Along the Broken Road by Heather Burch Page B

something?”
    “Go on, make a joke of it, but if it were you having to pose nude, I think you’d feel differently.”
    “Well, if it helps, I could see if Edward will let me do the study rather than him. Would that be better?” She blinked wide, innocent eyes at him.
    “Yes.”
    She wadded the empty bag of chips and threw it at him. “I knew it. You’re just a chauvinistic jerk. It’s okay for a young woman to stare at you naked, but not for an older man.”
    He blinked once, twice, and again. “At the risk of sounding old-fashioned, yes.” A smile spread across his face. “Whenever you want to stare at me naked just let me know.”
    She stood and stormed off toward the creek. “Idiot. Stupid army jerk.” But there was a hint of teasing in her tone and a definite sway to her hips.
    He followed her with enough stealth she didn’t know he was there until he spoke. “You’re a control freak and I’m a jerk. Seems like we’re pretty evenly matched.”
    She turned around to find him close. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. His brows rose. She rolled her eyes. When they landed on his, they softened. “Ian, was it you who wrote that letter?”
    He wanted to tell her yes even though it would be a lie, to tell her he was capable of a ridiculously beautiful thing like that, but he wasn’t. Ian didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. “No.”
    She tilted her head. “Would you tell me if it was?”
    “No.” He wouldn’t tell anyone because he simply was inept at letting people know how he really felt. It was in him, in his head, in his heart, but the words got all tangled up.
    “Here.” She slipped something into his hand.
    He glanced down to find the Jeep keys.
    “You can drive.”
    “I’d love to.” Before she could comment back, he gathered the blanket and cooler and headed toward the Jeep.

    Charlee hustled the artists into the Jeep and Ian followed on his Harley. They were headed to the Neon Moon. It had been a long week and they all deserved a night on the town, though Charlee had some reservations about Ian going along.
    Her fence was halfway done thanks to Ian’s constant attention. He’d been sweet and friendly for the last several days since their little talk about deep wounds versus superficial ones, but that smoldering look in his eyes had all but gone. She appreciated that. And missed it. The day mudding had been fun and everything between them seemed to be at a nice, smooth, safe pace.
    The Neon Moon was a bar and grill with peanut shells littering the concrete floor and farm equipment attached to the scarred wooden walls. It had been a barn in its former life but served the best burgers and homemade potato chips on the planet. And it was the only good restaurant within a five-mile radius of the retreat, making it not only tasty but convenient. When she was young, her older brother Gabriel would bring his guitar and sing on stage on open mike night. Gabriel had an incredible voice, and there was a time Charlee was certain he’d follow his dream to Nashville. But after her oldest brother had a short-lived and unfortunate brush with fame, Gabriel stopped talking about his dream of singing onstage. The guitar was put away in the top of the closet and the dream died.
    Mr. Gruber was sandwiched between the sisters in the backseat of the Jeep and though he scowled for the ten-minute drive, Charlee had the distinct impression he really didn’t mind being trapped between the ladies. King Edward occupied the passenger seat, hairy knees spread and his kilt flittering in the night breeze. He wore a brightly colored African hat on his head. One he swore had been given to him by a shaman when he’d visited their beautiful country for a photography safari. King Edward’s stories were colossal and Charlee barely knew where fiction began and fact ended. Especially since she’d found the hat in the laundry once and noted the tag inside, Made in India .
    In the rearview mirror she watched Ian.