“Can we come in?”
“Uh, yeah.” He’d been distracted by the memory. Why had she just up and left? “Sure. Come on in.”
She stepped inside, and the little girl—wearing blue jeans, a ruffly pink T-shirt, and matching cowgirl boots—hung close at her hip. Those tiny boots clomped against the oak flooring.
“I hope we didn’t interrupt you,” Carly said. “I’d havecalled, but I didn’t have your number. Somewhere along the way, I guess I lost it.”
He dug his wallet from his back pocket and handed her a business card. “Here’s my number. Yeah, it’s been a while.” He wondered if he still had her number in his phone.
“You’re having a good year.”
Pride pulled at him. So, she’d been keeping up with him? “I am. Thanks.” Silence hung awkwardly between them.Why didn’t I just step out onto the porch and talk to her? It’s a pretty day. I’m out of practice.He led them into the living room.
“You riding tonight?” she asked.
“No, I won the round last night. I don’t ride again until tomorrow night.”
“That’s great,” she said. “You look good. Always did.” Her eyes traced his chin.
He scoffed.You’re just digging for a compliment.He’d throw her that. “You look good too, Carly.”
They sat on the couch, the little girl hanging so close that you couldn’t fit a carrot between them. He took the seat across from them.
She pulled her shoulder up, lowering her lashes. He remembered that look.
The little girl stared at the longhorn bull head mounted over the fireplace.
“Why are you here, Carly? I heard you gave up barrel racing.”
“I did. I’ve been doing some training.” She shook her head. “That’s a lie. I don’t know why I said that. I haven’t ridden in a long time.”
“So then, you’re not here looking to buy a horse. What’s up?”
She looked down at her fingernails, which were the color of the turquoise beads around her neck. “I had this all thought out—ya know, rehearsed in my head.”
“All what?”
Her hands shook. Her eyes were glossy, with the threat of tears.
Please don’t cry.
Carly pulled the little girl to her in a hug. “This is Zan. Isn’t she beautiful?” She swept a graceful hand across the little girl’s cheek, brushing back a curling lock of nearly white hair.
“She is.” He leaned forward. “Hi, Zan. I’m Adam.”
“You’re a cowboy.” The word had come out more likekah-boy,the emphasis onboy.
He grinned. “Yes ma’am, I am. How old are you?”
She spread all the fingers on her right hand wide.
“Use your words,” Carly said.
The little girl whispered, “Five,” and then hid her face in her mother’s body before she turned to face Adam again.
“You look just like your mommy.”
Zan giggled, already an ace at flirtation, just like her mother.
