Page 43 of The Pieces We've Lost

That checks out for a cowboy.I suppressed a giggle. “You wouldn’t have a lion or a gorilla?”

“Nope. Where would I even keep a lion or gorilla in Montana? At least having a bison would make sense.”

“What, you’d keep him in your arena?” I teased.

“That’s exactly what I’d do.”

We had taken our time, but we finally made it over to the giraffe exhibit.

“Why do you love giraffes so much?” Colter asked me as we approached the exhibit.

“I don’t know, I kind of always have. They’re gentle and quiet, living and getting by pretty simply, but they can also be dangerous if they choose to be, you know?” They were kind of like me, besides the gentle part. I also loved giraffes because my dad always took me to the zoo to feed them. He’d lift me up onto his shoulders and hold me there while I let the giraffe lick the food out of my hand.

We stayed and watched the giraffes a little longer, but opted out of feeding them. Though I loved doing it as a kid, the idea of letting a giant giraffe eat out of my hand now as an adult felt kind of strange.

A couple of hours later, we had walked the entire perimeter of the zoo, taking in all of the exhibits and enjoying each other’s company. I wasn’t ready for the day to be over. It was one of the most fun days I’d had in a while.

“It’s about three-thirty now.” Colter checked his watchwhen we had reached the entrance gates again. “I’ll need to be back at the trailer around five, but I’m all yours until then.” He had read my mind. Or perhaps he also wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet.

“I know just the spot.” I smiled and instinctively grabbed his hand, pulling him along behind me. It was a short walk from here, so there was no need to drive.

When he had matched my stride again—it had only taken him about three steps—he laced his fingers with mine, and I let him. I could still let myself pretend this was real. Let it be a distraction from the reality that Colter was leaving in two days.

“So, are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?” Colter asked, still holding my hand and walking in sync with my steps.

“Have a little patience. We’re almost there.” I was giddy with excitement. I hadn’t been to this place since my dad was still alive. Normally, it would have been weird to go here, but something had changed in me. I wanted to make new associations and memories of this place—with Colter.

“All right, but if you’re planning to murder me, at least let me call Reid. He’d probably be a little disappointed if his header died.”

I laughed, thinking about how confused his roping partner would be. I’d never met him, but Colter had talked about him a bit and said good things.

“Tell me more about Reid.”

He knew so much about me, but I was curious about him too.

“We met in college. I’m a year older than him, so we started roping together when he was a freshman and I was a sophomore. We became friends pretty quickly, but thefirst time we met I was honestly a bit of an ass. I had just come off a successful freshman season and I was a bit arrogant.” He paused as a smirk came across his face. “The first time I met Reid, I was getting ready to practice and he came into the arena. He looked like a true freshman, a little bit nervous, and I thought I could mess with him a little. Well, he put me in my place real quick, showing me he was just as good a roper as I was.

“I was a cocky fuck and thought it would be funny to rope his leg as he was running across the arena. Well, I missed and then he got back at me later when he actually caught me, causing me to fall face first into the dirt.” He laughed at the memory, and I could tell right away how close they were.

I had to give him shit, though. “Colter Carson being cocky? I could never imagine that.”

“Hey, I’m very humble, thank you very much.” He feigned offense.

“Sure, you’re as humble as my hair is red,” I joked, even though I knew Colter was one of the better cowboys. Sure, he was good at what he did, but he didn’t flaunt his money or boast about it.

We were about fifty paces away from the small ice cream shop. It was a little kiosk-type shop with mint-colored paint and pastel tables and chairs surrounding it. It was my favorite place growing up.

“Here we are.” I gestured to the flag that read, “The Inside Scoop.”

“What if I told you I was lactose intolerant?” He looked at me, wringing his hands as though he was nervous.

“Then I wouldn’t believe you because I saw you down that milkshake at The Legless Cow. Besides, everyoneknows that lactose intolerant people just ignore their lactose intolerance. Ice cream is too good to resist!” I was practically squealing as I peered at the sign to see the flavors they offered, even though I knew exactly what I was going to get.

If there was anything that put me in a fantastic mood, it was ice cream. I might have been cold and reserved most of the time, but ice cream warmed my heart.

“All right, you got me. I do love ice cream, but the real test is what flavor you get. There’s only one correct answer and—” he started to say.

“And it’s obviously Neapolitan!” I cut him off.

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