I’ll be damned if her throaty voice doesn’t make my insides churn. And the way her curves fill the black concert tee and khaki shorts, capped off with black Chucks? Perfection.
I adjust my hips slightly, trying not to be obvious about the hard-on thickening in my jeans. For one unguarded second, I let myself look at her hands, the way her fingers wrap around that tray—strong and certain, like a woman who knows exactly how much pressure to use. I wonder what they’d feel like pressed flatagainst my chest. I wonder what the curve of her throat tastes like.
I shut that down hard and look back at the line cook.
The silence stretches one beat too long. She’s not going to make this easy. And honestly? Good for her.
“I’m Cam.” I extend my hand, pretty much forcing her to be polite. She takes it and shakes it firmly.
“I’m Mallory.”
“Mallory.” The way her name rolls off my tongue is almost too easy, like a song finding its key. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Again, she says nothing. She’s not going to be polite just for the sake of it. I mean, I am a dude, and she doesn’t know me.
The line cook puts the new ribs out. I motion for her to go first, but she motions for me to go instead. So I grab my ribs and nod.
“It was nice to meet you, Mallory.” Then I head back to the employee dining hall, my heart thumping through my chest like a schoolboy who just passed his crush in the hallway.
It’s been a long time since a woman has been so obviously uninterested in me, and it’s refreshing. It also hits home in that I’m having a hard time trusting these days. Most of the people I meet know me as Walker James, and some are just interested in my fame and my money. So I’m keeping my circle tight.
Mallory knows Bree and Izzy, and those two are the best judges of character I know. But I don’t need to go there. She’s here on a girls’ trip, and I’m here to find myself after this whirlwind of fame. It’s better if I don’t get involved. But I can’t shake the feeling that I was somehow supposed to see her at that concert, and somehow supposed to be here at the exact same time she is.
I head to the employee dining space and sit at an empty table with a perfect line of sight to where Mallory is sitting with her sister, I’m assuming, and her friends—and the women who workfor my record label. Well, Izzy doesn’t work there anymore; she took a different job. But Bree still does.
Before too long, I’m joined by Ford Greyson and Garrett Ashby, ranch employees who flank either side of me at the square table.
“Wes told us you were joining the crew,” one of them says.
“Yep,” I answer. “I’m Cam. Nice to meet you.”
We each do a quick introduction, including where we’re from. I choose to just say Oklahoma because less is more. One of the guys bunks in the same employee quarters as me, which makes dinner easy. Sleeping in a room with other people doesn’t bother me these days; that’s what a tour bus is all about. And I genuinely like being around people. I like their stories. I like their energy.
These guys are great. Ford makes me laugh, and Garrett has some great stories about his hometown. But while we visit, I can’t help watching Mallory. The way she owns her quietness, and the way she owns herself are enthralling. For all the animation her sister has, arms flailing, constant chatter, Mallory is the opposite. She just watches and listens quietly, offering a sentence or two now and again.
I want to know what goes on inside her mind. She seems like the type who thinks a lot but shares a little.
She glances at me, then down at the fork sitting untouched on my plate, then back up like I’m a math problem she’s already solved and didn’t find very challenging. She picks up her own fork and nudges it toward her food, slowly and deliberately, like she’s demonstrating the basic mechanics of eating dinner to someone who may have forgotten how it works. Then she turns back to her sister without another word.
Damn.
Chapter 4
Mallory
It’s 3:00 a.m. on our second night at Wild Vista, and I’m lying in my bunk, the stars shining through the open blinds. My mind is racing with a thousand thoughts, the need to grab my sketch pad visceral. It’s the best way to quiet everything swirling around in there. I don’t move, though, forcing myself to relax. My sister sighs in her sleep, and I smile. We haven’t slept in the same space, just the two of us, since before the boys were born.
Our first night here wasn’t so bad. I was able to FaceTime Mason and Kasen right before their bath. Yesterday, my mom sent pictures as proof that they weren’t sad throughout the day. They kicked the soccer ball with their awkward stance, colored, ate contraband snacks, and watched Bluey.
Yes, I named them after my sister and me. Kasen for Kate, and Mason for Mallory. It’s funny that their little personalities are opposite, just like Kate and me. Later today they’ll be going to my grandparents’ house, a ranch-style home in Indigo Hills with lots of room to run around. The boys’ energy is boundless, so keeping them busy is my motto. It keeps them out of trouble,and the more tired they are, the better they sleep. At eighteen months, their tiny bodies need rest. They would love it here. The open spaces to run, the horses, the campfire. When they’re old enough, I want to bring them with my mom and sister.
I wonder if Cam will still be working here?
Oh, absolutely not. We are not doing this.
I roll over and stare at the ceiling as if it personally offended me. Giving in, I fling off the comforter and sweep my hair into a messy bun before throwing on my joggers and zip hoodie. I slide on Kate’s animal-print sneakers because they’re closest and scrawl a note for my sister. I leave it on the dresser and another one on the door clip so the girls don’t worry, then head outside into the Texas darkness with my iPad.
The hike to the small pond near the stables is a long but peaceful walk. The cicadas are loud, the wind cool and breezy. String lights hang everywhere to make things visible without floodlights. I think back to how much I enjoyed yesterday despite my resistance to leaving the cabin. My sister signed us up for a mid-morning trail ride, which turned out to be exactly what I needed.
