His mouth watered. Wonder how soon he could coax her back into bed?
“Hey, Hollywood,” he said as he approached. “I’m sorry I zonked out on you. I wish—”
She turned and met Boone’s gaze. He halted abruptly in his tracks as all thought of sex evaporated like mist. Her eyes were big blue pools of sorrow, and she had tear tracks on her cheeks. “Honey? What happened? What’s wrong?”
She gestured toward the glider. Boone spied Ellie McBride’s journal lying on the seat. She said, “It’s heartbreaking.”
Crap. Had he made a tactical mistake here? The journal wasn’t supposed to make her cry.
Boone’s cousin Jackson swore that the harmonica that had come to him from the treasure box they’d found in Enchanted Canyon had played an important role in his romance with Caroline. Tucker said the same thing about his watch and his relationship with Gillian. Therefore, Boone didn’t doubt that the treasure box journal had a role to play for Hannah and him. His instincts had told him that this was the right time to share the story of Adelaide Throckmorton. Had he been wrong?
Maybe. Maybe not. Whatever the reality, he hadn’t wanted to make her cry. He’d brought her to Shangri-lil for the sex she’d requested and the romance he’d promised. Not tears.
Well, nothing to do now but attempt damage control. He would try to tease Hannah from her tears.
“C’mere,” he said, clasping her hand. He tugged her over to the glider, sat, and pulled her down beside him. “I’d come looking for you intending to wax poetic about our interlude,” he said, draping his arm over her shoulder. “Now I think my nap blew the mood. I don’t know what it is about you, woman. You somehow manage to take sandpaper to my suave, and yank the deb right out from beneath my onair.”
She drew away. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m ordinarily the suave and debonair McBride. With you, I’m an awkward, stumbling snooze.”
“Ah.” The corners of her mouth lifted slightly, rewarding him. “I won’t argue the snooze, but you have an excuse in Bree.”
“Sleep deprivation is a killer. How long does this part of parenting last?”
“Depends on the baby, but as a rule, the first three months are the most challenging.”
“I still have a way to go then.”
“I think it’s probably good for you to work naps into your daily schedule.”
“Naps? Plural? So I’ve had my morning nap. Are you suggesting an afternoon nap, maybe? Following some strenuous and satisfying physical activity, perhaps?” He waggled his eyebrows.
Her smile broadened, and she shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Dang, woman.” He slapped his thigh. “Okay, that’s it. There’s only one thing to do. Will you marry me?”
At that, she laughed, and the last of her melancholy appeared to fade away. Humor sparkled in the gorgeous blue eyes she turned toward him. “I don’t think I’m ready for six feet and two hundred hard-body pounds of charisma, but thanks for the offer.”
Well, now, that comment made Boone want to preen. He said, “I’m heartbroken, but fair warning. I’ll likely ask again. Also, I’m six two and a half. The half matters because it makes me taller than Tucker and Jackson. And I maintain around one ninety, depending on how often I drive to Gunnison for Mexican food.”
“I apologize, and I stand forewarned.”
“Actually, you’re sitting forewarned.” He nuzzled her hair and murmured against her ear. “I’d suggest an early-afternoon nap, but our lunch is due to be delivered soon. Want to go for a walk? There’s a meadow not far away. Brick told me the wildflowers are spectacular right now.”
“I’d love that.”
They detoured by the tent to drop off the journal, and then Boone led the way into the forest. “Smell that,” Hannah said once trees surrounded them. “There’s a reason air fresheners and household cleaners are given a ‘pine-fresh scent.’ I do love the fragrance of a forest.”
“I know. It’s almost as good as the aroma of brisket on the Green Egg.”
“The what?”
“Not a barbecue woman?”
“Oh, the smoker. My mind went to Dr. Seuss. However, you shouldn’t compare the fragrances of nature with food aromas. It’s apples to oranges.”
“You have a point.” Boone grabbed her hand, pulled her toward him, and kissed her. “You smell better than pine forest and brisket put together.”
Her laugh was a little breathless. “Now, there’s a compliment I’ve never heard before.”
“Stick with me, Hollywood. I’ve got a million of ’em.”
“I’ll just bet you do.”
A few minutes later, they broke from the forest at the edge of an alpine meadow. Hannah abruptly stopped. “Oh, wow. It’s even more gorgeous than the last meadow we saw.”
“It’s a little early in the season to see so much color. Conditions have been perfect this year. Makes you want to don a wimple and twirl like a nun, doesn’t it?”
“‘The hills are alive,’” Hannah sang, picking up on the reference to The Sound of Music.
Before them, wildflowers painted a carpet of color across the land, mostly orange, yellow, and blue, with a few pinks scattered about. Above them, puffy white clouds floated lazily across a summer-blue sky, their gray-tinted bottoms teasing afternoon showers. Craggy mountain peaks with patches of snow clinging to the crevices rose in the distance. “It’s a postcard, isn’t it?”
“It’s a beautiful spot.” Boone scanned the meadow for wildlife. While he’d love to be able to point out an elk or antelope to Hannah, he hoped not to deal with bears.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Hannah said suddenly. “It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I needed. The hills are alive—and so am I.”
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You’re welcome, and you are. Very much so.”
“My heart is full of emotion. I think that’s why reading your journal brought on the waterworks.”
The journal. I did my best with damage control distraction, and now she brings it up? Well, okay. Maybe the book’s juju was meant for this moment after all.
Nevertheless, Boone had the sense of stepping out into a minefield as he observed, “The story didn’t strike me as heartbreaking. I thought it was triumphant.”
“Really? Adelaide Throckmorton was mourning her husband’s untimely death when her house caught fire, and she was unable to save her invalid son. She almost threw herself in front of a stagecoach! That’s not heartbreaking?”
“But she didn’t fling her life away. She didn’t quit. She chose to go to Texas and start over. Lots of people did. That’s why Texas came to be called the land of beginning again.”
“She went to Texas only to suffer more tragedy,” Hannah argued. “Diphtheria and tornadoes and rattlesnakes. Comanche raids and crop failures.”
“Yes, and she also taught school for forty years before dying at the age of ninety-two surrounded by her eight living children and nineteen of her thirty-six grandchildren. That woman lived. Life gave her lemons, and she made—”