Ah, Lacy. He had long been an admirer of her beauty, her gentleness, her effortless grace. He’d found himself unable to approach her, and he was beginning to understand why. It was because, on some level, he knew that she did not return his interest. If he were to ask her out, she would be too kind to shut him down the way another woman might. Her efforts not to hurt his feelings would likely result in false encouragement, which would draw out his eventual failure with her to uncomfortable lengths. Ryan, with his good instincts for people, somehow knew that, and that was what had prevented him from making a move.
It should have worked between them, though. It should have been right. Lacy was gorgeous—no question about that—but she was also perfect for him. She’d lived in Cambria her whole life, like he had. She valued family relationships, like he did. She wanted a solid home life, a house full of noise and kids, just like he did. At least, that was what he’d heard from friends—both his and hers—in his inquiries about her. He hadn’t been bold enough to ask her himself.
But in the times he’d approached her for a tentative conversation, something had been missing. Some undefinable element, some spark that would be needed if they were to eventually ignite a flame. He stubbornly continued to believe he could get that spark going, though. He just hadn’t rubbed enough rocks together yet.
As he thought about exactly which rocks he might rub together, and how, his thoughts drifted to Gen Porter. He’d spent some time talking to her at the party last night, mostly hoping to get some insight into Lacy. Gen had seemed sad, irritated, keyed up. She’d been drinking a lot. He’d known her, casually, for a while now, and he’d never known her to be a drinker, at least not to any noticeable extent.
He wondered what was wrong, and while he was thinking about that, he also wondered what kind of person she was, what undefinable mechanism made her tick. It might be interesting to find out.
The fog began to thin slightly as the day brightened. Annie huffed a heavy breath that steamed in the cool morning as she picked her way through the grass. Ryan adjusted his baseball cap. He wore it in lieu of a cowboy hat because he didn’t want to be a cliché.
Just as he began to crest a gentle, rolling hill covered in knee-high, green grass, he saw a place where a post on one of the older stretches of fence had sagged to the ground, leaving a gaping opening that might as well have been labeled COW EXIT. He sighed. He climbed down from the horse and gave the animal a pat on her side.
Well, there was his morning.
Chapter Three
“I know,” Gen was telling Rose Watkins one evening a few days after the party as the two of them climbed side-by-side staircases to nowhere at Hard Bodies, the gym where they worked out far too seldom, in Gen’s opinion, and far too often in Rose’s. “I don’t drink like that normally. I’m not planning to do it again anytime soon. You don’t have to be a mother hen.”
Rose’s hair was blue this month, a bright, bold blue one might see in a box of Crayolas, and it had grown out a bit from the chin-length bob she’d sported for most of the summer. Now, it was just long enough that she was able to pull it into a tiny, perky ponytail at the back of her head for the sake of workout comfort. Rose’s exercise ensemble consisted of a pair of black spandex capris and a T-shirt that sagged off her left shoulder, exposing a bit of a rose tattoo just beneath the strap of her exercise bra. Rose’s left eyebrow, pierced with a silver barbell, quirked up.
“I’m not being a mother hen. I’m just, you know, wondering. You didn’t seem like yourself. As your friend, I’m allowed to wonder.”
“I guess,” Gen said sullenly. She kicked the stair-climber up to a higher setting and wiped the sweat from her face. The exercise felt good. Exhaustion always helped to clear her anxiety, calm her thoughts.
“So?” Rose prompted.
“So, what?”
“So, what was bothering you? Jeez, it’s like pulling teeth. Just come out with it already.” Rose took a long slug from her water bottle and then fixed her gaze on Gen.
“It’s Kate,” Gen said finally. “Or, actually, Jackson. Kate and Jackson.”
“I thought you liked Jackson,” Rose said.
“I do!” Gen threw her hands into the air for emphasis, then had to grab the rails on the stair-climber to regain her balance. “I do. I love Jackson. And I’m so happy for Kate. I am. But …”
“But?” Rose prompted.
“But now she’s busy all the time! With him! Probably having lots and lots of really great sex, and I can’t just … just barge in to her place anymore like I used to, because she’s happy and all coupled up and she’s moved on, and I’m left all by myself downstairs with no one to talk to, thinking about the fact that I’m not having great sex.”
“That’s a lot.”
“I know!”
Rose considered for a moment. “Okay, let’s take those points one at a time. One: How busy can she really be? Jackson’s a chef. He works crazy hours, including nights five days a week, sometimes six. I’m thinking it’s not actually, technically, impossible to spend time with Kate.”
“Well …” Gen grumbled.
“Two: She has not moved on. Moving on suggests that she’s done with you, me, and all of her friends, and she’ll be doing nothing except having great sex exclusively from now on. When, in fact, I think she’ll need to emerge from time to time, if only for hydration.”
Gen shrugged. “Hydration is important.”
“And three,” Rose continued. “You could have great sex. There are plenty of men out there you could have great sex with.”
Gen took a slug from her water bottle, breathing hard, sweat making her face gleam. “Name one.”
“Well … I saw you talking to Ryan Delaney for quite a while at the party. A solid nine on the hotness scale. The dark hair, the deep brown eyes, that firm, muscular cowboy body.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Not to mention the manliness factor of the whole ranching thing.”
Gen tsked. “He’s not a nine.”
“Why not?”
Gen glared at Rose. “I don’t know what your criteria are, but if that man doesn’t score a ten, I don’t know who would.”
Encouraged, Rose sped up her pace slightly and waved an arm at Gen. “Well, there you go!”
“No. There’s no ‘there you go.’ You know what Mr. Ten On The Scale and I were talking about all that time?”
“Uh oh. What?”
“Lacy.”
“Ah.”
There was no need to explain. In the years that Gen, Rose, and Kate had been close friends with Lacy, each of them had, at least once, experienced chatting up an attractive man only to have him inquire about Lacy.
“The man makes my palms sweat. My palms were actually sweating.” Gen shook her head to emphasize her own pathetic state. “There I was with my sweaty palms and that dry mouth thing—because apparently my body can’t even function when I’m around him—and he’s asking me what Lacy’s interests are, and if she’s seeing anyone, and what’s the best way to talk to her. Gah!”
“Aw, honey. So what did you tell him?”
“I said that I talk to her about shoe sales and The Bachelor, but I didn’t think that was going to work for him.”
Rose laughed. “Good one.”
They climbed side by side in silence, panting and sweating companionably.
“She’s not interested, you know,” Rose said finally.
“I know!” Gen shook her head. “God, what a waste.”
Rose slowed her machine, came to a stop, and climbed down. She looked up at Gen, who was still pumping away. “You know what you need, you need a hot artist to come to Cambria and sweep you off your feet.”