Page 16 of Captivated
Nate didn’t move. Maybe if he stayed still enough, the guy would think he was asleep.
No such luck.
The guy stopped a few feet from his driver’s side window, tilted his head like a curious dog, then rapped on the glass with a knuckle.
“Hey.” His voice was warm but not pushy.
Nate cracked the window enough to let the breeze waft through.
“You Nate?” the man asked.
Nate nodded. He swallowed. He didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound like a lie or a flinch.
“Name’s Zeeb.” A quick smile. “You’ve had a long trip, right? Wanna stretch your legs before we take your stuff to the cabin?”
Nate hesitated. Dad’s words rang in his head.
They’re good guys. You can trust them.
Except even Dad knew it would take longer than two weeks for Nate to feel the same way.
The cowboy was still standing there.
Waiting.
Nate swallowed hard. “Is Zeeb short for something?”
“Zebadiah.”
Nate cleared his throat. “You, uh… you live here?” Maybe he could fake a bit of normal.
Then again, maybe not.
Zeeb nodded. “For the last twelve years. I’m your point guy, which mostly means I keep you from getting lost and introduce you to the horses that won’t kick your teeth in.”
That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of Nate’s mouth. Not quite a smile, but close.
“I don’t talk much,” Nate said in a quiet voice as he opened the door to get out.
“That’s all right.” Zeeb took a step back. “Neither do most of the horses.”
There was something about the way the kid unfolded himself from the car that reminded Zeeb of skittish colts in early spring. All tense shoulders and sharp eyes, as if every sound might be a trap.
Except he isn’t a kid, remember?
Zeeb took a good look as Nate grabbed his bags from the trunk.
He had the wiry build of someone who didn’t eat unless reminded. His beard and mustache were neat, not too thick. His hair was too long in the front, as though it was hiding him on purpose.
Push it back. Lemme see those eyes.
Zeeb was a firm believer in that old saying about the whole windows-to-the-soul thing. And maybe some thoughts were audible, becausewould you look at that?Nate scraped his fingers through his hair, revealing?—
Jesus. Nate’s eyes were green, all guarded and quiet ache.
Not scared, exactly. More like he was waiting for the shoe to drop.
Waiting for the worst.
