Elise’s expression darkened. “Did you talk to them?”
“No. But Elise…” I looked up at her, the panic finally breaking through. “They found me. They have my number. What if they show up here? What if they start digging into the ranch, into our finances, into—”
“Into whether you’re dating him for his money?” Elise finished, her voice gentle but firm.
“I’m not! I’m not even dating him!”
“I know that. But you’re worried other people will think that.”
I buried my face in my hands. “This is exactly what I was afraid of. I’m not… I’m not equipped for this, Elise. I don’t know how to handle reporters and society magazines and people who think I’m some gold-digging ranch girl who got lucky.”
“Hey.” Elise sat down next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. “First of all, screw them. Second, you need to talk to Beau about this. Now.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I exhaled shakily. “Because it’s only been a month. One month, Elise. How do I know this is real? How do I know he’s not just… caught up in the novelty of it all? The romance of escaping his life and playing cowboy? What if this is just a fantasy for him, and I’m the idiot who might be falling for her childhood friend?”
Elise was quiet for a moment. “Did you just say you’re in love with him?”
“I—” The words stuck in my throat. “I don’t know. Maybe. I think so. But it’s too fast, right? A month isn’t enough time to know someone. Not really.”
“Winnie, Nana and Pops got engaged after three weeks. Plus You’ve known each others ever since yall were 4”
“That was different.”
“Was it?” Elise turned to face me. “Love doesn’t run on a schedule. It doesn’t care if it’s been a month or a year. The question isn’t whether it’s too soon. It’s whether you trust it. Whether you trust him.”
“I want to. But what if—”
My phone buzzed again. Another unknown number.
Elise grabbed it before I could, answering with a voice that could freeze fire. “This is Elise Jameson, and if you’re another reporter looking for a story, here’s your quote: The Jameson family does not comment on personal matters. Any further harassment will result in legal action. Do not call again.”
She hung up and turned off my phone entirely. “There. Handled.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Thank you.”
“Now.” She stood, pulling me up with her. “You’re going to talk to Beau. Right now. Because running from this isn’t going to make it go away.”
“Elise—”
“Winnie.” Her voice softened. “He deserves to know that reporters are calling. And you deserve to know if he’s serious about this. About you. Stop hiding behind Regionals and finances and fear. Have the conversation.”
***
I found Beau in the south pasture, wrestling with a stubborn fence post. He looked up when I approached, his face breaking into that smile—the one that made my chest ache.
“Hey,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You okay? You look…”
“We need to talk.”
The smile faded. “That’s never good.”
“A reporter called me this morning. From Dallas. Asking about you. About us.”
His expression went from concerned to furious in a heartbeat. “What did they say?”
