting like you don’t deserve decent treatment. Like you aren’t worthy of it. Why do you think that?”

“You know why. It’s the same reason that you instantly went after me that first day, so don’t act like you don’t know.”

“It took me all of ten minutes to realize there was more to your story than I ever fully realized.”

“Well, it’s just weird. Because nobody is nice to me. Nobody.”

“Well, people are pretty nice to me. Polite, anyway. But I’ve realized something over the past week. I don’t really talk to anybody. I have acquaintances, but I don’t have any friends. I thought maybe we were starting to become friends, Birdie.”

That word burned through her. She wanted it. She wanted it desperately. And yet, she also wanted something more. Which was unfair, and completely . . . unimaginable.

Except, she was beginning to imagine it.

But she had to stop.

She wasn’t a romantic by nature.

Sure, she liked men. She found them attractive. But there was nothing romantic in that.

Never had been, not for her.

When they got back to the ranch, she squirreled her gloves away in her room, and then met him down at the stable, where he already had the horses prepared to go.

“I packed us some sandwiches.”

“You really do think of everything.”

“Not naturally. But it’s kind of nice to have somebody else to think about. I’ve been . . . It’s been a lonely year.”

Hearing him say that, seeing this mountain of a man display a little bit of vulnerability, made her chest feel tight.

“Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. Grief is a little bit too familiar to me. Though I’m used to old grief.

I’m used to missing something I can barely remember.

It’s hard. You know, I think there were a lot of things I should’ve said to my dad.

But I didn’t know what they were until it was too late.

I didn’t realize I was missing certain things until he was gone, and now it’s too late. ”

“That’s rough.” She meant it.

The corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Thanks.”

“I’ve never taken the time to grieve for anything. Or anyone, really. Of course, everyone in my terrible family is still alive, and how fair is that? My mother is off somewhere doing whatever the hell she wants to do, and my father is right next door. For all the good he does me.”

He got up on the back of his horse, and she followed suit, mounting up and feeling a sense of freedom as she urged Pegasus forward.

“Just different versions of not having the family we ought to, right?”

“I expect so.”

He urged his horse up a narrow trail that was surrounded by thick berry vines and lava rock. She went along after him.

“When did you first realize that you weren’t normal?” She had always wondered if other people ever had those sorts of revelations. She had always wondered if she was alone.

“Pardon?” He looked over his shoulder, and her stomach did a little dip as she took in the view of his strong profile, his square jaw, the way that cream-colored cowboy hat cast a shadow over his face. Artful. Just like the landscape itself.

“You know. When did you first realize that your house didn’t look like everybody else’s.”

He made a short sound in the back of his throat.

“I can’t say that I recall. Just . . . all right, I remember one time when I was in fourth grade I went over to a friend’s house, and his mom was there when we got home from school.

I’d been over to people’s houses before.

I’d been to his house, but for some reason her being there and taking our coats and backpacks when we walked in the door .

. . I just wondered if all moms did that.

I never had before. I’d never wondered. But then I did.

And it felt so . . . It hurt, hit me right in the chest. I realized I just didn’t have that.

And then I started noticing every time I went to someone else’s house.

The things their moms did. How soft the moms were with them.

And my dad could never . . .” His shoulders rose and fell.

“That was actually the worst thing. One time after a Little League game, when we lost terribly and were all really upset, one of my friends’ dads came over and pulled him in for a big hug.

And my friend was crying a little bit but trying not to.

His dad comforted him. Mine just . . . stood there.

And I knew I could never show sadness that way. ”

“That sounds really lonely. I’m sorry.”

“It was. It’s been . . .” He shook his head. “I’m not going to be all self-pitying. I admire your attitude, actually.”

“Well, as a defense mechanism, it definitely keeps the momentum going.”

“When did you first realize you were weird, Birdie?”

“Oh, a friend of mine invited me over, and about the third time in a row I went over there she said it was rude that I had never invited her to my place. I guess her mom had said it wasn’t right that we hadn’t invited her over.

But I thought about it . . . The idea of my friend coming to my house filled me with a sense of dread.

I didn’t want her to go over there. Because my house was dirty and messy and my dad was mean.

He wasn’t going to feed us. Hell, there was probably nothing but beer in the fridge.

I wanted to go to her house, where it felt safe and there was something to eat. ”

“Did you tell her that?”

“No. I told her I didn’t want to be her friend anymore, and I never hung out with her again.

Because I realized how weird my life was, and I didn’t want her to know it.

Not ever. So I just got angry. Started a fight.

And that was basically . . . formative.” She laughed a little bit in spite of herself.

“I never met someone I couldn’t double down on.

That was what I was trying to do when you caught me.

I just kept thinking that as long as I didn’t let on that I was caught, maybe things could still go my way.

I just . . . Fighting to the end, that’s what I’m good at.

But I’m not good at letting anyone close.

Because I could have. I could’ve told her that my house wasn’t a safe place to be. But I would’ve rather chewed on rocks.”

“Yeah, it’s hard,” he said. “Realizing that your life isn’t the same as everybody else’s.

I’m glad you asked me that, because I hadn’t thought about it in a long time.

Honestly, I never think about things like that.

But it . . . it shapes you, doesn’t it? Kind of determines how you’re going to live the whole rest of your life. Unless you stop and try to change it.”

“Right. And I certainly never did. I just kept on fighting.” She blinked and tried to pay attention to the scenery. At the trees around them, and the way the sunlight filtered through the leaves.

They rounded a curve in the trail and came out of the trees. A whole valley lay right before them, a grand display of striped rocks comprising granite and quartz, with pine trees and lava rock dotting the landscape.

Her breath caught.

“Seems like a good spot to take a break,” he said.

He got down from his horse, but she was too busy staring at the view. She didn’t notice that he was standing right beside her until he touched her lower back.

She jumped. Electricity skittered up her spine.

She looked down at him, and their eyes caught, and she was sure that she saw that same something she had noticed earlier. That something he had hidden as quickly as it appeared. He didn’t hide it quite as quickly this time.

He reached up, hand held out her. “Just going to help you down.”

“I can get off the horse myself,” she said.

“I’m being a gentleman.”

“A gentleman?” She reached her hand out. “Never met one.”

Then he wrapped his fingers around hers, and she felt as if she had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

As electric as it had been to make contact with his skin that first night when they’d shaken hands, this was different. The feeling was layered with all the days she had known him now. Not just known of him, not just spoken to him in passing, but really known him.

It felt heavy with the connection they had forged.

It felt . . .

She couldn’t breathe.