Instead, I turned away from the town center and walked toward the residential streets. The houses were small and neat, most of them decorated with enough Christmas lights to power a small city. Inflatable Santas and reindeer dotted front yards, and someone had gone completely overboard with a nativity scene that included what appeared to be a plastic sheep dressed like it was going on a Hawaiian vacation.
I shoved my hands deeper into my jacket pockets and kept walking, trying to clear the fog from my head. The silence out here was different from the apartment. It wasn’t quite oppressive, exactly, but strange. I was used to the constant white noise city life. But this was the kind of quiet that made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, that made you question if it wassupposedto sound that way.
My phone felt like a lead weight in my pocket, even though it was turned off. I could practically feel the accumulated messages piling up. Mom would be sending increasingly frantic texts, and there would probably a few more attempts from Tommy too. And maybe some concerned messages from people who weren’t really friends but felt obligated to check in. The thought made my chest tight.
What the hell was I even doing here?
I’d driven halfway across the country to hide in a town that probably had more cows than people, sleeping in a practical stranger’s spare room and eating cookies for dinner. This wasn’t a fresh start or a brave new adventure. This was what happened when your life imploded and you were too much of a coward to deal with the aftermath.
A dog barked somewhere in the distance, and I realized I’d wandered pretty far from the main street. The houses here were even smaller, some of them looking like they’d been built decades ago and lovingly maintained ever since. Gardens were dormant for winter but still neat, and most of the driveways held trucks that had actually been used for work, not fashion statements.
Out of nowhere, a pair of headlights swung across me as a truck turned onto the street I happened to be walking down the center of. I glanced up, catching the silhouette of a man in a cowboy hat as he drove by. Then, to my horror, the bright red of brake lights filled the street as the truck came to a stop.
“You doin’ alright?” a warm, smooth, masculine voice said as he leaned out of his window. It was the kind of voice you’d hear in a romance movie, the kind that was supposed to make men and women melt into submission.
“Yeah,” I called back half-heartedly, trying not to show any interest. I couldn’t see his face. “Just heading back to the diner.”
“Then you’re goin’ the wrong direction.” There was an amused tone in his words. A hand poked out of the window, pointing in the opposite direction. “Dolly’s place is back that way.”
I hadn’t realized I’d gotten so turned around. “Thanks.”
“You want a ride?”
There was nothing about the question that felt loaded or dangerous, but my stomach turned, nonetheless. I didn’t want to be around anyone right now, not when I felt like such a pile of shit.
“I’m fine,” I replied, leaving no room for argument.
The mysterious man tipped his hat, a comical Texan gesture ifyou ask me. “Have a good night, stranger,” was all he said before he drove off.
I had the slightest inkling that small town folks found it suspicious when strangers were wandering around town in the middle of the night. In California, everyone was out all the time. But here… well, Sagebrush seemed like the kind of place where everything closed after seven. It was probably best if I got back to the apartment before someone called the cops on me.
But as I walked, I couldn’t help wondering. Who was that cowboy with the buttery smooth voice? Oh well. It didn’t matter anyway. I’d never meet him again.
Chapter 4
Diego
“Samantha, you’re on trail riding duty today,” I said, looking up from my clipboard. “We’ve got a group of seven wanting to take a tour of the property. If you take the northern trail, you can stop at the creek for the picnic. Beau’s already got a cooler packed with labelled lunches for everyone.”
“Can do, boss,” she replied, tipping her hat. She was a tall, gangly woman with an infectious smile. The guests always loved her. “We got enough horses to spare?”
“Tim?” I asked, turning to our youngest ranch hand. He was hardly nineteen years old and looked no older than fifteen, but the man was a genuine horse whisperer.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I can get them ready. Buttercup’s gonna sit this one out today though. Her color looks off to me.”
“How the hell can you tell that?” Travis balked. He was one of our cattlemen and as boisterous and macho as they came. “That damn horse is white from head to toe. Ain’t no color on her.”
“Don’t tell me my job, Travis,” Tim spat back.
“Alright, children,” I warned, shaking my head.
Travis looked none too pleased, but Tim wasn’t the kind to putup with bullshit. When it came to horses, he was the expert. Travis, on the other hand, well… if his horse dropped dead, and we switched it out with one of a different color, he wouldn’t even notice. The man wasn’t observant. But he knew how to get cattle to go where we needed them and that was important too.
“Take your team out, Travis,” I continued. “And bring the herd down to pasture six. We’ve got decent growth there thanks to the rain and the warm weather. But I want them close just in case some snow blows in.”
“Snow?” Travis scoffed. “In Texas? You hopin’ for a white Christmas,fancy pants?”
“No,” I replied. God, I hated that fucking name. Ever since he found out I liked men, he called me that. It was degrading, but not unexpected from people like him. Ranch hands weren’t exactly known for their openness. “But I would like the cattle in pasture six today if you can manage to count that high.” I gave him a stern look. “Am I clear,carajo?”
