Page 91 of Beautiful Distraction

“No, not you.” I scowl and slap his arm playfully. “Obviously,you’re a jerk.”

“Still?”

“Very much.” I nod. “Big time. I have yet to forgive you forembarrassing me in front of your brother.”

He lets out a laugh. “Relax. Ryder told me you had a nicebody. That’s good feedback.”

“It’s still embarrassing.”

“Not around here, it isn’t. We’re like one huge family.”

Maybe that part’s true, but I still don’t want my family towalk in on me having the time of my life with a guy.

“You know what I don’t get?” I say, changing the subject.“Back in NY, you were this huge pain in the ass, and here you’re this Texancowboy.”

“I’m a Montana cowboy. Don’t compare us.” He winks at me.It’s hard to say whether he’s joking or really taking something so trivialseriously.

“Why not?”

“Because we differ in too many ways. We talk differently. Wefuck differently. The weather around here is different. Don’t even get mestarted on attitude and culture.”

This is the longest he’s talked. I don’t even care whatwe’re talking about. I just like his sudden openness; the fact that he lets meglimpse into his soul.

“Give me an example,” I say, eager to prolong ourconversation for as long as I can.

“Let me think.” Kellan pauses for a moment, thinking. “Youcan legally toke up in Montana, but if you try that in Texas, you’ll get yourass thrown in jail.”

“That’s about the most useless piece of information I’veever heard.” I grin at him. “What else?”

“People don’t seem to care about keeping up with theJoneses. They just keep to themselves. You’ll notice the pace here is slower.We’re a close-knit community. We stick together. People are more down to earth.In so many ways, I think Texas has lost what Montana still has.”

“Is that the reason why you’re back?” I ask gently.

He peers at me, brows raised. “What makes you think I everlived elsewhere?”

I shrug. “Your chick magnet sports car?”

He stays silent for a few moments, then shrugs. “Thatdoesn’t say anything.”

He’s evading giving me an answer again.

“This is where I was born; where I grew up. It’s hard to getthe same feeling elsewhere,” Kellan says.

“What feeling?”I follow his line of vision. He’s staring out at the lake now. It’s so sereneand quiet. Except for the birds and the soft rustling of leaves, nothing stirs.

“Home,” he says. “The vast space. The air. The people. Myhappiest memories are here.” He turns to regard me again, his green gaze darkand hooded, filled with a past I wish I experienced with him. “Fun fact aboutMontana: we have plenty of cowboys here, but most of them ride bikes instead ofhorses.”

“Except you.” I smile.

“I prefer the old-fashioned way in everything.”

He’s drifting off again, expertly maneuvering my questionsso he avoids answering any of them. But I’ve never been one to give up easily.

“Because your family goes back generations?” I ask.

“You might be onto something.” He pulls me to him, and Iknow in that moment that he’s done talking about himself. “Tell me, how are youfeeling?”

“Good,” I say, wondering where he’s heading.

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