Jake (Downton Cowboys #2) - Miley Maine Page 0,8
her hairline to her chin.
“What?” She chuckles before stepping outside.
“Nothing.” I pick up the keys and close the door behind me.
We settle on the bench, facing the glorious vista of a sunset that promises to be one of a kind.
“How’s your head?” She takes a sip without looking my way.
“It’s just a headache now.”
“What was it before?” Her eyes grow wider as she stares at me, baffled.
“Could’ve been worse.” I shrug.
“Listen,” she titters nervously, “I’m no doctor but if you’re feelin’ sick, that’s a concussion. Maybe, I should take you to the hospital?”
“I’m not concussed.” I quickly shake my head, smiling at her concerned face. “Really. You’ve done enough.”
“Well, it’s your funeral.” She casually shrugs, but I can see that she’s still uneasy.
“I know what a concussion feels like,” I blurt out, immediately wondering if she’ll demand an explanation.
“In your line of work? That makes sense.”
“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”
“No, I mean it. You guys have it rough. I come from a family of office employees. Lots of desks and chairs. It’s actually pretty strange that I can ride at all.”
“How did you start?”
Her eyes narrow a little as she squints at the red sun. She smiles, and the air flirts with her soft hair, a stray lock grazes her lip. That shiny, silky upper lip of hers with a Cupid’s bow drawn by an artist.
“My dad had this client, Bill, who’s still his friend until this day.” Her voice becomes pensive and sweeter than ever. “We used to exchange visits all the time. They have a daughter; she’s only two years older than me. And she had the most gorgeous white horse on their farm. I loved that creature.”
Her energy alone makes me smile as if I was there.
“Anyway. When I was ten, she let me ride for the first time. Her parents were there; they called me a natural.”
She shakes her head and tilts it a little, raising a shoulder as she does. Her eyes look down at the mug in her hands.
“I knew my dad could never afford it, so I didn’t say anything about it. I guess Bill told him later. And then—”
She turns to look at me, eyes big like a child’s on Christmas eve. “Come my sweet sixteen, guess what my parents had been saving up for?”
“Lady?”
“Yeah.” She giggles and nods repeatedly. “She was only a filly when I first got her. I immediately fell in love.”
The sweet story about her parents painfully contrasts with the history of mine. But because I don’t want her to see me as a weak or even vulnerable man, I keep the grin plastered to my face before taking another sip of coffee.
“So, sugar and a lotta cream, huh?”
“Yeah?”
“You owe me a story.”
“How’s that?”
“Just because.”
“Well…” I sigh. “My family was poor. We didn’t have much growing up, and I always saw my dad drink black coffee.”
She hums a little sound, and the way she looks at me so attentively makes me feel like I’m the only man in the world. She’s really listening.
“So, I promised myself—” I shrug. “When I have more money, I’ll try coffee with everything. And this one clicked.” I chuckle.
The part about my father drinking his coffee black is true. But the reason why I never do is different.
I never drink black coffee because I don’t want to live in his shadow in any way, shape, or form. I don’t drive the way he did, dress the way he did, eat the way he did, or speak the way he did.
I simply took all of my vicious father’s habits and tossed them out into space, adopting the opposite of everything he ever was.
The thought passes and I see that her eyes are examining me like a sample under a microscope. For the first time, I notice that the blue in her irises is adorned with lighter grey streaks that bring out the lightness.
“I think we’re missing the action,” she whispers, her eyes still locked on mine.
I quickly turn away, directing my sight at the magnificent sun as it slowly makes its way down.
As I take a moment to regain my composure, I inhale silently yet deeply, smelling the rejuvenating aromas of grass, trees, and wildflowers carried by the gentle breeze.
Without her noticing, I quickly glance in her direction and I see her serene pose, her knees up to her chest as she hugs her legs with her arms, the mug of coffee still half-full between her palms.
She’s beautiful.
This is beautiful.
And, for the first time in…