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He couldn’t help it... he smiled widely at that.
“We’re going?” Jeremy asked him as she started to walk away. “Really?”
“We’re going,” Jackson confirmed. The withdrawn child retreated, and the light that had dawned in the boy’s eyes since they’d come to Last Stand returned.
Ms. Baylor turned and looked back over her shoulder at them. “Do I need to apologize for yesterday?”
He blinked. Brow furrowed, he said, “Why? You... stopped someone from interrupting a kind of tricky moment.”
Again, he saw something shift in her expression. As if she hadn’t expected him to remember or maybe recognize her. As if any man breathing would forget a woman like her.
“I meant for being one of the few people in the country not to recognize you on sight. I don’t watch much TV.”
“Oh.” He gave her a wry smile. “No apology necessary. My ego may have inflated, but it’s not that huge.”
As she continued on her way, he tried to figure out why her admission that she hadn’t recognized him made him feel... good? That didn’t make any sense, other than it was always a bit of a relief dealing with people who didn’t. They were getting harder to find these days.
It wasn’t until, after checking out a couple of books for Jeremy and one for him on Tris’s library card, they were walking back out to Tris’s compact SUV that it hit him. Maybe, just maybe, her admission that she hadn’t recognized him yesterday, that she wasn’t a fan, somehow made the way she’d been looking at him mean more. Made it more real, more genuine. Like she’d been simply a woman looking at a man she... what? Was trying to place? Figure out how he was connected to Tris, the local?
Or a man she was attracted to?
Get over yourself, Thorpe.
Tucker’s oft repeated words, usually delivered with that laugh that reminded Jackson that the man had known him when he was nothing more than a wrangler or a background decoration on a set, ran through his head. And it gave him the strength to push the silly thoughts out of his head. He had no time for such things now, anyway.
He glanced at Jeremy and whispered a silent bit of thanks for that moment when the boy had wished aloud that a fictional place was real.
Chapter Seven
When she’d madethe impulsive invitation, Nic hadn’t really thought about all the ramifications. She’d just seen that too-thin little boy with the sad history light up when Joey had told him about her and what she did.
Maybe his sister would come with them. Then she remembered he’d said they’d used her car while she was working, and Joey had mentioned she was a teacher. She’d almost forgotten that, because inwardly, she’d been surprised that he hadn’t just rented some snazzy car while he was here. Or bought one outright. Another jab in the image she had of the Hollywood big shot.
The big chestnut she was working in the arena snorted and shook his head, as if he knew her mind was wandering. And he probably did; he was one of the most sensitive horses she’d ever worked with, and all it took was the slightest change in tension on the reins and he was alerted, waiting for a command. She made herself focus because this clever animal deserved her best. He was going to be an amazing show horse someday, had the potential to be the second coming of What A Wave, the horse that had won the world reining championship three years running. Wave’s rider might have been Belgian, but that horse was an all-American Quarter Horse. Just like this one. And their workout today did nothing to change her mind.
She was just finishing up grooming him when her father rode in at the end of the barn. And just like that she was back face-to-face with a task she dreaded. She had to tell Dad, who didn’t likeStonewallfor the same reasons she didn’t, that the star of thething was going to be dropping in on them tomorrow. And she didn’t know how to even bring it up.
Then her gut kicked out an answer.Tell him the same way it happened to you.
“How’d he do today?” Dad asked as he tied up Spike and began to unsaddle him.
“Great, as usual. He’s going to be really something.”
“Thanks to you.”
She laughed. “I think he’d be amazing for anyone. He’s just one of those great ones, Dad.”
“That’s my girl. Don’t take the credit, even when you should.”
She couldn’t deny the obvious pride in his voice warmed her. But she couldn’t let the wonderful feeling of it divert her.
“I met a little boy at the library this morning,” she began.
“Always nice to know kids still read,” he answered dryly, as he started to brush down Spike.
“This one does. But it was really sad. His mother was killed in a horrible car accident when he was only five, and apparently he’s never been the same since.”
Her father stopped his brushing and turned to look at her. “No wonder he got to you,” he said quietly, and she knew he was thinking of how close they’d come to being in the same boat. She’d been twenty, and just the thought of maybe losing Mom had darn near wiped her out.
