“This one reminds me of that game, ‘which of these is not like the others?’” She turned back toward him to see his expression dim for a moment.
“Reminds me of a vacation we had when Cooper and I were kids. Only time we went to the beach. I remember walking along holding my dad’s hand and we found a starfish. Mom still has a picture of me squatting down in the sand next to it with the goofiest grin on my face.”
Devon smiled at the image in her mind. “How did you get started doing this?”
“Would you believe rodeo?”
She turned more fully toward him. “Not connecting the dots here.”
He pushed away from the side of the stall and propped his hand atop one of the posts. “I was riding in a rodeo up in Wyoming and had some time to kill. Went to a local museum, and they had this kind of sculpture out front. A whole herd of bison. I thought it was neat, and the idea stuck with me. When I retired, I thought I’d give it a try in my spare time.”
She wondered if he was using the sculpture work to fill a void. “I was surprised when I heard you retired. You seemed like you really loved riding bulls, though personally I think it’s insane.”
Cole laughed. “You and my mom, both.” He shifted his gaze to the metal horse. “It wasn’t by choice. But my old body couldn’t take it anymore.”
His old body? From what she could tell, his body was perfectly fine. More than fine. Superfine.
Oh, stop it.
He appeared to notice her confusion. “Was thrown too many times. Doc told me that if I didn’t want to risk being paralyzed the next time I hit the dirt, I’d better hang it up.”
Sickness coiled in Devon’s stomach at the image of Cole in a wheelchair. For a man like him, it might kill him. At least kill the person he was, how he identified himself.
“I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Yes. Yes, it does.” He stepped forward and rapped his knuckles against the metal horse’s neck. “But I stay busy so I won’t think about how I thought I had a few more good years of riding in me.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that doesn’t work as often as you’d like.”
He looked at her with a surprised expression, eyes slightly wider, then gave a single nod. “But at least I’m still walking, right?”
She could tell he was making light of the situation when probably, deep down, he hadn’t fully come to terms with it yet. She couldn’t imagine how brokenhearted she’d be if she were to lose the farm and the shop. But they weren’t the type of friends who bared all their emotions to each other. At least not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Yay for mobility. Allows us to run away from our matchmaking mamas.” As soon as she said it, she wished she could rewind time a few seconds.
But Cole laughed. “You picked up on Mom’s intent, huh? Sorry about that. She’s got a hankering for grandkids and hasn’t accepted that she’s not going to get them from me.”
His words caused a sadness to settle on Devon. Not that she thought the two of them were going to make babies or anything, but he seemed so certain. His assertion had a finality to it that didn’t invite argument. It seemed a shame not to carry on his family line and those magnificent genes.
“You don’t like kids?”
He shrugged. “They’re fine, but I’m never getting married again. And if I had kids, I’d want to be around for them, not part of a broken family. I’d want them to have what I did growing up.”
She envied his fond thoughts of childhood. When she looked back, what overwhelmed her were feelings of inadequacy and trying to find ways to make herself feel better and less alone.
Devon resisted the urge to ask about Amy, what had happened. She didn’t even know his second wife’s name. Maybe Cole was right to steer clear of marriage after that track record, but something about that thought didn’t sit well with her. She didn’t have any real basis other than he seemed to be a nice guy and loved his mom, but Devon thought Cole Davis might make someone a good husband. But the right someone.
Like you?
No, not me.
She’d learned long ago not to expect things that would never come to fruition. Doing so only led to sadness and burning frustration.
“What about you?” he asked. “Are you anti-marriage or just anti-marrying someone your mother picks?”
“The latter. Honestly, I sometimes feel like she’s set up a dating profile for me somewhere and carefully screens all the candidates before attempting to parade me in front of them like a prize cow.”
Cole snort-laughed.
“You laugh, but I’m not exaggerating. At least your mom is sweet about her attempts.”
“Sounds like we could each use someone watching our backs.”
“I like how you think.”
“So you encourage my mom to chill on trying to find me wife number three, and I’ll play fake date when you need to get your mom off your case.”
Devon resisted gulping at the idea of a pretend date with Cole. Would she be able to hide the fact that she really found him attractive? That she wouldn’t mind if the date were real?
“You are so getting the worst end of this deal,” she said.
After Devon left, Cole stayed in the barn to continue working on the horse sculpture. He’d been so busy on the ranch the past few days that he hadn’t found time to come out here. With Devon’s enthusiastic reaction, he found himself energized and picked up an old metal sign and began bending it to cover a part of the horse’s flank.
His thoughts drifted back to Devon. Though she attempted to joke about it, his gut told him that her mother’s treatment of her was no laughing matter. Angela Newberry was the type of woman who was used to getting what she wanted and didn’t react well when she didn’t. He’d had experience with that type and couldn’t say he liked it a whole hell of a lot.
He tried to pull up memories of Devon from high school. She’d been smart, shy, maybe heavier, but he couldn’t remember all the details. It struck him that despite their school’s small size, she’d still managed to be one of the kids you tended to overlook. Despite who her parents were, she hadn’t ruled the school as you’d expect someone in her position to do. He wondered if even then her mother was always harping on her.
She was thinner now, very pretty in a natural way. He found he liked that a lot better than the endless parade of overly made-up fakes who’d put themselves in his path. Not that Devon was doing that. In fact, he and his mother were the ones who’d dragged her out here. He was surprised by how nice it felt to be able to talk with a woman without feeling as though she expected something from him, like a ring on her finger. That Devon seemed to understand how he missed rodeo and appreciated his work made him extra glad he’d gone on instinct helping her with her mom earlier.
“You sound happy.”
He looked up at his mom striding down the middle of the barn. “Huh?”
“You were whistling.”
He was?
He placed his palm against the side of the metal horse. “Because I’m close to finishing this guy.”
“You sure it has nothing to do with our visitor?”
“Devon?”
She lifted a brow. “You