Page 20 of Take Me Please, Cowboy (The Calhouns & Campbells of Cold Canyon Ranch #1)

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity, the kind of activity that wasn’t memorable but filled the hours, and it wasn’t until Ansley was in her room for the night, that she realized she hadn’t checked her emails today.

At first, there was nothing interesting, just questions and notifications for her account on Etsy, and then a request by someone on eBay asking if she’d consider accepting a lower price for her small Last Stand painting, the one of its historic square, and it had already been very affordably priced.

Biting back frustration, she countered the offer and was just about to sign off when she spotted a message she hadn’t opened from a Marcia Brixley at The Bozeman Big Sky Gallery.

Ansley read the message, eyes widening as she reached the end. She’d been invited to be part of an upcoming exhibit in one of Bozeman’s biggest art galleries.

She sat up and reread the email, trying to process the information and not wanting to miss any of the details.

The show would be in just three weeks. One of the original participating artists had a family emergency and was forced to drop out and Marcia, the gallery owner, wanted Ansley to fill the space.

She’d heard about Ansley’s work through the Sterbas, who were old friends and customers, and was formally inviting Ansley to participate, if Ansley was interested.

If she was interested. Wow.

Wow.

Ansley jumped off her bed, pulse racing, feet dancing. She couldn’t believe it. This was huge. Huge.

She’d never been part of a show before. She’d never been invited by any gallery to hang any of her work, never mind be a featured artist. She grabbed her iPad and reread the invitation a third time, the pleasure sinking in.

There would be an opening night reception with a cocktail party.

Ansley was encouraged to invite any of her collectors—this made her laugh.

She didn’t have any collectors. She’d only recently started a mailing list. But this show could change all that.

The email ended with, “I hope to hear from you soon, with an answer either way.”

If it wasn’t so late at night, she’d call Marcia straight away, and then she wanted to call her mom and tell her, but again it was late. Ansley was so excited, and she wanted to celebrate, but with whom?

Rye came to mind. But then, he was always on her mind, even if she pushed him back, pushing him to the far corners which was where he waited, filling the silence and space, filling her heart with regrets. If he only lived closer. If they’d only had more time. If, if, if…

It was hard to sleep that night.

Ansley tossed and turned, her thoughts filled with the gallery invitation, the pieces she’d display, the significance of the show, of sharing with Rye.

At three o’clock in the morning, she gave up trying to sleep for a while and turned on her iPad to look at her available pieces which she kept track of in an album on her phone.

She’d need a number of significant paintings to show, as well as some works in a different price range.

She’d love at least one big statement landscape like the one the Sterba law office hung on their conference room wall, along with several other oversized works.

She had a number of smaller ones, but they needed to be framed.

She’d have to do a lot of painting in the next few weeks, but she could, especially if she painted late into the night.

Three weeks from tomorrow. Perfectly doable if she worked twenty-four hours a day.

Ansley flopped back in bed, feeling the shudder of nerves. Don’t panic. You’ve got this. This isn’t scary, it’s exciting. She had the opportunity to do something she’d always wanted. This was her dream. Nothing would stand in the way of her dream.

Maybe it was good that Rye was gone. She wouldn’t want to be at her easel all day and late into the night if he were in town. She’d want to be with him, just hanging out, feeling happy. He made her happy. Or he’d made her happy before he’d ended things.

*

Thursday morning Rye entered the family home to grab some milk from the refrigerator since he was out in his trailer. His mom was in the kitchen with her morning cup of tea and her familiar notepad which she used as a weekly shopping list.

“Good morning,” she said smiling at him.

“Morning, Mom.”

“Looks like you need milk,” she said, adding another thing to her grocery list.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m leaving after work tonight. I’ll get milk when I get back Sunday.”

“You’re sure you’re ready to compete again?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, returning the milk and closing the refrigerator door.

“You’ve been in a bear of a mood. I figured you’re hurt and keeping it to yourself.”

“I left Marietta in good shape. It felt good to win.”

“Then what is it?”

He sipped his coffee and fought for patience. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about anything right now. He wanted coffee and some quiet, or at least coffee and conversation that didn’t focus on him. “Things are good, Mom.”

