Lucy didn’t want to pry, but couldn’t help herself. “What? After what?”
Jolie bit her lip. “I shouldn’t have said that. Rowdy is a great guy. I’ve known him since I came here at age ten, when my parents were house parents. He didn’t take his mother’s death well. He got into all kinds of trouble—reckless stuff. My mom used to say it was as if his mother dying young made him think his life was going to end early, too, so he might as well live fast and furiously. He almost got killed trying to ride a bull that the best bull riders in the country had trouble riding. It stomped him—it was terrible. It scared Randolph to death.” Jolie shook her head. “Anyway, I know we all want the best for him.”
Jolie had changed what she’d been about to say, but hearing about Rowdy as a grieving boy tugged at Lucy’s heart. Still, why had Jolie thrown out the “especially after” comment, then backpedalled like an Olympian?
Whatever it was, she’d already figured out it couldn’t be good or Jolie would have had no reason to withhold from her.
“Rowdy just needs someone who can help mend the heart of that boy he once was. By the way, I want to say how sorry I am. I read the article about the fire.” Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry you lost your husband and were so badly burned. A terrible thing. I guess me pushing you about an interest in Rowdy is probably way off base right now. Forget I said anything. I’m just glad you’re here and agreed to teach art to the guys. Working with them will bless your soul.”
Lucy tried to figure out what to say, but in the end she said nothing. Just that the boys already were getting to her in a good way, and then she’d gotten out of there as fast as she could.
She had very nearly let her defenses down where Rowdy was concerned. The thought plagued her all the way home.
There was something behind Jolie’s remark. And it had a big red stop sign painted all over it. And yet, she thought about that boy who lost his mother and dealt with it by living hard and recklessly, and her heart ached for him.
Chapter Ten
Driving back from Bandera a few days after Lucy had told him about her husband, Rowdy had a lot of time to think. He’d been unable to get her off his mind. He’d had to make the almost four-hour trip to hill country on the spur of the moment to finalize the buying of a horse he’d been working on for weeks. The trip had turned into a two-day affair and he was anxious to get home.
Morgan had relayed to him that the first two art classes had been exactly as they’d all thought they’d be—met with strong opposition.
“If it had been us being forced to lift a brush at that age, we’d have been moaning just as loud,” he’d told Morgan.
“You’d probably have skipped out and found you someplace to hide out there holed up under the stars where you always used to run,” Morgan had accused, and been right on target.
Still, that being said, he hoped the boys weren’t making Lucy feel too bad.
He had to admit that after hearing her story—or at least part of what he suspected was a story with more to it—he was glad Jolie had asked her to teach the art class. It opened up a reason for her to be at the ranch some. He knew that what he and the boys could do at her house was not going to last much longer. They’d already knocked out every wall that could be knocked out and the hedges were all trimmed and the yard cleaned up. He enjoyed being around Lucy. He couldn’t deny it.
He was supposed to be cooling his jets, and here he had gone and kissed the first woman since “the bad move of the century.” The only good thing he could say about that—other than the fact that he’d enjoyed it more than any kiss he’d ever experienced in his entire life—was that at least he’d kissed a good woman. A really good woman.