Chapter 13

13

TRISTAN

T ristan's heart pounded, hitting different beats and tempos and making him wonder if it wasn't trying to compose a new rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy." It had been but a small moment—a surge of confidence that had drawn him closer to Dianna.

In the back of his mind, there was an itch, a warning that he shouldn't lose sight of why he was here. Mathew was their priority. They both knew it.

And yet his heart roared with the idea that Dianna could be what had been missing from his life. He couldn't get over the way she'd handled the situation with the wrong horse. If he'd been waiting for a sign to do something, it had been that.

Tristan heaved a sigh and trudged across the frozen ground toward the arena. Dianna and Mathew had already entered the building, leaving him to continue beating his thoughts senseless. He couldn't help but feel like time was running out.

What was it that people always said? He'd miss one hundred percent of the chances he didn't take?

He entered the building and headed for the usual area where he liked to watch. His eyes locked onto his son and Dianna, and a swelling of pride filled his chest. But it was more than that; a twinge of longing seemed to dance within him. This was what he wanted and if he didn't do something about it—force himself to fight for something this important—he'd lose his opportunity.

He'd stepped around the subject since meeting her. When he'd been younger, things were different. He was different.

Whenever he met someone new and wanted to get to know them better, he'd ask them out on the spot. Somehow that part of him had changed, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

He found himself watching Dianna more than Mathew, enthralled with how well she worked with him and how gentle she was with the animal. Really, there should be nothing to hold him back from taking that first step.

Nothing except that latent fear that it wouldn't work out and Mathew would be hurt.

Tristan shook the thought from his mind.

Dianna wasn't like that. She wouldn't just leave because things were hard. He could tell. If a relationship with her didn't work out, it would be for something understandable.

Her eyes found his and he smiled, reveling in the way she dropped her gaze. Her cheeks flushed. He might be out of practice, but that reaction seemed more telling than she probably wanted it to be.

The next half-hour went off without a hitch. Mathew was on his best behavior, and it was easy to forget what had transpired before Dianna had arrived.

Once they were done, they returned Molasses to his stall and headed for the cabin. Dianna sat down at the table with Mathew to help him with his assignments while Tristan moved into the kitchen to make them a snack.

The tension continued to build with each glance that passed between himself and Dianna. The weight of the air pressed in on him until it was almost suffocating. He placed a cup of hot chocolate on the table in front of Mathew, then kissed the top of his head as he moved over to Dianna and held out a mug toward her. Her fingertips brushed his and a thrill shot through him.

"Thank you," she said.

He nodded, then returned to the kitchen area to put away what he'd gotten out. The next hour dragged on as he recited in his head over and over what he wanted to say to her, how he wanted to ask her.

Once Mathew completed his work, he hopped down from the table. "I'm going to draw."

Tristan smiled. "Have fun."

Mathew disappeared down the hallway, leaving Tristan alone with Dianna. He made his way over to the table and sat down in the seat Mathew had vacated. "Thank you for working with him."

She lifted her hot chocolate to her lips and took a sip. Her fingers curled around the mug and he could have sworn she hid a smile behind the edge of the cup. "I've really enjoyed working with him, too."

He shifted in his seat. "You mentioned that you've never worked with kids like Mathew before."

"That's correct." She placed the mug on the table and turned it in her hands. "I've always liked kids. But I've never worked with them in an official capacity."

Tristan blew out a slow breath. "Well, you could have fooled me."

Her smile returned. He could feel the warmth resonating inside him attempting to make an appearance to show the world just how ridiculous he felt he was being. This small talk was excruciating. He should just let it all out and tell her exactly what has been on his mind.

"Regarding what we were discuss?—"

"I should probably get?—"

He cut himself off and stared at her. "Oh. Right. You must have a lot to do."

Dianna shook her head and let out a small laugh. "No, but I think I've overstayed my welcome enough for one day."

Tristan leaned over the table, praying he didn't look as desperate as he felt inside. "You're not." Clearing his throat, he leaned back and raked a hand through his hair. A strained laugh tore from his chest and he looked away. "What I mean to say is that you're always welcome to stay as long as you'd like." Geez. Why did his statement sound so immature? He wasn't some hormonal teenager. He was a man who could tell a woman what he wanted, for heaven's sake. He opened his mouth to continue what he'd started to say, but she rose from her seat.

"You're very nice, but really, I think I should head out."

He rose from his chair and followed her toward the door. "Let me walk you out to your truck."

Her features faltered and her face bloomed with a shade of scarlet only she could produce. "Shoot! I completely forgot. I didn't come in my truck."

His brows furrowed. "You didn't? How did you get here?"

Her shoulders slouched and her hands dropped listlessly to her sides. "My sister drove me—rather unhappily, I might add. I should probably go see if Shane can take me?—"

"Of course not. I can take you. It's not far, is it?"

She shook her head. "Only about a five-minute drive if we don't run into any cattle blocking the road."

"Does that happen often?"

Her grin returned. "More often than avalanches." She nodded toward the hallway. "Do you think Mathew will mind? He's probably not going to be thrilled about being interrupted from his drawing."

"I'm sure he'd love to see where you live. That sort of thing is right up his alley." Tristan fidgeted again. "But maybe you'd like to stay for dinner before we take you back?"

The hesitation was evident on her face. This was when he would hit himself upside the head and tell himself he knew better. Someone like Dianna wasn't going to be interested in a guy who had a kid and couldn't even get the courage to just ask her out.

"I think we're out of macaroni and cheese, but I got some hot dogs if you're up for it."

