Dustin typed back:Getting there. Few more weeks.
Good. Payouts are solid this month. You're missing some decent money.
Money. Right. That's what this was supposed to be about. Getting healed up, getting back on the road, getting his lifeback to normal. Not thinking about the way Vanessa's cheeks had flushed when she'd asked about women coming over. Not wondering what she looked like first thing in the morning with her pretty hair messed up from sleep. Not imagining what it would sound like when she said his name in that voice that had slid down his spine and settled low in his gut.
He deleted Jake's message without responding.
What the hell was wrong with him? He'd met Vanessa Baldwin for half an hour. He didn't know her favorite color or how she took her coffee or what made her laugh. He knew she was between jobs and owned her house and had a sister who texted about cute guys. That was it. That was the sum total of his knowledge about a woman who'd somehow managed to crawl under his skin in the span of a single conversation.
Except that wasn't true, was it? He knew she was proud of fixing up her house even though her exes had told her to sell it. He knew she was fighting to keep her life together even though the economy had knocked her flat. He knew she had the kind of strength that came from refusing to quit even when quitting would be easier.
And he knew, God help him, that if she offered him that room tomorrow, he was going to take it. Not because it was cheap or convenient or close to Thunder's boarding facility. But because the thought of walking away from Vanessa Baldwin made him ache in ways that had nothing to do with his injured ankle.
His stomach growled, reminding him that he'd been living on gas station coffee and whatever passed for food at the diner down the street. He thought about her kitchen again. Clean counters, that coffee maker that probably made the kind of coffee you actually wanted to drink, the kind of space where someone cooked real meals instead of reheating leftovers from a takeout container.
What was she doing right now? Calling his references, probably. He wondered what they'd tell her. Roy Campbell, his former landlord in Texas, would vouch for him being quiet and paying rent on time, but he'd also mention the nights Dustin rolled in at three in the morning with his truck full of gear and adrenaline. The vet, Dr. Sarah Patterson, would talk about how he cared for his horse, but she might also mention that he'd been doing it without a permanent address for the better part of five years.
And his sponsor, Bill Tracy, would tell her the truth. That Dustin Fleming was one of the most naturally gifted riders he'd seen in twenty years of being around the sport, but that talent came with a restlessness that made him hard to pin down. Bill would say he was honest and reliable when it came to the things that mattered, but he might also mention that Dustin had never stayed in one place longer than six months since he'd started competing.
She was going to say no. A woman like that, with her neat house and her business degree and her organized life, wasn't going to take a chance on a cowboy who lived out of a truck and who might not stick around long enough to see the lease through.
The thought made his gut twist. Not just disappointment, but fear. Like he was about to lose the chance at having something he hadn't even had a chance to keep yet.
Which was ridiculous. You lost what you'd never had. That was basic logic. Basic self-preservation. He'd spent ten years understanding that truth, living by it, protecting himself with it.
So why did the idea of Vanessa choosing some boring insurance adjuster feel like getting stepped on by a horse all over again?
He took out his phone and scrolled through his other rental options, trying to convince himself there were other choices. Astudio apartment above a bar that promised to be loud until closing time. A room in a house with three other guys who looked like they spent their weekends playing video games and eating pizza. A garage apartment with no air conditioning and a shared bathroom that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the Clinton administration.
None of them were close to where Thunder was boarded. None of them offered the kind of space where he could spread out his gear and actually recover instead of just existing.
And none of them came with Vanessa Baldwin.
None of them made him think about what it would be like to have a reason to come home at the end of the day. To have someone waiting who gave a damn whether he made it back in one piece. To build the kind of life that lasted longer and felt like more than just surviving until the next ride.
The pain medication must be messing with his head, making him think crazy thoughts about settling down with a woman he'd just met. About staying in one place long enough to see what could grow between them if he stopped running.
About whether love at first sight was actually possible, or if he'd just gotten bucked off one too many times and scrambled his brains for good.
Except Vanessa hadn't looked like a mistake.
His ankle throbbed, a reminder of what happened when you got careless, when you stopped paying attention to what mattered. But what if he'd been careless about the wrong things? What if he'd been so busy protecting himself from getting hurt that he'd missed out on everything worth having?
The domestic dispute next door reached a crescendo of slamming doors and raised voices before settling into an ominous quiet. Dustin rolled over, trying to find a position that didn't put pressure on his ankle, and wondered if Vanessa had ever had a fight loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
Probably not. She was the type who would discuss problems like a rational adult instead of throwing things and slamming doors. The type who'd make lists and consider options and work toward solutions that made sense.
The type who deserved better than a broken-down cowboy who was lying in a crappy motel room having an existential crisis over a woman he'd met once.
He thought about the conversation he'd had with Vanessa about Thunder. She'd asked practical questions. Where the horse was boarded, whether the trailer would be a problem. No dramatics, no unnecessary fear that most city people had around horses.
He wondered what she'd think of Thunder. Whether she'd be nervous around a fifteen-hundred-pound animal or whether she'd approach him with the same calm competence she seemed to bring to everything else. Whether her eyes would light up when Thunder nuzzled her hand looking for treats. Whether she'd laugh at his horse's shameless begging or roll her eyes at Dustin for spoiling him.
Whether she'd look at him the way she'd looked at him in her living room. Like maybe she was feeling this same crazy, impossible thing he was feeling.
He was getting ahead of himself. She hadn't even called his references yet, much less offered him the room. And even if she did, it would be a business arrangement, nothing more. He'd pay his rent, keep to himself, and get back on the road as soon as his ankle was ready. She'd go back to her job hunting and her ordered life, and they'd be polite strangers sharing a kitchen until he disappeared back into whatever world cowboys came from.
That's how it should be. That's how it would be.
