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Very important distinction. It means I may have been getting carried away, but I stopped myself in time. And now, as Luke pours wine into each of our glasses, I try to calm my beating heart by taking a little walk along the shoreline of the lake.
No one else is here, which is probably why he chose this spot. All the better for us to get our photos without anyone seeing us and potentially ratting us out later, telling Elizabeth’s lawyers that all of our photos are recent. And I’m sure that’s the main reason he chose it. If I’ve figured out anything about Luke Reilly in the few days I’ve known him, it’s that he doesn’t like an audience. He’d just as soon keep his personal life personal.
Fine by me, especially if it means more days like this one, where I can discover more of the charms of Willow Springs, led by a handsome local. I plan to include “Secrets of Willow Springs” and plenty of “Best of” lists in the marketing materials for Loveland Ranch, offering visitors a sneak peek into places only locals know about. It’s not like our property will be overrun with guests to the point that it ruins the privacy and charm of Willow Springs. But a handful of new people appreciating the area each weekend will help local businesses and the area overall. I’m taking careful notes at each stop.
The shoreline of the quaint Curie Lake stretches out in both directions before bending into the trees, where there are probably little coves and more grassy areas like the one where we are. The sky couldn’t be more spotless and blue, and the air is warm but dry. So even though I’ve been running around, I haven’t worked up a sweat. Good thing because tumbling on top of Luke would have been pretty embarrassing if I was all clammy and sticky.
I toss another stone into the lake and watch it skip. This time, it takes four hops before disappearing into the lake, and I want to shout to Luke that I beat both our records. When I turn, though, I find him talking to a man on horseback, cupping his forehead against the sun’s glare.
Yanking a few stems of yellow daisies from where they’re growing in massive clumps among the rocks, I think about how they’ll look with the pink wine and the sunlight. Picture perfect.
I throw one more stone across the water. This time, it drops after two hops. I head back toward Luke, who doesn’t notice me right away, standing off to the side to avoid scaring the horse.
“Not sure I can make it,” Luke says, his hand ruffling his hair. He’s stressed. Interesting.
“Oh, come on. Scout’ll have a ball, and you can bring your girl.”
My heart sinks at the suggestion that Luke is dating someone. I shouldn’t care at all, and he certainly has every right to have a “girl” who isn’t me. Except that…
“Not sure she’ll be in town. Callie spends a lot of time in LA.”
“Ah, now it makes sense why we haven’t met her.”
“Exactly.”
Now my heart is thudding for a different reason, hearing actual proof that Luke is telling people about me, about us. Our relationship feels like it’s left the realm of picture-perfect fakery for the sake of documentation the judge wants to see and become something else. It’s still fake. I don’t have illusions about that. But now it’s out in the open, and I suddenly don’t know how to act around him.
“Hey there,” I say, coming around to where both men can see me. I need them to stop talking about me, about us. As much as it’s fun to eavesdrop, I’m not sure I’m ready for the reality of what they’re saying. I hold up the daisies. “I hope you’re not here to arrest me for picking flowers.”
The man on the horse smiles down at me from under his cowboy hat and takes a look at me, his eyes moving from head to toe as though he’s making sure I pass muster. It’s nice to see that someone has Luke’s back. He works so hard to take care of his son, and I can see how tightly wound he is about work and the rest of his life. I’m glad he has friends to share the load.
“Naw, those things are basically weeds. Pick all of them you want. For each one you pluck, four more will grow back in its place.”
“Good to know. I just may do that.”
Luke gruffly makes introductions. “Callie, Reed. Reed, Callie.”
Reed fills in the blanks and tells me he owns a ranch in Lonesome River, one town over. I extend my hand and sneak a look at Luke’s face, mouth turned down in his usual scowl, brow creased with his usual concern, jaw tight with his usual stress. And so damn hot no matter what he does.
“I gotta be off, but I was telling Luke you’re all invited to my barbecue next weekend. I added a second smoker. It’s gonna be a party.”
“Yee haw,” I say. Luke shakes his head.
“I’ll let you know if we can make it.”
“No need. You’re coming,” Reed says. I get the feeling Luke will try again to get out of the plan, but Reed seems satisfied enough with Luke’s nod to kick his horse and ride off toward the trees.
Luke points at the blanket, where he’s assembled the cheese on a wooden cutting board and some crackers in their plastic container. The apricots are scattered around the outside and the wineglasses, which perch on flat rocks, look one degree from tipping over.
“It’s perfect,” I say, resisting the urge to rearrange anything. “Not overly styled. I like your vision.”
“You giving me shit about my complete lack of artistic sensibility?”
“No. I’m serious. This is good. Why are you always so hard on yourself?”
He shrugs, and I want to wipe the look of dejected concern from his face. Reaching for his hand, I walk him a couple of paces over so we’re in view of the tripod. Then I wrap my arms around him. His eyes search mine, unsure what I plan to do, but this is it, and he seems to understand. As his arms tentatively extend and encircle me, I feel his protective warmth, solid planes of muscle pressed against my softer curves.
I like how it feels. I tilt my head back so I can see his face. I try to get a grip on the remote, wondering why my hand feels shaky. For that matter, my entire body is quivering. I wonder if he can feel it. “Hugs are good,” I say. “People have researched it. You’re supposed to have, like, ten hugs a day for maximum emotional health.”
