Free Cowboy for Keeps by Debra Clopton Page A

face as he watched her.
    “That had to be rough.” His voice gentled.
    His compassion was unexpected. “Yes,” she said, inhaling slowly, trying to steady her rattled nerves. “It was. But it is what it is. I’m better off knowing up front.”
    “True, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.”
    She stared at him briefly, startled all the more. With shaking hands, she dished her own meal onto the plate then grabbed the foil, ripped a piece off and covered her food with it. She needed to go home—to her trailer across the yard. “But I have my work and that’s a good thing,” she finally said, hoping he didn’t ask too many more questions. Hoping he let it go at that. She wasn’t ready for questions.
    Not from him, anyway.
    Wyatt studied Amanda and wondered what she was hiding. He’d been thinking about their conversation a lot, though he’d tried not to.
    “So you’re here to work. To escape?” What was he doing?
    She set his plate on the table beside the glass of tea and the neatly folded napkin. She’d taken care with the place setting and now she straightened the napkin—despite that it didn’t need it. She was upset, nervous. He waited to see what else she said. Nervous people talked if you kept quiet and gave them room.
    “I guess I could deny it but there isn’t really any reason to. Yes. I’m here to work and forget and…” She took a step back and smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. No, her eyes were too bright. “Well, anyway, here’s your supper. I’m going to head over to my house.” She turned away and grabbed her plate. She was almost in tears.
    Wyatt had the impulse to ask her to stay and talk more—but it was clear talking about it upset her, so he didn’t. She wasn’t ready. And this was more personal than he wanted to get….
    But how had a man hurt her like that?
    He forced himself to move his chair up to the table. “Thanks for the supper,” he said, clamping down on his natural instinct to dig deeper. Now wasn’t the time…and it wasn’t his business anyway.
    She barely looked at him. “You’re welcome. Call if you need anything.”
    He watched her go. Her shiny dark hair swung in time to her step as she moved. Why had her fiancé dumped her? It didn’t matter really, because she was better off without him if he didn’t love her. It was evident that she’d loved him, though—still did, from the way she’d reacted. Her emotion had been real. Her heartache was evident; Wyatt didn’t like seeing her pain. But she was right—her work would help her escape. To cope, at least, just as his was helping him.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    A manda hurried out of Wyatt’s as though the house was on fire. She shouldn’t have talked about Jonathan. She hadn’t planned on telling anyone—especially Wyatt. And now she’d gone and opened up to him like that, when keeping her mouth shut would have been the better way.
    Anxious, she sank into the kitchen chair of her travel trailer and felt the walls closing in on her. She’d laid her Bible beside her bed when she’d unpacked, but she hadn’t opened it. Now she reached for it, feeling an urgent need.
    But, like all the other times she’d tried to read since the breakup, she couldn’t do it. It felt like there was a barrier between her and the words written on the page. Oh, she could scan them, but it was as if someone was speaking and she was inside a soundproof room, hearing nothing. She closed the book and, needing space, she went outside.
    She walked to the rear of the trailer, not wanting Wyatt to see her pacing. She’d seen what looked like a low wall near the wood’s edge and she was pleasantly surprised to find an archway with an iron gate. The hinges squeaked as she pulled the gate open, and with a feeling of excitement she found stone steps leading down the hill.
    How old were the wall and steps?
    She could hear rushing water and she carefully followed the steps downward toward the sound. Through the trees she