Page 23 of Dust and Desire
Dustin followed my gaze, and something in his expression softened. “It is beautiful. I never get tired of the sunsets out here. They’re nothing like the ones in the city.”
“Too many buildings blocking the view?”
“That, and too much light pollution after dark. You can barely see the stars.” He took a bite of brisket, closing his eyes briefly as he savored it. “God, Beau really knows what he’s doing. This is incredible.”
I watched him eat, noting the way his whole body seemed to unwind with each bite. When was the last time someone had brought him a meal? When was the last time he’d shared dinner with another person? Clearly, he could feed himself, but I knew how I could be when I was too alone. Sometimes I just forgot about food entirely.
“So,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, “what were you working on when I knocked? I saw your laptop open.”
His fork paused midway to his mouth. “Oh, that. It’s... nothing really. Just some thoughts I was trying to get down.”
“Writing thoughts or lawyer thoughts?”
“Writing, I suppose. Though I’m not sure it qualifies as writing when you spend two hours staring at a blank page.”
I leaned forward slightly. “What kind of writing?”
He set down his fork, running a hand through his already-tousled hair. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I keep thinking I have something to say, but when I sit down to say it...” He shrugged helplessly.
“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” I suggested. “Sometimes the best things come when you’re not forcing them.”
“Spoken like someone who’s never tried to write,” he said with a wry smile.
“Actually, I keep a journal,” I admitted, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Nothing fancy, just... thoughts about places I’ve been, people I’ve met. Things I don’t want to forget.”
Dustin looked up at me with surprise, those blue eyes widening slightly. “You keep a journal?”
“Don’t look so shocked,” I chuckled. “Even cowboys have thoughts.”
A hint of a blush colored his cheeks. “I didn’t mean?—”
“I know,” I said gently. “Just teasing you.”
He ducked his head, focusing on his food again. “So, what do you write about? In your journal, I mean.”
I considered the question, watching as the last rays of sunlight filtered through his window, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. “Everythin’, really. I move around a lot, so I journal about the ranches I’ve worked on. The people I’ve met along the way. The horses I’ve trained.” I paused, then added more softly, “The men I’ve loved and left behind.”
His eyes flicked up to mine, holding my gaze for a beat longer than necessary before dropping again. “Sounds like you’ve had quite a life.”
“Not really,” I shrugged. “Just a restless one.”
“Is that why you move around so much? Restlessness?”
I leaned back in my chair, studying him. “Something like that. What about you? What brought you to Sagebrush? It’s a long way from New York.”
“I came here to save the ranch.”
I raised an eyebrow in his direction. “The real reason you came here,” I corrected. “Nobody just leaves the city and their entire life on a whim.”
Dustin set down his fork, his plate half-empty. “It’s... complicated.”
“I’ve got time,” I said, nodding toward the darkening sky outside. “And nowhere to be.”
He was quiet for a long moment, and I worried I’d pushed too far. But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.
“I needed somewhere quiet,” he said finally. “Somewhere I could... figure things out.”
“And have you? Figured things out?”
