Chapters (43)
- Cover
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Readers Guide
- QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
He smirked. “I love it when you give the finger to the Politeness Police, Andie-girl. I’ll pick you up at four.”
• • •
Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, forcing their presence into every corner of the grocery store.
“Easy with your fruit testing there. That’s a peach, not a tractor tire.” LJ nabbed the now-dented peach from Andra with a wince.
“If you’re going to keep making fun of my produce-choosing skills, you should realize we’re standing in an entire room of things I can throw at you. Did I mention I was a pitcher in college?”
He smothered his smile. She got a cute little spark in her eye when he teased her. Loosened her right up, which she definitely needed considering how tense she’d gotten when he drove them past city limits today.
“Nope.” He took her hand, undeterred, and folded a fresh peach into it. “Gentle now. You want a little give but nothing too squishy.”
“What do you mean, nope?” She ripped a plastic bag off the roll. “Does that mean the peach is a yes or no, Bossy?”
“It’s a yes. Now pick me four more.” He nodded toward the display and took the bag so her hands were free. “The nope was to you being a pitcher in college. 4-H is my bet. FFA, maybe. Honor roll, definitely. Softball, no way you had time. Not the way you sit a horse.”
She glared at him, and he snickered. One point for him, none for her. Girl had a half-decent poker face, but he was learning to read her okay. Especially that little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth that the scowl couldn’t quite cover.
When he was a kid and first visiting the ranch, his uncle had told him, “Horses do all their talking with their ears. So they look at humans and think, ‘They ain’t got nothing to say.’ But humans speak with their faces, and horses can’t move their faces. So humans look at horses and think, ‘They ain’t got nothing to say.’”
Andra’s face usually stayed as smooth and beautiful as any marble-hewed Michelangelo. She did all her talking with her back. Iron stiff, or easy and supple, going with the flow the way she did when riding one of her beloved horses. Right now, her back was still about two jokes away from relaxed. What was it about going to town that set her off?
The grocery store manager peeked at him from across the display, pretending to rearrange the already-stocked Fuji apples. LJ gave him a pointedly wide smile and tipped his hat, glad he’d traded out for his clean Stetson before he left the ranch.
“I’m going to grab some walnuts,” he told Andra, setting the bag in their cart.