the crushing pain Abby felt at Bo’s betrayal. He left in late August without saying goodbye, but Marla made sure the whole town knew what a wonderful father Bo was going to make. That bit of information was the final blow that had shattered Abby’s heart. Never again would she believe in ever after.
She looked at her shaking hands, dismayed that those bittersweet memories still posed a threat to her carefully monitored emotions. Anger at herself for allowing such a thing to happen burned deep inside her chest.
“Now, eat up, hon.” IdaJoy pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen with well-curved, swaying hips, a plate of wheat toast and homemade strawberry jam in one hand, coffeepot in the other. She placed both in front of Abby, then frowned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She leaned across the counter and lowered her voice. “I guess maybe that’d be the case, if you saw Bo again, huh? I hear he looks a whole lot different now. That’s what Louie LittleBear told me, and he should know.”
Abby forced her thoughts back to the present. “Different? Oh, well, it’s been two years, after all. We all look…”
“I’m talking real different, like Louie almost didn’t recognize him at first. Saw him when he took some feed out to Shorty’s place. Bo was in the barn, but hurried off without so much as a howdy when Louie said ‘Hey.’ Shorty was the one who told him Bo was staying there. Didn’t say why, though.” Her eyes widened. “You reckon Marla’s there, too…with their kid? Louie said he didn’t see ’em. What else did Buck tell you?”
IdaJoy’s penchant for gossip was tempered by her honest concern for the people she loved, and Abby knew the older woman cared about her. It was just so awkward, being the object of sympathetic looks and whispers in a town the size of Sweet River. Everybody knew everything about everyone and nothing was sacred. She should be used to it by now, but it still stung a bit.
“Only that Bo is staying at the ranch for a while. Shorty didn’t offer any other information.” Abby was proud of the way she managed to keep her voice from faltering. With IdaJoy hanging on her every word, the woman would no doubt latch on to the very first sign of nerves and blow it all out of proportion. Good thing she couldn’t hear the rata-tat-tat of Abby’s heartbeat right then.
IdaJoy hugged Abby’s shoulder right before she rose. “Well, hon, you just make sure you hold your head up and don’t you be feeling bad. No sir. You’ve done all right for yourself, even without a man.”
And that’s supposed to make me feel better? Abby stood and made her wobbly way to the kitchen, right behind IdaJoy. Work—that’s what she needed to take her mind off the past. She yanked a blue denim apron from the shelf and tied it around her waist, then grabbed an order book and pencil. Shoulders squared and chin jutting, she prepared to forget about Bo Ramsey one more time.
The Saturday noon crowd at the Blue Moon was a noisy, hungry bunch of locals. Most of them were ranchers and every last one of them knew Abby. They remembered Bo, too, and the majority of them already knew he was back in town. One out of every three old-timers managed to make some pointed comment about him to Abby. Not that she was counting or anything.
When the last of the diners left, Abby heaved a sigh of relief. Finally. Her face ached from keeping a false smile pasted on it for the last two hours. Maintaining a who cares attitude while she dodged all the probing questions had strained her self-control to the limit. Hadn’t anyone in town forgotten that humiliating episode in her life?
She was clearing off the last table when the growl of a truck slewing into the graveled parking lot caught her attention. Through the slatted blinds of the front window, she saw Shorty Packer heading for the café. Abby’s pulse stuttered. Behind Shorty another cowboy followed, his hesitant gait somewhat unnatural and one-sided, the set of his shoulders much too familiar. Abby watched him yank his hat low, obscuring his face, but she knew…oh, God, she knew.
With her hands pressed to her chest, she felt her heart take off in a marathon race. Her mouth went dry. Her face grew hot. She closed her eyes and imparted a silent prayer. Lord, please don’t let me make a fool of myself.
For the first time in two years, the man who had loved her and left her was almost close enough to touch. She didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or call 9-1-1.
With a nod, Shorty said “Howdy” and headed for the lunch counter, but Bo remained motionless in the middle of the room, his face shadowed beneath his wide-brimmed hat. Abby knew he’d recognized her by the sharp intake of his breath. Not being able to see his eyes didn’t keep the heat of his gaze from igniting a high-voltage intimacy that sizzled straight into her raw-edged senses. His very presence caused her breath to catch in her throat and created a weakness in her knees and that produced an acute longing that both terrified and dismayed her.
Her own gaze drank in his shape swiftly. His body was thinner, harder than she recalled, yet every bit as seductive as it had always been. A missing button caused his wash-softened denim shirt to gap just enough to reveal the white T-shirt stretched taut across his chest. Hard-muscled arms, so achingly familiar in rolled-up sleeves, evoked images she tried desperately to push away. Everything about him tore at her heart. Those low-slung, faded jeans hugging his hips and long legs. The same well-worn boots that had—just once—been hastily discarded by the side of her bed.
A tiny gasp escaped her lips as bittersweet memories flashed in instant replay. She didn’t need to see Bo’s face to remember. Dark, smoky eyes. A mouth that could pleasure her with slow, burning kisses and coax her body into a hot, pliable mass of desire. Midnight-black hair she could almost feel sliding between her fingers, grasping it as the final shudder of ecstacy claimed her. Oh, God, why was she doing this? Why couldn’t she make herself forget?
She licked her lips and searched for something to say. Before she could find words, he turned. She heard him swear when he bumped the corner of a table, nearly falling in his rush for the door. She watched him limp away, shoving chairs aside and slamming the door behind him. How ironic that after all this time, Bo Ramsey was still in a hurry to leave her. And the pain in her heart was still the same.
Gravel spit and gears groaned as the pickup spun out of the parking lot. Shorty just watched the dust settle, then eased himself onto a red vinyl-covered stool at the end of the counter.
“Damn fool ain’t supposed to be driving yet.” He shrugged. “Guess I shoulda’ told him you might be here.”
Abby wondered if her heart would ever return to normal. With shaking hands, she concentrated on pouring Shorty’s coffee into a thick, white mug. She managed to get most of it where it belonged. The rest she wiped up with a cloth.
Shorty looked at her over the rim of his half-full cup. “You knew he was back, didn’t you?”
She nodded, trying to ignore the way her pulse was thrumming. She didn’t trust her voice enough to speak just yet.
“Well, hell’s bells, girl, ain’t you gonna say something?” He plunked his cup back on the counter, skewered her with his gaze.
Abby swallowed around the lump in her throat. Her eyes stung and she blinked hard to hold back the tears.
“What do you want me to say, Shorty?” She could barely squeak out a whisper. “That was a rotten thing to do,” she said, swiping at an invisible stain on the already spotless counter one more time.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” the old cowboy said. “Ain’t you got nothin’ to say about how he looked?”
“Looked?
