A little laugh escapes me. “You’re not wrong.”
“So, show your scar off as the badge of courage it is. You survived something horrific and that’s all that people will think when they see it.”
“It’s … it’s so ugly. I hate looking at it. I hide it so I don’t have to answer questions about it.”
“But that’s the thing about everyone at Firebird Ranch. Most people aren’t going to ask you outright because they are dealing with their own scars.”
“You did. You asked me outright.”
“I’m not most people. Anyway, true healing begins when you really get in there and clean out the wound.”
“And yet, you won’t let me interview you.”
“There’s far more interesting people to interview.”
“You’re a retired Delta Force soldier who now enjoys dressing up like a cowboy and is reportedly an expert at karaoke. I’d say you’re pretty interesting.”
He glances at me with a big grin. “You still think about me in those chaps, don’t you?”
“Yes, I think about how ridiculous you looked.” I refuse to tell him how those chaps framed his perfectly sculpted ass and that yes, I’ve still been thinking about it. “What about your scars?” I ask, reaching back to scratch Jameson’s ear and changing the subject. “Can you at least tell me how you got those?”
He runs his fingers down his stubble but doesn’t answer.
“It seems like you help so many, Mr. Faraday. Who is helping you?”
“Topper kicks my ass all the time. Rusty keeps me in line. Georgia watches out for me. So, I’m all set.”
“Sometimes we focus on taking care of others because it helps us not deal with our own demons.”
“Thank you, Ms. Freud.”
“I’m going to get you to open up if it’s the last thing I do this summer.”
“You are? That suggests you’re interested in spending more time with me.”
“For interviews for the story, yes.”
“I hope you can keep things professional.”
I roll my eyes. “I assure you, it won’t be a problem.”
“Oh, yes, that’s right, because, first and foremost, you don’t date mountain men.”
“That’s right,” I say, leaning my arm on the window frame.
“Have you ever dated a Duke Faraday before?”
A smile cuts through my steely exterior. “No, I can’t say that I have.”
“Well, that’s where you’ve gone wrong.”
I giggle into my fist, and Duke slows as we round a bend. The forest breaks open into a quaint little main street, like something plucked off a postcard and dropped in the middle of themountains.
I sit up in my seat. “This? This istown?”
“Marble Valley, Colorado. Surprised?” Duke pulls into a spot in front of a tall, rustic building with hand-painted signs and flower boxes in full bloom.
“Well … yes.”
