Page 8 of A Colorado Claim
Risking a glance at him, even knowing how appealing she always found him, Lark lifted her gaze from the creek bed.
Gibson stood some fifteen feet from her, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt that outlined delineated muscles. His dark hair was still damp from a morning shower and combed away from his face.
“No. Forget I said that.” She shook her head, remembering she was a licensed therapist and a professional woman, not an embittered former spouse. She could share the woods with this man for a few minutes, if only to show herself that she had moved on from Gibson Vaughn. “It’s just been one of those weeks.”
He nodded then continued toward her, his thighs flexing as he walked, straining the denim of his jeans as he moved. She’d forgotten that about him, how his body was more than just a thing of male beauty. It was a scrupulously maintained machine, a tool of his sport and one of the keys to being an elite athlete.
Her throat dried up as he reached her.
“Sit with me?” he asked, nodding toward the flat rock where they’d settled beside one another long ago.
She supposed it made sense to move past this enmity with him if they were going to see one another around town in the future. Besides, she didn’t like what it said about her feelings that her back went up every time he was near. From a counseling perspective, she recognized the signs of unresolved issues.
“For a few minutes,” she agreed, carefully setting a mental boundary for herself by referencing the time limit. Giving herself an out if she needed one.
Then, stepping out onto the ledge of a rock that had probably once served as a foundation for the long collapsed wooden bridge that had spanned the creek at one time, Lark lowered herself to the cool stone. She wished she’d worn one of her long skirts today instead of the cotton shorts and tee she’d thrown on for a run earlier. From experience, she knew the more clothes between them the better if she wanted to hide her body’s reaction to him.
Sometimes just the sound of his voice could give her goosebumps. His effect on her had always been so strong and at the same time, wildly unfair.
A point driven home as his knee brushed hers when he took the spot beside her. She tried not to skitter from him, but the effect of that touch, however innocuous, was potent.
But if Gibson noticed her struggle, he didn’t remark on it. Instead, he leaned back on his hands and tipped his head to peer up at the canopy of trees overhead. A soft breeze fluttered the leaves in a continuous rustle, the scent of silty soil and dead leaves mingling with the pervasive smell of the pines.
“You once told me I should come out here when I needed space to breathe and think,” he mused aloud. “I guess it’s been one of those weeks for me, too.”
Caught off guard that he recalled advice she’d given him—let alone that he still implemented it—Lark looked at him again. Really looked. Beyond the well-publicized physique and handsome face. There were shadows beneath his eyes, hints of sleepless nights and worries.
“Second-guessing retirement?” The old resentments crept in while a belted kingfisher sounded its rattling call.
While she waited for his answer, Lark glanced up at the bird, its blue head and white neck feathers easily distinguished amid the green leaves of the birch. She hadn’t meant to pick a fight with Gibson but damn it, his job had been impossible to live with. Or was it just hiscommitmentto the job? His endless quest for excellence had consumed his time and energies, leaving him little leftover to share with her.
“Not second-guessing so much as wondering who to be now that I’m no longer a hockey player,” he answered, not rising to the bait of an old argument. A self-deprecating smile lifted one side of his mouth before he finished drily, “An end-of-career identity crisis, I guess.”
Was he truly concerned about that? It was a rare glimpse behind the composed, confident mask he usually showed to the world. But then, they’d met through her practice, before she’d switched her professional focus from sports psychology to counseling kids.
Gibson Vaughn had walked into her office one day for an initial consultation, but there’d been a spark between them immediately. She’d ignored it, of course, because she was a professional and that was a sacred line to her. But he’d refused to schedule a session with her, insisting he wanted a date instead.
She’d never been more grateful for a canceled appointment in her life.
After a few weeks of getting to know one another through texts and phone calls, she’d agreed to come to an afternoon game and dinner with him afterward. He wasn’t merely charming and attractive; he’d been persistent. Focused on her completely. And he hadn’t given up once he’d made up his mind. What woman could resist that brand of wooing? She’d been swept off her feet.
And she was not a woman to get carried away by romance. Until Gibson, she hadn’t even believed it existed. The memories of her broken family had made her distrustful of relationships. She’d had to become so independent that she had trouble being vulnerable to anyone. Gibson had broken through the first layers, but they hadn’t had enough time together to work through all her issues.
“So you’re going to turn your property into a working ranch?” She watched the kingfisher leave its branch to dive headfirst into the creek, coming up a moment later with a pale colored fish in its long beak. “My grandmother mentioned that’s what you were planning the last time I spoke to her.”
When he didn’t respond right away, Lark pulled off her shoes to dip a toe in the water while she turned to observe him. He had straightened in his seat to pick a blade of grass from a crack in the rock.
“Antonia told me I had all the makings of a good rancher.”
The warmth in his voice reminded Lark how much Gibson had enjoyed her grandmother. He’d said his family had never been close, but it was a subject he never lingered on. She’d gotten the impression his dad had been the stern, withholding sort before he’d left the family when Gibson was eight or nine.
After that, his mother had worked two jobs to support herself and her son, making interactions between them infrequent. Lark had liked Stephanie Vaughn a great deal and sensed she wanted to be closer with her son, but Gibson seemed to keep her at a distance.
Now, Lark’s defenses crumbled at his regard for her loved one. She was grateful for the creek water flowing around her feet, the cool chill keeping a check on her emotions.
“If Gran said it, then it must be true.” She watched as he wound the grass blade around one long finger, his hands crisscrossed with old scars. “But you’d be good at a lot of things. What’s more important is to find something you’ll enjoy.”
He gave a mirthless laugh, the grass falling forgotten through his fingers. “I enjoy things that I’m good at.”