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She looked back at him, seeming almost startled. As if she was surprised he wanted to know. “Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn Miller.”
“Welcome to the Rafferty Ranch, Kaitlyn Miller.”
It was more than he’d said to the reporter, and he knew from the slight widening of her eyes, those big brown eyes, that she’d registered that. “Thank you, Mr. Rafferty.”
“Ry, please. Or at least Rylan, or it’s going to be a long few days.”
That got him another one of those smiles, and he found himself smiling back like a kid who’d given a right answer in class.
“All right. Ry.”
And hearing his name, the shortened, family version, in that voice pleased him far more than it should have.
*
“It would seemI misjudged.”
Kaitlyn looked up at Jillian’s softly spoken words, clearly meant for only her to hear. “What?”
“Apparently he does go for the needy type.” Kaitlyn’s jaw tightened and she went back to selecting the lenses and lighting she wanted in her carry bag as Jillian added, “Or perhaps it’s those Southern manners I’ve heard about.”
And only heard about, because you’ve certainly never practiced them.
One of these days she was going to bite her tongue hard enough to bleed.
“That must be it,” Jillian pronounced. “He’s just trying to make you feel included, because that’s what they do around here.”
She sounded relieved to have found an answer that satisfied her. And she was likely right—that’s all it was, the extra attention he’d given Kaitlyn. Somehow he’d known she was the odd one out here and gone the extra mile to include her.
Somehow? All he has to do is look in a mirror, then at Jillian, then at you. Beautiful times two, and…not.
Kaitlyn slung the bag over her shoulder, once again deciding the doing without had been worth it; that multi-function lighting device, that she could set to mimic outdoor light, spotlighting, soft light, halo lighting and more, had been worth every penny and every missed lunch in weight saved alone.
They went up the porch steps to the door of the big ranch house, Mr. Rafferty—Ry—politely ushering Jillian in first, then waiting for her, also. She gave him a fleeting glance and a half-hearted smile; that realization of once more being on the outside had brought her down. She was going to have to marshal her mental tricks to snap out of it, roll out the self-lectures and—
She stopped just over the threshold, a tiny gasp escaping her. For a moment she couldn’t go any further. She could only stand and stare.
The painting on the far wall of the large room was big, probably nearly three by five feet, but that wasn’t what had stopped her in her tracks. It was the vividness of it, the brilliant colors, the scope, and the pure energy poured into it. The rough edges of rock escarpments, the softness of the hills seeming to roll endlessly to the horizon, and over it all the brilliant, unforgettable spread of the bluebonnets in full bloom, carpeting every spot where they’d taken hold in luscious color.
This had been done by someone who loved what they were portraying here, in all its Texas Hill Country glory.
Belatedly she realized she was blocking the door, and that Ry had necessarily come to a halt behind her.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, and took another step inside so he could come in after her. “I was just thinking that the next time somebody asks me why I love Texas all I’d need to do is show them that painting.”
Something changed in those gray eyes in that moment, and she thought she saw both pain and pride there.
“It is pretty,” Jillian said, glancing at the painting.
Pretty was hardly the word for it. On impulse Kaitlyn asked, “Your work?”
“No.”
The pain she’d seen in his eyes was there in his voice, too. Was it the artist who inspired it? She wanted to ask but couldn’t bring herself to in the face of that pain. Then someone else came into the room—at a run—and the moment was lost.
The man in a hurry was tall, blond, with dark green eyes that were obviously genuine, and added a third to the total of beautiful people in the room. And Kaitlyn couldn’t miss how Jillian was suddenly hyper-aware again.
“Looking for this?” Ry asked, holding up the drone.
