“Well, Frank never married or had kids, but he’d taken in a boy that was as good as his own. The kid made quite a name for himself in the training scene before quitting. He’d never said why or what happened, but…”
Frank.
I stopped hearing anything after that goddamn name because I couldn’t think about it without thinking ofhim.
Of Tennessee skies and the sweet heat of summer. Of heated kisses and hours tangled in sheets that smelled of pine and leather.
Of the man I left behind with nothing more than a note with two words.
“Ah, there he is!” My dad waved at a man standing in front of us talking to Bishop. His back was toward us, but I’d have known him anywhere. And when he turned, all the air was stolen from my lungs. “Girls, meet Lincoln Carter. Lincoln, meet two of my girls—Josie and Cleo.”
josie
. . .
Lincoln Carter.
I’d never stayed long enough to learn his last name, which seemed silly considering I’d spent five fucking days glued to his side, but it fit him. The name was strong. It reminded me of something from those old Western films my grandparents watched.
The day I left, I’d cried a river of tears until the Texas state line, but since then, I’d refused to think about him. For the most part, I’d done a good job, but occasionally, I’d cross paths with something that would remind me of him.
It was why I removed every candle containing pine or leather from my house, throwing them out or giving them to my sisters.
And other days, I spent obsessing over what could have been.
But the moments were fleeting. The hurt would lessen when I woke up the next day, and I’d move on as though he’d never crossed my mind.
How could I do that if he was here? In my home, in my sanctuary?
For the most part, Lincoln hadn’t changed. His dark stubble had grown into a trimmed beard where specks of grey seemedmore pronounced. When he smiled, the lines around his eyes seemed more defined, but maybe they’d always been there, and I hadn’t noticed.
It was his clothes that threw me off. When we’d spent time together, he lived in a uniform of dark, fitted t-shirts and relaxed jeans. Sometimes, he’d hide his unruly black hair under a baseball cap. But this Lincoln was different. I’d jokingly called him ‘cowboy’, but he looked every bit the part standing in front of me. He wore a black button-down tucked into starched jeans and a light grey felt cowboy hat on his head.
Those goddamn hats.
“Josie?” my dad asked, pulling me from my downward spiral. “You okay, sugar? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
I opened my mouth, trying and failing to form words because what the fuck could I say?“Hi Dad, sorry I’m shocked to find the guy I spent five incredible days with standing in my front yard because I left him with nothing more than an ‘I’m sorry’ scribbled on a piece of paper I found on his counter?”
But Lincoln cut in, his deep, velvet-like voice sending shivers down my spine. “We met briefly when Josie was in Tennessee last year. She stopped by Frank’s bar before heading to y’all’s cabin.” He stared at me while he spoke, those chocolate brown eyes I’d fantasized so much about sweeping over me in a way that felt wholly inappropriate given the company. He took off his hat, reaching forward to shake my hand like he hadn’t just turned my life upside down. “Nice to see you again, darlin’.”
“Oh,” Dad laughed. “Might want to steer away?—”
“Yup, nice to see you, too.” I didn’t let Dad finish his sentence, and I didn’t shake Lincoln’s hand. Instead, I turned to my sister. “Cleo, can I talk to you for a second?”
Without waiting for her answer, I grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her to the front door of the house. Dad called outsomething to our backs, but I couldn’t hear him over the roaring in my ears.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Cleo said, digging in her heels as we stepped inside. “What the hell was that?”
I began pacing back and forth in front of her, chewing on my nails like I used to do as a child. “That,” I said, pointing out the front door, “is a huge fucking problem.”
“Why?” she asked. “Do you have the hots for the cowboy?” When I didn’t answer, responding only with a glare, she laughed. “Oh god, you do, don’t you?”
“I don’t have the hots for him,” I snapped. “He was why I ran from Tennessee and never looked back!”
She sobered, the smile she’d been sporting dropping instantly. “Oh shit.”
“What are we ‘oh shitting’?” Lennox asked, strolling in from the garage with a travel mug in her hand.
