The Maverick Meets His Match (Hearts of Wyoming Book 2)(84)
“Race you,” he called out, and gave Paddy a gentle kick. The sorrel lurched into action, apparently happy to be given rein to run. Air whipped across his face as he urged Paddy forward. A quick glance behind confirmed that Mandy had followed at a pounding pace.
Ty headed for the copse of trees in the distance, the beating of hooves in time with the rapid beating of his heart. Anything was possible, he reminded himself, and nothing was certain.
Mandy pulled Willow up at the edge of the bank that gently sloped into the creek. The familiar rock she’d once hidden behind loomed over the water. She’d lost the race. Willow had given it her all, but the prized cutting horse from Texas was too much for her. Mandy could relate, but she wondered why Ty had chosen this spot for their picnic.
He’d already tied Paddy to a tree limb and was unbuckling the straps that secured the picnic basket and blanket, his large fingers working the knots.
She’d been surprised when he’d suggested a picnic dinner and even more surprised that Mrs. Jenkins had apparently known about it since, when they arrived home, fried chicken, biscuits, and corn on the cob were already packed in a hamper. Ty had pulled out a bottle of wine from the fridge, and they had set off.
It had seemed romantic of Ty and out of character. But this place, of all places?
Ty lost no time in setting up while Mandy secured Willow to one of the trees. The sun was low in the sky but still above the mountain peaks in the distance, flooding the bank with afternoon light. Ty was laying the Navajo-style blanket under a tree opposite to where the horses were secured.
“Didn’t beat me this time, did you?” he said, grinning up at her as he knelt on the ground, smoothing the fabric.
“Paddy proved too much—today. Never know about tomorrow.”
He looked at her from under his hat brim and nodded. “I brought bug spray,” he said as he rose and held up a plastic bottle.
“You had this all planned,” she said, feeling complimented by his efforts. He’d gone to some trouble to get her here. “I’m just surprised at your choice of location.”
He came over to her and rested his large hands on her shoulders. His touch was warm and heavy, and he seemed to take up the whole landscape as he stood before her.
“I thought it appropriate.”
She wanted to ask him why it was appropriate, since it had been the sight of her greatest humiliation, but he slid his hand up to her face and grazed a thumb across her cheek, and all thought vanished as a pleasant little shiver cascaded through her. He did this to her every time they were together. Made her want him. What would happen in a few weeks when he walked away?
She pushed that thought from her mind. She’d surely be pregnant by then, considering how frequently they made love. She’d have a child. He’d be in her life. Though that had once been a negative, his being in her life now sat squarely in the positive column, at least for the moment. Only she wondered how long it would be positive. What would happen when he took up with another woman and brought her to their child’s birthday party?
She’d fantasized about raising her child, and he’d always been in the picture—as her husband. He was all the things she shouldn’t want—arrogant, by the book, a loner—but he’d also been surprisingly tender and caring and protective. He’d been generous with his time, his knowledge, and his contacts. He’d respected her knowledge of the industry and had backed her decisions, even if he didn’t agree with them. He’d been a talented lover—and a good friend. She’d fallen in love with him, and she wasn’t sure she could take his leaving. It seemed, one way or another, the men in her life left her, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
“Let’s eat first, and then we should talk.” He cupped her chin and lightly kissed her on the mouth.
The pit of her stomach felt funny.
Isn’t that what guys said when they had something bad to tell you?
He took her hand and pulled her toward the blanket. Sitting down, she opened the latch of the basket and lifted the lid. The smell of fried chicken filled her nostrils as she peered at a tangle of plastic plates, linen napkins, a wineglass and bottle, a water bottle, plasticware, and lidded tubs filled with food. She began unpacking as Ty grabbed the wine and poured it into a glass.
She was aware when he took a sip of wine, when he settled on his knees, when he reached in and pulled open the tub with the corn. She took out the still-warm tub with the fried chicken and set it on the blanket. At the bottom of the basket were salt and pepper shakers. Mrs. Jenkins and Ty had thought of everything.
She settled on her rump and tucked her legs under her. The top of the basket made a small table, and Mandy began setting it. She’d been aware of Ty watching her even as he placed an ear of corn on each of their plates. He opened the larger tub that contained the chicken and placed a golden-fried breast next to each ear of corn. He took the bag with the biscuits and set one next to the chicken. He was playing host, and she wondered if he had a part in mind for her—beyond guest.
“Time to eat,” he said, looking at his plate. “I’m starved.”
She took her lead from him. As they ate, she listened to the water tumbling over the rocks, the birds tweeting among the trees, and her own breathing. The chicken was the perfect blend of crispy on the outside and moist on the inside, and the biscuit was tasty.
It seemed perfect and romantic, and she couldn’t fathom what Ty wanted to talk about that wouldn’t ruin the mood. She took a sip of bottled water and wished she could have had wine to suppress the anxious feeling filling her. But she might be pregnant, and she wasn’t about to take a chance.