Page 52 of Dusty Spur Ranch Cowboys

Her shoulders drop. Her eyes close.

A contented sigh escapes her. “Wow.”

I settle the other blanket around my own shoulders. “What?”

Arizona burrows deeper into the fabric. “I think I’ve just experienced true happiness.”

I place a hand over my heart. “After everything we’ve been through together, you’re choosing a blanket?”

She cracks one eye open. “Don’t make this about you.”

The conversation wanders from there without either of us steering it.

Some people make talking feel like work. Every topic needs encouragement before it moves anywhere useful.

Arizona isn’t built that way. She’ll tell a story that reminds me of another story, which somehow connects to a memory from five years ago, and before long we’re jumping between subjects with no concern for how we got there.

We trade stories about bad motels, strange towns, terrible coffee, and people who probably shouldn’t have been trusted with driver’s licenses.

That’s how I learn Arizona once spent the night in a roadside motel with a bat in the bathroom.

As she lifts her arm up with excitement, I see marks on her skin. She follows my gaze and rolls her eyes. “These are lyrics.”

“Arizona, your forearm looks like a library annex.”

Her smile widens. “Where exactly am I supposed to write when inspiration hits?”

I gesture toward the notebook sitting beside her. “The notebook seems like a strong candidate.”

“I lose notebooks.”

“So your solution was to become one?”

“It works.”

Arizona sits on the tack trunk across from me, blanket pulled around her shoulders, her notebook forgotten beside her. She’s smiling about a story she just told, and I catch myself watching her longer than I should.

It’s becoming a problem.

I’ve spent days finding reasons not to think too hard about her. She’s passing through town. She has a life that stretches far beyond Colter Creek.

I have enough responsibilities without adding complicated feelings to the pile.

Unfortunately, none of those arguments seem particularly convincing when she’s sitting ten feet away laughing at her own jokes.

She catches me looking.

Instead of glancing away, she lifts an eyebrow. “What’s that expression for?”

I should probably come up with an answer.

Instead, I say, “I’m trying to decide whether you’re actually this strange or if you’ve been putting on a show.”

Arizona presses a hand to her chest. “Willy Kane, are you questioning my authenticity?”

“I’m questioning several things.”

“That’s fair.”