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“See ya in the mornin’,” Buck waved. Bullet had forgotten he was there.
“Yeah, see ya. And thanks,” he waved back. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He didn’t have a signal way out here, but he saw he had about an hour before dinner. Time enough for a shower and sprucing himself up for what he hoped would be a dinner date with the lovely Tristan McCullough.
She was already there when Bullet walked into the dining hall. She sat at the bar, talking with the cowboy behind it pouring her a drink. She looked mighty fine in her sleeveless blouse and flowery short skirt. It had been warm today, unseasonably so, and it looked as though she’d spent some time in the sun. Her long legs were tucked into her calf-high boots, and her toe tapped to the beat of the music.
She turned then, and looked at him. Once again her cheeks pinkened, as they often did when she smiled at him. Behind her ear, tucked into her flowing, long blonde hair, was a daisy. He remembered seeing the vase full of them, sitting on the desk in her cabin. He didn’t remember seeing flowers in his.
Strands of her hair fell forward and curled around her cheeks. She moistened her lips, and he remembered how soft they’d felt when he kissed her on Liv and Ben’s front porch.
Her gaze fell when he got close, and her lips curved into a sweet smile. “You looked good out there.”
“You were watchin’?” Once again her cheeks gradually turned a faint pink.
“For a little while.” She looked up at him. “Would you like to join me for a drink?”
He sat on the stool next to hers. Her body was close enough that he could smell her natural scent—sunshine and the outdoors mingled with something else, roses maybe. Or daisies. When she moistened her lips again, something passed between them. He felt it, and knew she did too.
“You smell good,” he said, leaning in close.
“So do you.” Tristan rested her hand on the bar. He longed to cover it with his, but he’d wait. He’d be in no hurry tonight, instead, savoring every minute he could be alone with her.
“I was afraid I’d smell like horses, or bulls,” he laughed.
“No, it’s more leather and freshly cut hay. I like it.” When she reached up and touched his hair an electric current surged through his body. He breathed in slowly as her fingers toyed with the curls that formed around his face when his hair was wet. He reached over and touched her hair too.
“We both have curls.” He could feel the heat spreading through him. He’d barely touched her, yet his heart thundered. He wanted to kiss her so badly. He hoped he could make it through dinner.
“Bullet, I’ve judged you unfairly…”
“What’s this about?” he soothed.
She shook her head. “I had a bad experience with a bull rider—”
“Shh, now, we don’t need to talk about that.” He longed to draw her close and make her forget any other bull riders existed.
“No, I do need to talk about it. I haven’t been fair to you, because of it. I saw him a couple of days ago, and I realized then, you’re nothing like him.”
Bullet felt his stomach muscles tighten. It wasn’t what she was saying, it was the idea that she’d just spent time with someone she’d had a bad experience with.
“What did he do?” His heart tightened. Why was the idea of her with another man, any other man, painful?
“When? I mean, or
iginally, or a couple of days ago?”
“Either one.”
“I met him when I was competing. He was a bull rider; I was a barrel racer. He swept me off my feet, and then broke my heart. It didn’t happen that quickly. It was long and drawn out and miserable.”
Bullet leaned forward. He couldn’t bear to hear another word. Before he could think better of it, he kissed her. He waited to see if she’d pull away, but she didn’t, so he kissed her again, this time more deeply.
“Bullet—”
“Shh,” he soothed again. “Don’t pull away from me.”
He put his hand on the nape of her neck and rested his forehead against hers. “I can’t resist you. No matter how hard I try to go slow, I get close to you and I can’t help but kiss you.”
“I know.” Tristan rested her hands on his chest. “I feel the same way.”
