Reclaiming the Cowboy by Kathleen O'Brien

Author:Kathleen O'Brien
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-08-26T04:00:00+00:00

You look awesome in blue.

The hairs at the back of her neck prickled, and the same shivery feeling cascaded down her forearms. She rose to her knees so she could scan the area around her. But there didn’t seem to be anyone nearby.

She absently tugged at her blue cotton shirt, which had been chosen purely for utility, was at least ten years old and hadn’t ever looked particularly good on her, anyhow. It clashed with her eyes.

Her fingertips against the fabric felt oddly cold, and numb, as if she were using someone else’s hand. She tucked the phone back in her pocket. If someone was watching her, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of appearing worried.

She dug by rote, her mind racing. Who could possibly be sending these texts? They weren’t threatening, really...except in their anonymity. And in their specific mention of some present condition—her hair, her shirt. It carried a subtle undercurrent of stalking. I can see you. Right now. I can see you.

As she pulled up the last yarrow, she heard the sound of horses’ hooves again—this time very near.

She glanced up, suddenly tense.

“Hi, there.”

Belle breathed more normally. It was Rowena, on her pretty paint mare, Flash.

Rowena glanced at her watch and grinned. “Clearly you haven’t recovered from your workaholic problem.”

Belle smiled, so happy to see a friend she probably would have hugged her, if she could reach her.

“It doesn’t feel like work.” She sat back on her knees, surveying the wet ground and her own mucky clothes. It had rained hard last night. “It feels like making mudpies.”

Belle knew Rowena understood. Ro felt the same way about her ranch and had been working eighty-hour weeks since the moment the idea was born.

Belle didn’t mention the text. She didn’t want to seem neurotic. She certainly didn’t want to let on that she still dreaded being alone in her cabin. Last night, she’d been restless till three o’clock, then awake again at six. She’d tried everything. Reading, yoga, solitaire, hot milk, counting stars...but nothing put her to sleep.

Desperate, she’d even tried pulling out her sketch pad and attempted to draw the cabins, the trees, the wildflowers, anything she could see from her window. But all the sketches fell flat. And then she did something she hadn’t done in over a year. She tried to draw a person.

She had Mitch on the mind, so she decided to see if she could get him safely down on paper instead. She wondered if she could capture his face as it had looked yesterday, when he had spotted her by the dressing-room door.

She still wasn’t sure what emotion he had been expressing. She thought maybe, if she could sketch it, she might recognize it, even if it was too complicated and subtle to have a name.

But she scratched through every attempt, then wadded up the papers, tossing them in the trash basket, deeply dissatisfied. The expression had been so fleeting and had been so quickly replaced by cool, shuttered detachment.

Her small talent simply wasn’t able to capture it.

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