Page 70 of Christmas with the Cowgirl
She stifled a grimace.She was feeling a bit ganged up on, and since these were two people she greatly respected, and Nic was practically the younger sister she’d never had, the pressure was powerful.
“What?”she finally said, resigned.
“Timing,” Nic said.“Riley, he didn’t know about your finances, about the clip, until right after our wedding.”
She frowned.“What?”This time it was in a completely different tone.
“He knew it existed, and that it’s all over L.A., but he never knew it was yours.Don’t forget, he hasn’t spent that much time in touch with the Last Stand grapevine.When he’s been here, he’s been with us.Or you.He never knew money was the last thing you need.”
“He told you he didn’t know?”
“He did.Not that he had to,” Nic said.“The shock was all over his face when I showed him mine, with the company logo on it, and told him just how big it was.”Her voice went very soft as she added, “He was stunned, reeling…but the very first thing he asked was what the middle G stood for.Because it was you at the front of his mind, nothing else.”
Riley wasn’t at all sure what she’d said after that.Something inane, probably.But as she watched the newlyweds ride away, again hand in hand, she felt her eyes begin to moisten.
She reined King around, and headed back toward the house.And the image in her mind wasn’t of the fence she’d told herself she was checking on, or her happy friends, or of the overlook she could no longer bear to visit.
It was of the unopened envelope that lay shoved into a desk drawer.Proving to her once more that out of sight did not guarantee out of mind.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Miles wondered whenhe’d developed this urge to torture himself.There was absolutely nothing to prevent him from getting away from here.All he had to do was hop in the car and head back into town.In less than an hour he could be safely in his condo in the city, without that damned painting on the wall, haunting him.Torturing him.
Yet he was still here.
And no matter how often he dragged himself away from the great room, it was as if that piece of canvas painted by a man now long dead somehow controlled him.As if it had powerful, unbreakable tendrils that unfurled and grabbed him, so that all too often he snapped out of a haze to find himself standing in front of it.Standing in front of it remembering in vivid detail when he and Riley had made love there.Because for him that’s what it had been, although he’d been so overwhelmed by it he hadn’t named it out loud until it was too late.
Somewhere in the distance he heard music playing.The Mannheim Steamroller versions of Christmas carols, on full blast from somewhere down the beach.He’d always loved their take on the familiar old songs, making them feel new, fresh, and alive.
Right now it just made him sad.Because he felt old, tired, and numb.And that was something he’d never really felt before.He’d always had energy to spare, energy he poured into his work, and had been rewarded with success he’d never imagined.And when he’d first realized he’d found the actual place in the painting, the place that had inspired his biggest success of all, he’d been flooded with the urge to relaunch it, in the way he’d always envisioned it.He’d been ready to pour everything he had, financially and personally, into it.
And now none of it mattered.Because for the first time in his life he’d had something that mattered more to him than his work, more to him than the dream he’d been chasing.Because Riley Garrett was the dream he’d never dared to dream, because he’d never really believed he’d find a woman who could make him feel the way she did.
And now he’d ruined it, ruined them, by thinking he could maybe, just maybe, have both.
It was why writing that letter had taken so long, why he’d tossed a ridiculous stack of discarded pages into the fireplace at the Baylor house.Why he’d spent so much of that time weighing, pondering, and questioning himself deep down.Just how much was he willing to give up, to have Riley in his life?The honest answer, when he’d finally faced it, had been simple, yet shocking.
Everything.
And standing here looking at that place, so vividly captured by the American hero who had given up even his life, he knew gut deep that he meant it.This woman he’d known a little over a month, had changed him in some deep, fundamental way he’d never known was possible.And because he’d let his enthusiasm for an idea run away with him, he’d ruined it.Ruined them.Because he didn’t hold out much hope that, no matter how much of his heart and soul he’d poured into that letter, it would change anything.Maybe fate had decided all his luck would be professional, not personal.Maybe this was the price he had to pay, for having a life free of the kind of agony Jackson had suffered with Leah’s death, that Jackson’s sister Trista had suffered with the death of her husband, that Tucker had borne nearly being crushed by that rodeo bull.Maybe—
The knock on the door was short, sharp, but definite.It startled him out of his unpleasant reverie.One of the neighbors, perhaps.Every once in a while somebody would get seized by the spirit of the season and trek up and down the beach handing out whatever struck their fancy that year.He was in no mood, but there was no way to hide that he was here.Or someone was, anyway.That was the problem with places that had walls of windows to take advantage of the view outside—it also opened you up to peepers looking in.
He went to the door, steeling himself to make at least a civil response to whatever neighbor this was.Or maybe it was somebody collecting for some cause, counting on seasonal generosity.He’d prefer that enough to hand over a nice chunk.Better than having to make nice with someone he barely knew or knew only by sight.He pulled the door open, a fake smile plastered on his face.
The smile vanished and his jaw dropped as he stared down into Riley’s gorgeous dark blue eyes.
He had to be dreaming.Maybe he’d somehow dropped off at last, although sleep had been beyond elusive into unattainable territory since he’d come back.Some part of his weary brain realized that’s how he thought of it now, as coming back.Not coming home.
He gave a single, sharp shake of his head.She was still there, looking at him, saying nothing, just…waiting.
He reached out, slowly, certain that there would be nothing really there.You couldn’t touch a dream, after all, and that’s what this had to be.The thought of Riley here, both in this town and at his door, was so beyond absurd it spoke only to his desperation.
He touched something solid.Real.Felt the collar of her jacket, the silken touch of her hair against the back of his fingers.Yanked his hand back.He stood staring at her.And then, his eyes wide in disbelief and his voice barely a whisper, he said, “You’re real.”
Something flickered across her face, something that if he’d been more with it he would have described as almost a smile.
“Hello, Miles.”
