I hand my credit card over to the woman and turn my lips so they brush the space beside Addison’s ear. “Only if you keep your boots on when everything else comes off.”
“Okay,” Addison agrees loudly.
“Did you say something?” the woman asks as she hands me back my credit card.
“Oh, um, nothing,” Addison tells her, grinning.
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.” I tip my hat to the lady.
She breaks into a smile. “And they say cowboys are only born, not created.” She waves her hand as if the saying, which of course I’ve never heard, means little to her.
We spend the rest of the day watching bull riding, barrel races, and mutton roping. Women, children, and men show off skills and talents I could never imagine possessing.
Addison is captivated by the bedazzled chaps some of the women wear, and she claps for the kids as they rope the sheep.
“I love this,” she says, leaning over and giving me a happy kiss. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
I wind an arm around her shoulder and she tucks into me, a move so practiced an onlooker might think we’ve been doing it for years.
As the rodeo winds down, we leave the arena and go in search of a restaurant. It’s a two-hour drive back and we need to eat before we get on the road to Lonesome.
There’s a kitschy place nearby, and tonight we fit right in.
I order a beer, Addison gets a glass of wine. She’s talking animatedly about what she’s chosen to make for the baking competition, which is only a week away, when she stops abruptly and pulls her phone from her purse. She frowns at the phone, then puts it back in her bag.
She doesn’t say who it was, and I don’t ask, but I’m curious.
My curiosity is heightened by the fact that now Addison can hardly remember what it was she was talking about. Gently I remind her of the desserts, but even with my reminder she can hardly string together two real sentences.
“Right… yeah. So I’ll make… that topping… yeah.” She fidgets with the gold necklace she’s wearing. Her eyes are unfocused.
“Everything okay?” I ask, grabbing her hand and urging her to look at me.
“Um hmm,” she says quickly, looking at me but not really. Her gaze might be on me, but her thoughts are somewhere else. She pulls back her hand from my grasp and grabs her wine, taking two big sips. “That was Warren’s sister, Shannon.”
“Did she leave a message?”
Addison looks at her phone, then shakes her head no.
“Are you going to call her back?”
“I don’t want to. I prefer to keep that door firmly closed.” Addison replaces her palm in mine. She attempts a smile, but it’s forced.
I get up from my side of the booth and slide into hers. Pulling her into me, I kiss her temple and slide two fingers under her chin, tipping her gaze to mine. “You came here to get away from the pain that held you captive in Chicago. Don’t let it follow you here.”
She smiles a tiny smile, but at least it’s real. “You’re right.” She reaches for my beer and slides it to me, then clinks her wine against my glass. “To good things.”
“To good things,” I echo, taking a drink before lowering my lips to hers.
21
Addison
The imageof Shannon’s name on my phone has been running through my mind since last night when I let it go to voicemail. What does she want?
I woke up to a text from her this morning, but it was cryptic.Are you available?That’s all it had said. It’s been an hour and I haven’t responded.
Brady stayed the night with me, waking at first light and going for a run. I stayed behind to help my grandma with breakfast. And, I suppose, to respond to Shannon.
