I nod, but my head's already buzzing with too many thoughts.
Back outside, the city air hits like static.I can’t shake the hum under my skin.
I take out my phone.
Me:So… apparently the Kodiaks are switching mascots to the Cowgirl Angel.
Red:… I beg your pardon?
Me:That’s what PR is calling you: viral hero, community sweetheart, saviour of the influencer.
Red:I’m gagging.
Red:Also… can I put that on my resume?
Me:Only if I get royalties.
Red:Sorry, Captain.I don’t split tips.
I grin despite the headache forming behind my eyes.
I told myself I could keep it all together, that I could do this.
That maybe this is the balance I’ve been chasing, the good PR, the family, the woman who doesn’t take my bullshit.Maybe, for once, I can have it all.
But even as I think it, I wonder what Tessa would say if I told her what was said today, what I agreed to.
I ignored what my gut is telling me and told myself it's okay.Because I was already planning on getting to know Tessa better anyway.My phone is blowing up with messages from the guys asking when we are headed back to Hawthorne Ridge.I scroll through, deciding I will answer later.I need to go for a run and get a workout in to clear my mind.Get my plan straight.I see a text from Brielle, delete it without reading it, and block her.She's probably chasing the good PR I have right now.
Later, as I am running on my treadmill, sweating it out and trying to make what just happened feel good.I decide I can have it all.I will get good PR for my team, earn my family's trust again, and get the girl.
Chapter 18 - Tessa
By Monday, I’ve almost stopped wincing when I roll out of bed.Almost.
The shoulder still pulls when I reach too high, my ribs still complain when I twist wrong, but I can get my own shirt on without swearing, and that feels like victory.
The morning smells like hay dust and the kind of humidity that warns you it’s going to be a long day.The sunrise is soft, almost apologetic, but the barn is already alive, the low bellow of cattle, the metallic creak of a gate, the clatter of the feed scoop against the bin.
Dr.King was waiting by the truck when I got to the clinic, thermos in hand, ball cap pulled low, the brim worn white from sweat.“You good to be back on the truck?”
“I’ll manage,” I say, and I mean it.
He eyed me like he was debating if he should argue, but we’ve been through this before.I’m not the type to sit still.
Our first stop is the Maddens’ dairy farm, where the calf we pulled last week is already chasing shadows and trying to eat bootlaces.Her mother’s doing better, too, eating, steady, a little defiant.It’s the small victories that fill you back up.
After that, it’s a blur of dust and sweat: vaccines, hoof checks, two goats that refuse to be civilized.Dr.King laughs when one headbutts my hip, and I pretend it doesn’t hurt.
By noon, the truck smells like iodine and feed.I’m sticky and tired, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.Forsomereason, I think ofhimall day.A feeling is settling in, like maybe I miss seeing him, but I am not sure how to handle that revelation.So I do the mature thing and try to ignore the feeling, but by mid-afternoon, I can't help it.I have to share in the joy of my day, so I text Nate.
Me:Just pulled a tick off a bull’s ass.Feeling really glamorous today.
Nate:You say that like I’mnotinto strong women doing unglamorous things.
Me:You’re twisted.
Nate:You’re hot, so I am willing to ignore that you are crazy.You are on the right side of the scale.
