She imagined the words pouring out of her mouth like soft-serve ice cream from the broken dispenser at the Chuckwagon Buffet—she had personal experience with that—and she wasn’t even sure if she was spouting actual facts or total nonsense. Overgrazing, water tables, and changing climate zones. She was projectile vomiting all of it.
Occasionally, Beau’s eyes drifted down to her neck and shoulders, where she was having a hard time keeping the straps of her overalls up. Oh God. Maybe his eyes weren’t drifting. What if he was falling asleep? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d caused someone to slip quietly into a coma. She paused, and Beau raised his hand.
“Um, Alice?”
“Yes?”
“This is all very interesting—”
“I’m sorry. I’ve probably bored you. As you said earlier, I talk too much.”
“I never said you talk too much. I said you talk a lot, which you do. And that’s fine. You have plenty to say. But I’m getting seriously heated.”
Alice’s pulse raced. Her skin prickled. She swallowed. “Heated?”
“It’s hotter than Hades. Probably something to do with climate change. What do you say we move to the shade?”
He was hot. As in he had heatstroke. Also, he was hot as in hubba-hubba, but that was neither here nor there, because Alice didn’t pay attention to such things. And somehow, she hadn’t paid attention to the fact that her back was drenched in sweat. She fanned her face. “You’re right. Can we drag this table underneath the oak tree?”
Beau stood up. “Sure.”
He grabbed the edge of the table, and Alice ran around to the other side to push, but she ended up just kind of touching the table and following along. Because Beau was freaking strong. She’d always assumed horseback riding was a passive activity, but it wasn’t. Her butt and thighs were definitely going to be sore tomorrow. No wonder Beau was in such good shape.
Understatement. Beau was a cowboy Adonis.
“I guess school is now in session,” Beau said, once the table was settled on a level spot. “What books did you bring?”
Alice had a surprise for Beau. She dug in the bag and pulled out a paperback.
Beau’s eyes widened, as if he were worried that he might be expected to pop it open and start reading.
“Just focus on the title,” Alice said calmly.
A smile broke out on Beau’s face. “Jax Angle. This is the book I listened to.”
“Yep. Have you started the second one yet?”
“I’m on the third one. Listened to it all morning while I was doing some mindless ranch chores.”
“Wow. Good! Anyway, I just wanted you to have the actual book. And you don’t have to, but it might be good to listen to it again and see if you can follow along.”
Beau took the book and opened it.
“It has a large font and more white space on the page. It’s meant for people with poor vision, but it sometimes helps people with dyslexia, too.”
“I see the word Jax all over the page,” Beau said.
“Those are probably dialogue tags. They tell you who is speaking. And if you look carefully, you’ll notice a visual pattern of quotation marks and dialogue tags. Searching for those patterns will help you distinguish dialogue from narration.”
Beau flipped through a few more pages. “Here’s the word Foster. He’s the bad guy. And here’s Liv. She’s Jax’s lady love.”
“Don’t get too attached to her,” Alice said, and then she slapped her hand over her mouth. What had she just done?
“You mean she fucking dies?” Beau asked.
“No, I didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s put the book away now.”
“She dies. Jesus. Which book? Does it happen in the third book?”
Alice just stared at him. She’d said enough.
Beau sighed. “Well, thanks anyway. When does this have to be back at the library?”
“Never. It’s a gift.”
Beau swallowed, loudly. “Thanks, Allie.”
“You’re very welcome. Now, let’s get to work. We’re going to start with sensory exercises. Lots of touching and rubbing and feeling.”
Beau looked up slowly and grinned. He’d clearly misunderstood—or maybe she was teasing—because they were going to be using some tactile methods that had absolutely nothing to do with . . . Whatever it was he was thinking about.
Alice’s tummy fluttered annoyingly in response to that grin. Maybe it was adrenaline and cortisol—fight-or-flight hormones—because Beau Montgomery looked like a saber-toothed tiger eyeing a tasty little bunny.
Chapter
Thirteen
It hadn’t taken long for Beau’s optimistic mood to take a dive.
He stared at the rock, leaf, and stick laid out on the table in front of him. He was trying not to be surly, but it was hard. Because this wasn’t a reading lesson. This was utter nonsense, and he’d expected more from a woman with multiple degrees who considered herself a reading expert.
“You’re not even trying, Beau.”
Beau sighed. And then he touched each inanimate object. “Rock, leaf, stick.”
Alice matched his sigh with one of her own. “No. Remember? These represent sounds. Touch each one again, and say the sound it makes. We’re forming new pathways between objects and sounds, and then we’ll turn those objects into written symbols.”
“I’m too old to form new pathways.”
“That’s not true. It might take a bit more effort, but you’re more mature than when you were a child. You have more patience.”
He didn’t feel like he had more patience. And he couldn’t shake the notion that it was too late. That he’d never learn.
Alice pulled out a drawstring bag and opened it. Then she dumped a bunch of colored blocks out on the table. “Let’s use these instead of the natural objects. They don’t have a tactile element, but—”
“Those are toys.” In bright primary colors. They looked like something you’d find in a kindergarten classroom. He yanked the brim
