Wyoming True - Diana Palmer Page 0,22
always starving.”
He put her into the car. “How did you end up with a battered old cat?” he wondered.
“He was a rescue,” she said. “I found him in the woods with a string tied tight around his neck, and welts all over him. I never knew exactly what had happened to him. He was afraid of me at first. But I coaxed him out of hiding and took him to the vet. When they had him back in good condition, I adopted him and took him home. He’s been my family ever since.”
“You like animals.”
She nodded.
“How about cattle?” he mused.
She laughed. “Well, I haven’t been around them very much. I love horses. I guess cattle are similar.” She glanced at him. “But I do love a good steak,” she added ruefully.
He chuckled. “I don’t run beef cattle on the property here, but I know a few ranchers who do.” His eyes met hers for a few seconds before they went back to the highway. “I can cook a steak.”
“So can I,” she said.
“I might let you prove that one day down the road.”
She hesitated. It was early days yet.
“No rush,” he added, as if he understood.
She let out a breath. “Okay, then.”
They drove in silence to the small airport at Catelow. It had a runway long enough to accommodate a small jet, but it was mostly for small aircraft. A lot of cattlemen used airplanes to help herd cattle. She wondered if Jake did.
He pulled up to a beautiful white aircraft with soft, elegant lines. “My goodness, it’s beautiful,” she said softly.
His eyebrows arched. “Didn’t you fly around on private jets with your first husband?”
She laughed softly. “He was terrified of flying. He wouldn’t even go on a conventional airplane if he could drive. I flew commercial, when I was in college.”
“You aren’t afraid of flying?” he asked.
She shook her head. “When I was younger, we had a friend who rebuilt aircraft for resale. I rode in a homebuilt one and was strapped in with a jet harness. It was one of the most exciting things I ever did. Well, except for the skydiving thing.”
“Skydiving.” He stared at her. “Skydiving?”
“Oh, it was a rush,” she said, laughing, and her china-blue eyes sparkled with feeling. “I loved it!” The smile slowly faded. “Something I won’t ever be able to do again, I’m afraid,” she said, and the sadness was in her face as well as her eyes.
“I can’t ride bucking horses,” he said, after he’d introduced her to his pilot and they buckled themselves in for takeoff.
She looked at him curiously. “Did you use to do that?” she asked.
He nodded. “I won belts for it in my teens,” he replied. “After Iraq, it became impossible.”
“You have more than just bullet wounds,” she guessed quietly.
He hesitated. Sighed. Then nodded. “I have a metal rod in one of my legs.”
“Oh, my goodness,” she said softly. “The pain must have been terrible.”
He stared at her, surprised. He’d told a date about it, some years back, and she’d remarked that it must look absolutely horrible. Ida was more concerned with how much it had hurt him.
He studied her curiously. “How do you know that?”
She grimaced. “I have a metal rod and a plate and many screws holding it all in place.”
“My God,” he whispered.
She looked down at the purse in her lap. “It took two surgeries,” she remarked, “because I had complications.” She looked up. “How many did yours take?”
“Just one,” he said. “But mine was prompted by shrapnel from an IED. How did you get that much damage to your body?”
She managed a smile.
“If you say proprietary information again, I won’t feed you,” he threatened, but with twinkling eyes.
She shrugged. “I had an accident.”
“What sort of accident?”
She glanced out the window as the plane suddenly took off and shot up into the sky. “Your pilot is very good,” she remarked.
“Yes, he is,” he said. “I usually fly myself, but I’m having some issues with my joints,” he added curtly. “And you’re changing the subject.”
Her china-blue eyes met his and she smiled. “Glad you noticed.”
He chuckled, defeated. “Okay. I get the idea. What sort of seafood do you like best?”
“Fried oysters,” she said at once.
He laughed. “I have to confess, that’s mine, too.”
“My dad used to cook them,” she recalled fondly. “It was one of just a handful of things he could cook, but he was good at it. My mother taught us both how to cook.” Her eyes were sad. “I still miss her.”
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