Patricia Johns - Her Cowboy Boss

“Thanks,” she said. “So I was dating a guy, but it didn’t work out.”

They stood facing each other, her chin tipped up so she could look him in the face. She was young, so much prettier than he could easily deflect. He felt old and disillusioned next to her. He felt like he should shut up, not ruin what was left of her innocence. She’d get to his position soon enough, and it was almost cruel to hurry that process. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d marry some guy who would adore her and let her take care of the finances.

“So what went wrong?” he asked. “And you can’t use we grew apart.”

“He wasn’t the right one,” she said. She made it sound so simple and obvious, but he doubted that the guy who lost her felt that way. He had a feeling the poor schmuck was probably still licking his wounds, wondering what went wrong. She turned away from him and headed toward the side-by-side stoves. She turned a couple of dials, opened the ovens, stuck a hand in.

“I think that’s turned on,” she said.

“So how did you know he wasn’t right?” Hank asked. “What line did you give him?”

“He wanted me to sell the flower shop,” she said, her back to him. “And if he knew me at all, he would have known that store meant more to me than money.” Avery turned around to face him, meeting his eyes with her frank gaze.

“How recently was this?” he asked.

“Last month.”

Avery picked up the first pan of corn bread and slid it into the oven.

“The oven isn’t on,” he said.

“What? No, I just—” She put her hand into the oven again, then frowned.

He stepped up to the stove and turned the correct dial, then flicked the oven switch. Color tinged her cheeks.

“And that’s what you told him?” he asked, letting her mistake go. “That he didn’t know you well enough?” Why was he so curious about her breakup? For some reason, he needed to know what the poor guy had been through.

“I said it wasn’t him, it was me. And it wasn’t his fault. Not really. That store is my home.”

“I get it,” Hank said. It was like his connection to the land and the cattle. Vickie had never been able to understand that it wasn’t a choice. The open range just kept tugging him back. Home was something hardwired inside a person, something that called and called, no matter how hard a man tried to walk away. Home trumped logic. It could be ignored for a time, pushed aside for a while, but it couldn’t be denied forever—not even for the strongest principles. In his opinion, it wasn’t growing apart that ended a couple. It was starting out apart and never growing together.

Somewhere in Kansas there was another guy nursing a broken heart, and Hank felt a strange camaraderie with the man. They were like soldiers who’d served in the same war, or survivors who’d gone through the same tornado. There was some unspoken bond between men who’d been through the wringer.

Women were complicated, and Avery looked more so than the rest. What did that say about his morbid curiosity that he still wanted to figure Avery out?

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