High Country Cowgirl. Joanna Sims
the kitchen table were mismatched, the fabrics on the couch and chairs in the living room where mismatched, and the dishes were all mismatched. And yet everything blended together, much like a tapestry, into one wonderfully homey picture.
“I didn’t know to expect you.” Janice handed her a glass of wine.
“I’m so sorry,” Bonita apologized. “I just assumed Gabe let you know.”
“He might’ve thought he did and then it slipped his mind. He’s like that. Don’t worry. I’m just thinking out loud... I have a spare room. You’d be more comfortable in here than out there in the rig, don’t you think?”
Actually...
“You wouldn’t mind?”
Janice waved her hand and frowned at her as if she thought the question was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard. She went to the front door, pulled it open, stood on the front porch and hollered to Gabe.
“Gabe! Bring Bonny’s suitcase in here when you’re done! She’s bunking with me tonight!”
“I can go get it.” Bonita put her glass down on the butcher-block island in the kitchen. Asking Gabe to wait on her like a bellboy was only adding insult to his injury. He hadn’t wanted her on the trip in the first place.
“He can get it.” Janice shooed her back into the kitchen. “You hang out here with me and keep me company. I’m surrounded by horses, cows, manure and men. I don’t get nearly enough estrogen in my life, that I can tell you!”
After dinner, Gabe found Bonita in the barn, sitting on a tack box across from Val’s stall, holding another glass of wine in her hand. When she saw him, she scooted over and made room for him to sit down beside her.
“They’re a loud bunch,” Gabe said as he sat down next to his client, careful to make sure that there was plenty of space between Bonita’s body and his.
She had been staring at her horse, swirling her wine around and around in the glass. She seemed lost in her own thoughts and from the look on her face—a sincerely pretty and compelling face—they weren’t the happiest thoughts in the world.
“They are wonderful.” Bonita’s full mouth turned up in a slight smile. “Truly. Stopping here was a real blessing.”
“Good.” Gabe was glad to hear it. Even though he hadn’t wanted her along for the trip, he had an instinct to make sure she was safe and cared for while she was with him. Not that he had anything in particular against Bonita—he just preferred to travel alone. It was his policy and that way he could say no to anyone and everyone who asked. And clients did ask. Bonita was the only client who wouldn’t take no for an answer. And he’d adapted. That was his way. He hadn’t liked it, but he dealt with it.
His mother died when he was just a kid and his father, Jock, told him straight up that he’d better learn to deal with life’s curveballs quick, because they came fast and furious sometimes. It was one of his father’s better pieces of advice and Gabe had been adapting to change quickly ever since.
Bonita took a small sip of her wine. She seemed a little more relaxed and if he had counted correctly, she was on her third glass. She said, “Janice is crazy. I love that about her.”
Looking straight ahead, Gabe nodded with a little smile. “She’s a nut, that’s the truth.”
“You’ve known her a long time.”
It was more of a statement than a question.
“A long time.”
His companion took another sip of the wine before she said, “The way she is with her ex, you’d think they were still a couple.”
Janice had invited her ex-husband, Gary, for dinner, along with a group of friends, all from the same horse community that Gabe hadn’t seen in a long time. Gary was a solid horse trainer in his own right and Janice still regularly referred her clients to him if they had a horse with training concerns.
“They’re much better friends than spouses.”
“That’s rare.”
He nodded. He’d never managed to stay friends with his exes. For him, once it was over, it was time to move on. It had been quite a while since he’d had to move on from a woman, though. He’d managed to fill his life with his horses. The last time he had to move on had broken his heart good and proper.
“I love the barn at night,” Bonita mused quietly. “Don’t you?”
He glanced at Bonita’s profile. It was his favorite time in the barn. In that moment, Gabe realized that he was enjoying sitting in the barn with Bonita a little too much. Instead of answering, he stood up.
“I’m going to turn in. We’ve got a long stretch tomorrow. I want to leave by four.”
His client’s sleepy eyes opened wide as she looked up at him. “In the morning?”
He nodded.
“That means I have to get up at three?”
“If it takes you an hour to get ready, then I suppose so.”
Bonita frowned.
“I want to get to our next stop by late afternoon. That’ll give Val plenty of time to stretch out his legs.”
Still frowning, Bonita asked, “Where’s our next destination?”
“I have Val booked for a stall in a facility in Grimes, Iowa.”
“Iowa,” she repeated so morosely that it made him smile. “How many hours to Grimes?”
“Ten,” he told her. “Today was a short day.”
“It didn’t feel short.”
“It was.”
They stared at each other for a second or two before Gabe broke the eye contact and waved his hand. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hey...”
He turned back to her.
“Do you mind if I keep Tater with me tonight?”
He couldn’t believe how long it took him to process that question. He was just used to having Tater with him.
“Sure,” he finally said. “If it’ll make the night better for you.”
“Gracias.” Bonita said, the word of thanks rolling off her tongue in a way that sounded mighty pleasant to his ears.
“De nada.” His you’re welcome came out stilted and heavily accented, but it made her smile, and he liked to see that smile.
With one final nod to his client, he left the barn and headed out to the rig. He planned on taking a quick shower, climbing into the sleeping bunk above the front cab and getting at least eight hours of shut-eye. He was lucky that he could fall asleep on a dime, and now that he didn’t have to worry about walking around the rig in his boxers, he could get comfortable and get down to the business of sleeping.
* * *
Morning came too early for Bonita. Soon after Gabe gave her the bad news about her three o’clock wake-up time, she finished her wine, made sure Tater had one last visit to a grassy spot on the lawn, said good-night to her new friends and then retreated to the guest room. After a long, hot shower and going through her nightly routine of brushing her teeth and putting on her face creams and brushing all the tangles out of her waist-length hair, as she always did, she called her parents to say good-night.
“I have to get up at three o’clock in the morning,” Bonita complained to her father. No matter how far into adulthood she got, she still went to her dad for comfort when life