True Colors
He was in the barn now, on this bright afternoon, standing in the open doorway, sweeping dust and dirt and bits of straw into the sunlight.
It was too late to pretend she hadn’t looked at him, so she smiled—more a gritting of her teeth, really—and walked toward him.
“Could you go to the feed store and get some psyllium? We’re out. Chuck will know what to give you and he’ll put it on our tab. Do you need my truck?”
“A truck I got.”
“Good,” she said, meaning to walk away.
He smiled.
She hesitated a moment longer and then forced herself to move. She thought she heard him laughing softly behind her, but she refused to turn around.
Just then a big black SUV pulled into the lot and parked. Six preteen girls tumbled out, giggling and talking all at once. Mackenzie John ran toward her. “Are we late?”
“Nope. Go get saddled. I’ll meet you all in the arena.”
The girls rushed off.
Vivi Ann heard the car door open and close behind her and she knew what that meant.
Julie John sidled up to her, bumping her hip to hip. She was a tall, beautiful woman with spiky blond hair and a ready smile. “Where is he?”
“Who?”
“Christian Slater. Who do you think? Him.”
Vivi Ann knew it was pointless to pretend confusion, so she tilted her chin a little, just enough to indicate direction.
Dallas was by the shed now, forking cedar shavings into a rusted wheelbarrow.
“Wow.” Julie paused, maybe even sighed, then said, “You be careful, Vivi.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”
“Yeah, well. I’d listen if I were you. Your engagement is the talk of the town. People thought you’d never settle down, and Luke is a great guy.”
“I hardly need you to tell me that.”
“Really? Because I know about that wild streak of yours. Remember when you were all hot for that transfer student in tenth grade? The guy who got in trouble for drinking at the homecoming game? What was his name?”
Vivi Ann pulled away.
“Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I will. Thanks.” Vivi Ann left Julie standing alone in the parking lot. As she walked toward the barn, she could feel both of them looking at her—Julie and Dallas—but she didn’t glance at either one. Instead, she strode purposefully into the arena and began her lessons.
“Your posture is lovely, Mackenzie,” she said. “Keep your heels down, remember? And Emily, today we’re going to work on your lead changes for the fair. So I want you to collect your mare. You remember how to do that? First you sit deep in the saddle . . . Good. Now bring her head in by drawing back the reins . . .”
One lesson followed another all day, and the constant activity kept Vivi Ann focused. When the last lesson had ended, she rubbed the crick in her neck and walked back to the house, where she made a pot of spaghetti sauce, put it in a Crock-Pot to simmer, and went upstairs to shower.
She was downstairs pouring herself a glass of wine when someone knocked at the door.
He was right on time.
Steeling herself, she opened the door. “Hello, Dallas.”
She waited for him to say something, but he just stood there staring down at her. It was the first time she’d really allowed herself to look at him, and she noticed a jagged, nearly invisible scar that ran along his hairline, from temple to ear. It was crooked and uneven, as if a drunk seamstress had stitched it up with an ordinary needle and thread; she couldn’t help wondering how he’d been injured. Without thinking, she traced the ragged lines with her fingertip. She was about to ask him how he’d gotten this scar, but before she could ask the question, he said quietly: