Her Forbidden Cowboy. Charlene Sands

flickering. “Is that so?”

      Well, maybe not. She was getting drunk on him, minus the alcohol. “Yes, that’s so.”

      “I could’ve gotten up on my own, you know.”

      “It wouldn’t have been pretty.”

      He laughed. “True.”

      “So, I’m glad I was here to help. Show a little gratitude.”

      He wasn’t a man who liked taking help. That was part of the problem. His gaze roamed over the deck where he’d spent most of his day, and she sensed his frustration.

      “Wanna get out of here?” he asked.

      “Sure. Where would you like to go?” Mariah said he didn’t like to go out, so she couldn’t let this opportunity pass by. If he needed some breathing room, away from his gorgeous house and his familiar surroundings, who was she to deny him?

      “Anywhere. I don’t care. Are you up to driving my car?”

      “I can manage that. I’m going to get your crutches now, okay?” She didn’t wait for an answer.

      She released him and he stood there, balancing himself for the two seconds it took her to pick up both of his crutches and hand them over. Tucking one under each arm, he pointed a crutch toward the door. “After you.”

       Three

      To her surprise, Zane picked his silver convertible sports car for her to drive over the black SUV sitting in his three-car garage. The other car, a little blue sedan, had to be Mariah’s car. Jessica helped him get into his seat, taking his crutches and setting them into the narrow backseat before closing his door.

      As soon as she climbed behind the steering wheel, she understood why Zane didn’t venture out much. Sitting in the passenger seat, he was encumbered by his foot, broken in three places, which required him to be extremely careful. He also put on a disguise. Well, a Dodgers baseball cap instead of his signature Stetson and sunglasses wasn’t much of a disguise, but she knew where he was coming from. He couldn’t afford to be recognized and surrounded by fans or paparazzi. In his condition, he couldn’t make a fast getaway. “Why am I driving this car?”

      “More fun for you.”

      “You mean more scary, don’t you? How much is this car worth, just in case I wreck it, or—heaven forbid—put a scratch on it?”

      He smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s insured.”

      Stalling for time, she fidgeted with her glasses and took several deep breaths before she turned to Zane. He was still smiling at her. At the moment, she didn’t enjoy being his source of amusement.

      “Here goes.” With the press of a button, the engine purred to life. Zane showed her how to adjust her seat and mirrors using the control buttons. Once set, she supposed she was as ready as she would ever be. She pumped the gas pedal and gripped the steering wheel. She’d never driven anything but a sedan, a boring four-door family car with no bells and whistles. This car had it all. A thrill shimmied up her legs...all that power under her control.

      She backed the car out of the garage and made the turn into a long driveway that reached the front gate. Upon Zane’s voice command, the gate slid open, and she pulled forward and onto the highway. She drove along the shoreline, keeping her eyes trained on the road and her speed under thirty miles per hour.

      His back was angled against the passenger door and his seat. She sensed him watching her. He’d opted to keep the top up on the convertible, for anonymity, she supposed. Even though he’d not had a hint of scandal to his name, every time Zane went out, he risked being photographed. Putting the top down on his car in the light of day would be like asking for trouble.

      She didn’t dare shoot him a glance, keeping her focus on the road.

      “What?” she asked finally. “Your grandmother drives faster than me?”

      “I didn’t say a word.” His Texas drawl seeped into her bones. “But now that you mention it, I think my great-grandmother drove her horse and buggy a mite faster than you.”

      “Ha. Ha. Very funny. Maybe I’d drive faster if I knew where I was going.”

      He sighed. “I’ve learned that sometimes, it’s better not to know where you’re going. Sometimes, planning isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Some roads are better not mapped out.”

      After that cryptic statement, she did look his way and found him resting his head against the window. His sunglasses hid his eyes and his true expression. The mood in the car grew heavy, and she didn’t know how to answer him, so she buttoned her lips and continued to drive.

      After five minutes of silence, Zane shifted in his seat. “Wanna see the site of the restaurant? The framework is up.”

      “I’d love to.”

      He directed her down a side road that wound around a cove. Then the beach opened up again to a street that faced the ocean. Unique shops and a few other small restaurants sparsely dotted the shoreline before she came upon the skeletal frame of a building.

      “There it is. You can park along the side of the road here.” He gestured to a space, and she swung the car into the spot.

      “This is a great location.”

      “I think so, too. On a clear day, there’s visibility for miles going in either direction.”

      The beach was wide where the restaurant would sit, far enough from the water to avoid high tides. A rock embankment jutted out to the left, where pelicans rested, scoping out their next meal. Above them and across the road, far up on the cliffs sat zillion-dollar homes overlooking the coastline.

      “Do you want to get out?” she asked.

      “Yep.”

      “Hold on,” she said, killing the engine and climbing out. She reached into the backseat and grabbed his crutches, then strolled to his side of the car. He was lifting himself out of his seat by the time she got there. “Here you go.”

      “Thanks.”

      She waited for him to get his bearings, and they moved through the sand until they reached the beach side of the restaurant. “So this is Zane’s on the Beach.”

      “Yep. Gonna be.”

      “I suppose it’s good that you’re branching out. You’ve become a regular entrepreneur.”

      “Can’t sing forever.”

      Why not? Willie Nelson, George Strait and Dolly Parton weren’t having career problems. And neither was Zane. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not eager to go back to doing what you love to do?”

      It was a personal question. Maybe too personal, given that Zane didn’t react to it at all. He simply stared at the ocean, thinking.

      “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

      “Don’t apologize, Jess,” he rasped with a note of irritation. “You can ask me anything you want.”

      Okay, she’d take him up on that. “So, then, why are you searching for something else when you’ve established yourself as a superstar and you have fans all over the world waiting for your return?”

      He closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m tired of being in my own skin.”

      It was the most honest answer he could’ve given her. Zane was hurting. Still. And he didn’t know how to deal with it. “I get that. After my disastrous breakup with Steven, I felt totally out of options. I didn’t know who to trust, what to believe. I couldn’t make a decision to save my life. That’s why when I had to get out of Dodge, I let my mother take over and make arrangements. After she did, I didn’t have the