Page 66 of 7 Dirty Lies

Noauthor.

“Whowrotethat?”

He didn’tanswer.

“And all the other poems you keep sending me.Who wrotethose?”

He still didn’tanswer.

“Colt, they’re beautiful and meaningful.I just want to be able to go buythebook.”

He’d drifted away from me while I read and now he was on the other side of the room.“That was written by my dad.I’m not sure if it’s a poem or amantra.”

“But you had itframed?”

He nodded.“It was what he instilled in me.It’s what I want this company to be.We’ve been the leaf for the last ten years.It’s time to bethewind.”

He was soclose.

“Who wrote the other poems, Colt?”There was a strange tension in the air.Something magical but alsodesperate.

“Idid.”

“You?You said you didn’t think you could ever write poetry.”The silence became deafening as neither of us moved or spoke.I wasn’t breathing and I didn’t think he waseither.

“I never had.But then I met you and we talked about poetry and you said that you wrote it sometimes.When I got home and I couldn’t get you out of my head I knew I needed to do something.I saved them in my inbox hoping you’d send me a messageoneday.”

“Youwrotethem?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged.“You make it surprisingly easy.And then you showed up...and I just keep writing.They’re allforyou.”

My knees went a little weak at that.I mean, who doesn’t dream of a man writing thempoetry?“Colt.”

“Do youlikethem?”

Did I like them?Was he insane?“They’rebeautiful.”

He smiled.“Let me take you somewhere, if youhavetime.”

I’d go just about anywhere with him right now.“Ofcourse.”

He shucked off his blazer and discarded his tie, rolling up his shirtsleeves.Then he toed out of his wingtips and replaced them with cowboy boots from thecloset.

Then he put on his cowboy hat and I about died.He hadn’t worn it since I’d been there.But seeing him now, half business, half cowboy?He was sex incarnate and as quintessentially Colt as he couldpossiblybe.

“Where are wegoing?”

He winked as he took my hand.“Trustme.”

We rumbledthrough the pasture in an old army Jeep with the windshield folded down and a shotgun strapped to the side.“This is whatIlove.”

And I had to admit Colt looked really at home at the wheel.We were on his side of the ranch, the part he owned as the current Landry.Up until this point I’d spent all of my time on the side owned by the company.On the sets and in the fields we were using forshooting.

“What drivesyou,Lily?”

“Rightnow?You.”

That got me a laugh.“I meant to act.I can see how hard you’re working and how much it means to you.Where does that drivecomefrom?”

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