“Are they?”

“Yes. We’ve a lot of jobs lined up for the rest of the fall, and we’re pushing to get those roofs done before the first snowfall. We’re more comfortable financially then we’ve been in months—”

“Then why have you kept your distance from us?” she interrupted gently, pushing her teacup across the small island’s old butcher-block countertop. “You’ve barely spoken to any of us since you came home Sunday.”

“That’s not true. I’ve played a video game with Dad and hung out with Jasper.”

“You haven’t been home for dinner all week.”

“Because I’m working late trying to get the Lewis roof finished before leaving tonight for Pendleton.”

She pulled the teacup back. “But when you do come home, you don’t eat. I don’t think you’ve touched any of the dinners I left for you in the oven.”

“Sometimes I’ve had a late lunch. Other times, I’m just not hungry.”

“Which would be fine if you had weight to lose.”

“I ride better when I’m lighter, Mom.”

“Perhaps. But you’re not sleeping, either. I see your light on in the trailer in the middle of the night.”

“What are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

“I guess neither of us can sleep.”

Rye sighed and rubbed his brow, pressing hard against the throbbing that wouldn’t go away.

He couldn’t sleep, no. And he had no appetite.

He had to hide his phone to keep from calling Ansley.

It was killing him not talking to her. It was a fire in his chest, and it burned night and day.

He didn’t know what was happening. He’d never felt this way.

It wasn’t a good feeling. He didn’t like feeling sick to his stomach.

He didn’t like feeling he’d failed her. He’d argued against the guilt because she’d been fine when they said goodbye.

She’d smiled at him and sent him on his way.

He could still see her standing in the middle of Cold Canyon Ranch’s driveway waving.

Her calm had reassured him. She had her own life, and he had his.

Rye looked at his mom, feeling the weight of her gaze. Her eyes, a lavender blue, were filled with shadows and a sheen of tears. Only Josie had inherited their mother’s violet eyes. The rest of them had their dad’s brown eyes.

“Mom. Don’t.” Rye couldn’t handle it when she cried. Thankfully she rarely cried. “Things are fine. You’re getting yourself worked up over nothing.”

“Something did happen. I know it.”

He said nothing, determined not to be drawn into this. He had a long day ahead of him and then an even longer drive tonight.

“Did you have a fight with someone in Marietta?” she persisted.

“No. I don’t fight, you know that.”

“And you’re not injured,” she said.

“No.”

She tipped her head, studied him. “Then it’s love.”

Rye choked on his mouthful of coffee and nearly spit it out. “No,” he said, after struggling to swallow.

“I think you met someone in Marietta.”

Rye was not doing this, not today, not any day. “I need to go. I’ll be home to hitch my trailer after work, but don’t plan on me for dinner.”

His mom reached out and caught his sleeve as he passed, stopping him. “It’s okay to have feelings.”

He hesitated and then leaned over and kissed the top of her head, her thick dark brown hair beginning to show strands of gray.

“I know.” Then he was walking out to his truck and a long day on top of the Lewis house, wrapping up the job so he could leave for Oregon.

It was a good thing he had a good crew, several of the men having been with Calhoun Roofing since he was a teenager, but everyone always showed up, and the newer guys worked harder, when he was on the job site, too.

But driving to the Calhoun Roofing office, Rye itched to call Ansley.

She was constantly on his mind, and he wanted to know how her uncle was doing, but even more importantly, how she was doing.

He knew all too well that it wasn’t easy becoming a caretaker, and this was new to her.

He hoped she was getting support from her family.

He hoped the Wyatts were still checking in.

It was a lot to ask of a person, but Ansley was strong. She had backbone.

She had more than that.

She had fire and light, warmth and sweetness, courage and a beauty that crawled into his heart and took up space. Considerable space. He was missing her. And thinking of her way too much.

Calling her wouldn’t make things easier. Calling her would just make him want to keep calling. He wouldn’t detach the way he needed to do, and that was the next step, the most important step. He had to let her go.

It was the best thing for both of them.

But that didn’t make it comfortable.

*