“Waylon Guthrie.”
I nearly snort my laughter but catch myself in time. “Of course it was. He’s the only person who ever calls me Jessamyn.”
“It’s a lovely name.”
“Thank you. I think Jessie suits me better, though.”
His gaze skims my face. “It sure does.”
It’s those sweet words, wrapped up in flirtation and delivered as a compliment, that make me wonder what it would be like if he pressed his lips to mine.
“Jessie, are you going to introduce me to your friend?” My mother’s voice railroads into my thoughts.
I take a step back, turning toward her. Sawyer beats me to it, though.
He extends a hand. “Mrs. Hayden, I’m Sawyer Bennett.”
Her hand, already halfway to him, stops in mid-air, a good eight inches from his. Her eyes widen, she visibly gulps, then recovers. She shakes his hand quickly, mumbling that it’s nice to meet him, and waves over a passerby, offering a sample. They approach, and she treats them like a life preserver.
I look Sawyer over, from the top of his head to exactly where the table cuts off my gaze. When I don’t spot what had my mother acting so bizarre, I ask, “Why did she act like that?”
He shrugs and shakes his head. “I honestly have no idea.”
He pays for the cheese, and I hand him the box. Our fingers brush, first when he takes the box, and second when we exchange money. The second time, his touch lingers, and I hear his sharp inhale.
“Thank you,” he says roughly, turning away.
I watch him walk through the crowd, turning heads as he goes. It’s not just his handsome face, or black jeans that are most definitely not Wrangler, that command attention. There’s something to the set of his shoulders, the tension along his jaw. He is a man burdened by something.
I tear my gaze away, and into my mother’s waiting stare.
“Didyou know Sawyer Bennett was back in town?”
My dad’s gaze comes up over the top of his worn hardback novel.Lonesome Dove.He removes his wire-rimmed reading glasses, running a hand through his hair as he looks at my mother.
She didn’t have a word to say to me after Sawyer walked away from our tent, but based on her question to my father I’d say she didn’t need my introduction. It’s not surprising to think she knew him from when he used to live at the Circle B, but the real mystery is why she’d have this response.
“Yes,” he answers.
My mother’s posture is stiff, my father’s relaxed. He hasn’t moved from the buttery leather chair that enveloped him when he sat down to read. The tic along his jaw tells me just how deceptive his appearance is. Their stare, thick with something I don’t understand, causes a boulder to park itself in my stomach.
I think I like Sawyer more than I’ve let myself believe. My heart has been keeping secrets from my brain.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” There is strain in my mother’s tone as she stretches to keep something else from seeping in.
My dad’s gaze flickers my way, then back to my mother. “I figured you knew.”
I’m losing patience. This conversation, if it could really be called that, uses few words but says much more. None of which I can interpret as anything meaningful.
“Um, hello?” I wave my hand in the air. “What is going on?”
My mom looks my way as if she’s just now remembered I’m in the room. “Nothing.”
“This is notnothing,” I respond. “This is something, but I can’t figure out what. You went silent after I introduced you to Sawyer, but apparently I didn’t need to because you already know him. And now you’re here exchanging cryptic dialogue with Dad.” My hands are in the air at my sides, palms face up, my eyes wide in anI’m waitingstance.
My dad leans forward, uncrossing his legs and placing his book on the table. “Years ago, before you were born, there was bad blood between me and Sawyer’s father. He did something pretty shitty, and I retaliated. He eventually left town, and abandoned the Circle B.” He stands. “The rest is history.” Striding to my mother, he gathers her in his arms and kisses the top of her head.
“It was a hard time,” she adds, the side of her head pressed to my dad’s chest. “Seeing Sawyer today was a bit of a shock for me, that’s all.”