She laughed. "Well, how can I say no to that?" Dianna grabbed her phone from her pocket, then returned it. "You know what? It doesn't look like anyone is asking me to get home for anything. Maybe I could make those cookies I've been promising Mathew."

Dinner went quick, and there weren't any moments when Tristan could speak to Dianna about his intentions. They started making cookies, but Mathew quickly lost interest and wandered off to play.

Tristan leaned his forearms on the table as he watched Dianna roll out the sugar cookie dough. "Can I ask you something?"

Her hands slowed and she looked up at him. "Of course." There was that hesitation again, adding to the insecurity he felt growing. He had to think quick if he wanted to say something that didn't sound completely crazy. "How do you know if the dough is going to turn out like a soft cookie or a crunchy one?"

Okay, that was the wrong thing to ask. Dianna stared at him, her expression blank. "That's what you wanted to ask me?"

Did he hear a note of disappointment in her voice? No. It was only his imagination. He chuckled for lack of anything better to do. "Yep. I can never get my cookies to turn out the way I want them."

"And what way do you want them to be?" she asked softly.

"Well, I grew up with my mom making me these really wonderful cookies. They were melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Soft, but not too sweet—unless you put frosting on them, which I always did." He smiled at the memory. "But I can never get the cookies I make to turn out the same way. I always get the crunchy kind that resemble crackers more than they do cookies."

She looked down at the dough she rolled out, then back up to him. "Come over here."

He straightened and hovered where he was for a few moments before moving around the counter and standing beside her. Her perfume was overtaken by the scent of flour, sugar, and a faint hint of almond. Without giving him any warning, she grasped his wrist and brought it to the ball of cookie dough that sat in the mixing bowl.

"Okay, now poke it a little bit." She didn't release him. Instead, she pushed his finger into the dough enough that when he pulled it out, some of the dough got stuck on the tip.

He made a face. "No wonder Mathew didn't like touching this. It's too sticky."

She snickered. "Not really. By the time you toss out your flour and roll the dough flat, you'll end up losing all of that stickiness. It will cook really well and maintain that soft texture you were talking about."

Tristan frowned. "You're telling me that the reason my cookies always turn out miserable is that I put too much flour in the recipe?"

Dianna released his hand and lifted a shoulder. "That's not the only thing. The recipe has to have a few things in it to help with the baking process."

"Really? Aren't all the recipes the same?"

She laughed again. But he didn't feel like she was making fun of him. It was more of a laugh like he'd said something funny and she was joining in on the joke. "Of course not. Recipes are like people. There are so many different variations that each cookie will come out likewise. Some people use vanilla, and some people use almond extract. Some people use a lot more flour than I do. Whatever recipe your mother gave you, I would wager it has a few things in it to help make them soft. Do you happen to have that recipe?"

He shook his head. "It's back home."

"Well, I would wager that it calls for something like yogurt to help the dough stay softer. But more than that, I bet it also tells you to cook it at a higher temperature, like three-hundred and seventy-five degrees."

Tristan shook his head. "Okay, that I have a hard time believing. Wouldn't that just cook it faster and you'd end up with a harder cookie?"

"Not necessarily. If you have a higher temperature, yes, it will cook the treat faster, but it will also prevent the oven from drying out the cookies. And if you undercook them slightly, they still continue to cook even after you pull them from the oven."

He hadn't moved from his position beside her. The more she talked, the more he realized that he couldn't continue skirting the issue at hand.

"…that's why your cookies aren't turning out as well."

"Go out with me."

Her expression slackened.

Great. Had he just blurted out those words?

Of course he had. Because he wasn't some suave, debonair suitor. He was a bumbling fool who had allowed himself to fantasize far too much over a woman who very well could be disinterested in him.

"I mean—that's not what I was going to?—"

"Tristan," she started.

He could hear it in her voice. That was the tone a woman used when they wanted to let a guy down easy. He'd heard it before, but only a handful of times.

And he wasn't about to let it get to him now.

"Hear me out, please," he said quickly.

She snapped her mouth shut and stared at him expectantly.

"I'm going to be here for the next month. Mathew adores you. I think you're wonderful. Would it really be so bad if we spent some extra time together?"

Dianna opened her mouth, shut it, then opened it again. "But what about the conflict of interest? I probably shouldn't be involved with my client's family in that way."

"I think it's pretty clear that you shouldn't be dating your client." His lips quirked into a grin. "We can both agree that you really shouldn't date him."

A soft snort burst from her lips and her hand clapped over her mouth. "What about Shane? I'm sure he has rules against this sort of?—"

"Shane practically wished me luck."

Her eyes widened. "He did?"

Tristan nodded, his arms folding tight against his chest to keep them from shaking with his nerves. "He did. The way I see it, the only one standing in the way of me kissing you right now, is you." He didn't think it was possible, but her eyes widened even more. Her mouth formed a small "o" but she didn't withdraw from him. They stood like that in the kitchen, her hands covered in cookie dough and flour, and all he could think about was the fact that she hadn't immediately turned him down when he mentioned going on a date.

Dianna gnawed on her lower lip, her eyes darting in all kinds of directions as she shifted her focus toward the cookie dough and commenced to roll it out before using the star-shaped cutter to create about half a dozen cookies to place on the cookie sheet. "I'm going to have to think about it."

That wasn't a yes.

It wasn't a no, either.

It was a maybe. And it was more than he'd had when she arrived for their therapy appointment earlier today.

He nodded, unable to fight the smile on his face. "Sure."