Reunited with the Rancher (Texas Cattleman's Club: Blackmail 3)
“Of course I do, but I’m surprised you do.”
“I do. Why do you think I asked you out again?” he said, those hazel eyes twinkling.
“It was all exciting, Tom,” she said, full of regret.
“Then don’t cry about it now. Happy memories. Take the ones that were special and exciting and concentrate on them.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said lightly, smiling at him.
Their burgers came. She ate half of hers, reflecting on how she didn’t want Tom staying with her but finding no way to avoid it, especially after Nathan said it was a good arrangement.
They left and she felt certain they would never eat burgers together in the Royal Diner again. She glanced up at Tom as she walked beside him. He was still exciting to her, which was something she didn’t want to feel, because they had no future and all too soon they would officially be divorced. Why did that hurt so badly when it was what they both wanted? Now with him moving in to stay in the same house with her, was she going through another emotional upheaval that would be more difficult and painful to get over than the last time?
“Want to make a quick stop and see my studio?” she asked impulsively. “It isn’t something you have to do.”
“No, I’d like to see it.”
“Turn at the next corner.” She gave him directions and they drove just two more blocks and parked in front. She was sandwiched in between a law office and a popular bakery that had delicious bread. He paused to look at the pictures of babies and dogs and families on display in her front window.
“Very nice, Em. You’ve turned your hobby into a good business. You’re very good.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling he was being polite.
“I think I may just stand out here an
d smell the bread,” Tom remarked.
“It’s fantastic. We can pick up a loaf to take with us. They have specialties. Come in. This is tiny, but big enough for me.”
He walked around the waiting room, looking at more pictures on the walls. Some of the people he recognized, a lot he didn’t, especially the children. Then he came upon a large framed picture of their son when he was two years old.
“Em, this is a wonderful picture of Ryan. I want a copy.”
“I’ll get you one. I’m glad you like it. It makes me happy to see his picture when I come to work.”
Tom continued looking at the framed photographs. There was one from when the tornado hit Royal, of the damaged town hall with three floors destroyed and the clock tower left standing. “You’re very good at this,” he said, moving to another picture of a black horse in a pasture, the wind blowing its tail, sunlight spilling over its satiny black coat. Tom glanced at her.
“This looks like my horse Grand.”
“It is. He’s photogenic and cooperative.”
“Wow. I’d like a copy of that picture, too.” He leaned closer. “I don’t see a price on these.”
“You’re special. You can have that picture compliments of the house.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to,” she said, smiling at him.
“Thanks. It’s a great picture of him.”
“Come see where I take pictures and my desk.”
He walked around and bent down to look through a camera set on a tripod. Across from him was a backdrop of a field of green grass.
“Tom, let me take your picture.”
He grinned at her. “You’re kidding. You know what I look like.”