“You can’t get anything past that crew.”
“They’re also a feminist brain trust. I came away knowing that even if Cole and I have a lot going for us, which we do, if he won’t let me into his private vault….”
“Are you sure about that?”
“He said it again, just now, when he knew what was on the line.”
Claudie sighed. “That’s a damned shame, sis.”
“You can’t repeat any of this.”
“I won’t. I just feel like giving him a knock upside the head. I thought he was smarter than that. Only a dummy would give up a chance to be with you.”
“He’s no dummy. But he is damaged. And this is how he’s chosen to deal with it.”
“His loss. I hate that everything fell apart, but I’m glad you took a stand. The Damsels are right. This is a huge red flag. Will they say anything?”
“No. For one thing, I didn’t confirm that Cole was keeping secrets from me. But before I left, Tia Kat gave them all that look, and?—”
“I know that look.”
“Then she said this conversation never happened.”
“Good for her.” Claudie’s blue gaze was steady. “Neither did this one.”
Gratitude brought a lump to her throat. “Thank you. And thank you for listening.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I wish I could tell you more, but even getting this much off my chest is huge. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Backatcha, sis.” Leaning over, she extended her mug.
Mila did the same, stretching her arm until the mugs touched. “To us.”
Sharing her troubles with Claudie had lightened the heavy weight pressing down on her heart. But that concept made no sense to Cole.
Would he ever see the light? She longed for that, but the choice was his.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
After a mostly sleepless night, Cole was at loose ends. He liked keeping busy. Having nothing to do was his worst nightmare.
Well, maybe not his worst one, but it made the list. Being dumped by the woman of his dreams while also out of projects would have driven him to drink in the past.
Except he wasn’t doing that anymore. An occasional beer or two was his limit. Cleaning the loft from top to bottom took exactly two hours and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
He considered copying Mila’s idea and going for a long ride along a snowy trail. But although he’d talked to Luis about snow pads he’d never bought any and he could cause Sparky a problem if he rode without them.
Then he remembered the arena. Luis and Jordie wouldn’t be using it this week. He’d only ridden Sparky once in there and they’d both loved it. Nobody would care as long as he got out the tractor and raked it afterward.
He'd done that job several times for his sister and brother-in-law, who’d been crunched for time as the training clinics gained popularity. They considered it a favor. He considered it the fulfillment of a little boy’s dream.
Riding Sparky in that arena would be a twofer. He’d lope around that space like the fudging Lone Ranger and then drive that John Deere like Old MacDonald.
Within ten minutes he’d tacked up Sparky and was leading him over to the arena. They’d chosen a plot of land to the right of the pasture and about thirty yards behind the two casitas. Someone had shoveled the path to the front entrance and taken a horse along it, too.
He wasn’t the only one with this idea, but he kinda hoped they’d been and gone. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation.
