A Husband In Wyoming. Lynnette Kent

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      Still, she grinned when she got down. “That is so cool.”

      Beside Dylan, Jess Granger shook her head. “This was not what I pictured when you said you were conducting a summer camp. I thought, you know, arts and crafts—collages made with pinecones and sticks they pick up on a hike.”

      “Nope. We’ve been working on their riding skills—none of them could sit on a horse when they showed up here. On Friday we’re taking them on their first cattle drive. You’ll have to come along and observe.”

      “Um... I’m another one who’s never been on a horse before I got here.”

      He gave her a wink. “We might have to work on that.”

      “By Friday?”

      “There’s a full moon tonight.”

      “That sounds like a threat.”

      “Could be. In the meantime, come meet my brother Ford and his fiancée.”

      Introductions took place as the kids dispersed, the boys heading to their bunkhouse and the three girls to the cabin they shared with Caroline. “They get an hour or so to reconnect with their phones,” Caroline explained to Jess. “We wouldn’t want anybody going into withdrawal.”

      “I certainly would, without mine. Dylan said that these are some of the troubled kids in your area.”

      “That’s right. Most of them have had some kind of run-in with the legal system.”

      “They seem pretty cooperative, overall. Not as resistant as I would expect.”

      “Today’s a successful day,” Ford said. Caroline nodded. “And we’ve been together for a few weeks, developed some relationships. Do you have experience working with teenagers?”

      “No, not really. But I have known some kids with problems.” Jess Granger gave a short laugh. “In fact, I guess you could say I was one. I grew up bouncing in and out of the foster care system. At about the same rate my parents jumped in and out of jail.”

      Dylan swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The Marshall brothers had lost both their parents before Wyatt turned sixteen, but they’d always had each other to depend on. He didn’t want to consider how hard life might be without some kind of family you could trust to take care of you.

      After a few seconds of silence, Ford found the right words. “You’ve obviously not only survived that experience, but thrived.”

      Caroline put a hand on the journalist’s arm. “I would love to have you talk to our kids, especially the girls. You’re such a great example of what responsibility and persistence can accomplish. Please say you’ll spend some time with them while you’re here.”

      Jess Granger looked surprised. “If you think it will help, I’d be glad to.”

      “You have to be careful around Caroline.” Ford put his arm around his fiancée and squeezed her shoulders. “If she can find a way to use you in one of her causes, she will. That’s how the Circle M ended up hosting this camp in the first place.”

      “The world needs people who push for ways to help others,” Jess said. “They’re the ones who make a difference.” She turned to Dylan, still speechless beside her. “Would this be a good opportunity for the two of us to talk? I was hoping to see your studio, get some insight into your new work process.”

      He had plenty of reservations about that plan, but no valid reason to refuse. “Sure.” To Caroline and Ford, he said, “We’ll catch up with you two at dinner.”

      Then, with a sense of dread, he headed toward the studio, leading the enemy directly into the heart of his most personal territory.

      * * *

      JESS CAUGHT UP with Dylan as he angled away from the ranch house, across a downhill stretch of grass toward what seemed to be another barn, though this building was gray, not red like the one at the top. “You haven’t said anything.”

      His handsome face was hard to read. “I admire your achievements, against such odds. Were you close to your foster family?”

      “Which one?” She wanted to push his buttons, shake his self-control. “I lived with five different couples. Ten brothers and sisters. Not all at once, of course.”

      “That sounds pretty tough.” They reached the corner of the building but he continued past it, toward a stand of trees where the land flattened out. The grass was longer here and greener than on the hill, bending and swaying in the ever-present wind.

      Jess stopped to take some pictures, and had to catch up with him again. “Where are we going?”

      “To the creek.”

      “Why?”

      “You wanted to understand my process.”

      They stepped under the shade of the trees and the temperature dropped about ten degrees. Jess removed her hat to let the breeze cool her head. “That feels so good.”

      Dylan nodded. “Part of the process.”

      He’d taken his hat off, too, letting the wind blow his wavy hair back from his face. There was a straight line across his forehead where the dirt from his morning’s work had streaked his skin below his hat. It looked funny, yet also appealing, since it spoke of the physical effort he’d made. Jess was suddenly aware of his bare forearms, his flat stomach and tight rear end. Taking a deep breath, she pivoted away to study the scenery.

      Trees and shrubs grew right up to the edge of the water. Along the edge of the stream, the trees were interspersed with rocks and boulders, some as big as cars. The creek bed itself was covered with smaller rocks and stones, which created a sparkling music as the water flowed over them.

      “Beautiful,” she said, snapping more photographs, moving around to get different angles and light levels. “Like visiting a national park somewhere, but it’s all yours. No noisy, nosy tourists traipsing around to spoil it.” She grinned at Dylan. “Unless you count me.”

      “You’re definitely nosy. Not too noisy, so far.” He gestured to the big, level rock he stood beside. “Come sit down.”

      “Okay.” She sat on the rock and he joined her, leaving a space between them. Shadows from the leaves above danced across them, a flicker of gold and gray on their faces. “Now what?”

      “Be still for a few minutes. Listen.”

      Being still wasn’t Jess’s habit. Most of the time when she was sitting down, her fingers were flying over the keyboard, typing an article or doing research on the internet. Now, with nothing to do, she had to grip her hands together to keep them off her camera—there were several terrific shots she could get from this position, including some close-ups of Dylan himself. Profiled against the trees, he radiated a calm control that was the essence of the cowboy ideal.

      An essence very different from the frenetic artist he’d appeared to be three years ago. What had changed him? Or perhaps the question was, what had driven him in the first place? How did a boy who’d grown up in this setting, with the kind of values his brothers СКАЧАТЬ