She rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to it. “I know you’ll be back tomorrow, and it’s not like you’re going off to war or anything. But…”
“Feels like it sometimes. Never know when a stray cow or a drunk teamster is gonna end you.”
She flashed me a smile. “Well, don’t die. I’d be pissed if I had to do the next load myself.”
Fuck, she was so beautiful. The urge to touch her was strong. I wanted to reach out, push the hair from her face, kiss the sarcasm right off her mouth. But I settled for stepping in close, until her scent hit me; lemon and honeysuckle, clean and sharp.
“You can text me, if you want.” Her voice suddenly small. “Let me know you made it there safe.”
I leaned down, speaking just to her. “I plan on it. You sleep good last night?”
Her eyes snapped to mine, wide and scandalized. Then she smirked, too smart to let me have the upper hand. “Sure did, cowboy.”
She started to walk away, hips swaying just a little. I caught her wrist, gentle. “Brie.”
She turned back, hair in her eyes.
I said, “I’ll see you soon,” and let her go.
As I climbed up into the cab of the dually, Arsenal was already starting the engine in the chase truck. The ranch hands scattered, the day’s work just beginning.
In the side mirror, I saw Brie standing at the fence, arms folded, watching me with a look I hadn’t seen before—soft, almost hopeful, with her sharp edges I didn’t want her to lose still evident.
I grinned at her, tipped my hat, and threw the truck in gear.
Right before I pulled away, I rolled down the window and yelled, “Hey, Maverick!”
She looked up, startled. I hollered, “Try not to drop your phone when you’re in the bath next time.”
Her jaw dropped. Then she laughed, loud and wild, head thrown back.
I hit the road, feeling like I’d finally won something worth winning.
Chapter 7
Brie
By the time Harper and I reached her car, Gunner’s dually was nothing but a sun-silver glint on the flat Texas road, followed by a comet-tail of cattle dust. I watched his truck disappear, the pit in my stomach growing instead of going away, like the calories of a single powdered donut I was already planning to eat for breakfast. I clutched my scarf tighter and tried to play it cool, but Harper saw everything.
“You know you’re allowed to have a crush, right?” She said, unlocking the Lexus with a chirp. “It’s not a federal crime.”
I snorted and flopped into the passenger seat, staring straight ahead as she buckled up. “It’s not a crush,” I said too fast. “It’s more like a chronic illness.”
She laughed, a light, bell-like sound that didn’t match the rest of her—she was all long limbs and neat muscle, hair back in a no-nonsense braid. She was annoyingly beautiful, but even more annoying, she wasn’t even trying. “There are worse things,” she said, putting the car in reverse. “At least he’s easy on the eyes. And great personality too, apparently.”
The drive from the ranch into Dairyville was all empty, pale blue and yellow, telephone poles leaning like drunk frat boys, the only traffic the occasional feed truck or a flock of buzzards circling above. I rolled down the window and let the wind slap my cheeks awake, sucking in the scentof sweet grass and something else—smoke, maybe, or the ghost of a prairie fire. It was better than perfume. It felt clean, or at least honest.
Harper drummed her fingers on the wheel, humming along to the radio, which was playing a song I hated from a band I’d never admit I liked. I watched the world slide by, counting the fences and the miles.
We hit Dairyville’s Main Street in under fifteen minutes. The town was literally a square of connected streets dotted with two-story connected buildings: a hardware store, antique shops, children’s clothing stores, a hair salon, boutiques, and even a furniture store. It was like a scene from a Hallmark movie. And slap-dab in the middle of one of the blocks, Buttercream & Blessings.
Aspen’s bakery was painted the color of sunshine with a yellow and white awning, and white trim. There were hand-painted signs in the window advertising things like “SALTED CARAMEL CREAM PUFFS” and “PEACH COBBLER DONUTS.” The glass was always streaked from the morning rush. A four feet tall likeness of Oscar stood outside with his little paw pointing toward the door. His other paw held a “welcome” sign that displayed their hours. I cracked up laughing at that. He no doubt conjured that little piece of art, and it was perfect.
Inside, the bakery was wall-to-wall warmth and the smell of sugar and cinnamon. The air was humid with yeast and flour, and sunlight poured in through the front window, turning the glass display into a jewelry case for pastries. I spotted Juliet right away—her blonde hair was silky and healthy looking; probably from the prenatal vitamins. Her stomach had officially crossed the line from “maybe she just likes bread” to “yep, that’s a baby in there (or in her case,twobabies).” She wore a floaty, cream-colored dress and sat at the largest table, fending off a tray of lemon bars from Maddie and Parker.
I got the sense that Aspen had already been through and orchestrated everything. There were matching mugs at every seat, flowers in a pretty little thrifted vase. That little witch put a comfy touch on everything.
Harper pulled up a chair, and I let myself be dragged into their orbit. The table was round, which made it impossible to ignore anyone, and within thirty seconds I had a cup of coffee in my hand and a lemon scone the size of my fist on my plate.
