"Half a dozen blueberry muffins, please." He orders from Greta, the owner and operator of this place. I can't remember a time when Greta hasn't been behind the counter, either ringing up orders or refilling the displays.
"Could've told you that myself, Mr. Bennett," Greta responds, grabbing a piece of tissue paper from a box on the counter. "How's it going out there? Did you find that retail space you were looking for?"
He nods, and I watch his profile. He's very… pretty. Well-kept. I imagine he's fastidious about his appearance. He smiles at Greta when she hands him the bag. I'm hoping he'll take an open table and sit down, but he strides for the door.
Wiping my slick palms on my thighs, I hustle from the table where I've been conducting my stakeout and catch him on the sidewalk. "Excuse me?" I call.
He turns, searching my face. "Can I help you?"
I take a step closer. "Are you Sawyer Bennett?"
He eyes me. "That depends. Am I going to receive a slap or a medal?"
I smile. "I guess that depends on the answer to my question." Extending a hand, I tell him my name. He shakes my hand. "I'd introduce myself, but that would be redundant. Apparently you already know me?"
"My boyfriend, Jared"—small fib, we're over—"told me he met you recently and mentioned you're looking to move some business here. And I was thinking," I forge ahead, because I'm not sure how much longer I'll have his attention. "I have a business venture that needs an investor."
Sawyer's head tips sideways. "Is that right?"
Here goes nothing. The worst he can say is no. "I bought an abandoned ranch on the outskirts of town with the plan to rebuild it into a ranch for troubled youth. Things happened a little faster than I thought and I'm in over my head and my pockets are empty." I take a breath. "So if you're looking for an investment opportunity, it's literally standing in front of you."
He quirks an eyebrow, but aside from that, remains perfectly still. "Where did you say it was?"
"Southwest of town, an old ranch called the Circle B." His eyebrows shoot up. "I'm renaming it though," I add. "I know it's not the right name for what I'm planning. It’ll be called Wildflower.”
He nods slowly. "I'm interested. How about I meet you there this afternoon at three? I have a few things to attend to."
"Sounds great," I answer, keeping a lid on my excitement.
"Nice to meet you, and I'll see you soon, Miss Shelton."
I nod, but honestly I can't feel my face right now. There's too much adrenaline pumping through my veins. "See you soon, Mr. Bennett."
He walks away, and I go back inside and order two blueberry muffins to go.
The shred of hope in my heart has brightened up my entire day, eclipsing the streak of sadness I feel when I pass the bank.
There aren't a ton of dating options in this small town, and I just blew through one of them.
But I might save my ass, and Travis's happiness, so all in all, I'm not too upset right now.
18
Wyatt
"Why the fuckdoes he buy these things?" I grumble, fighting to get the bronc into the round pen. You'd think someone had his balls in a vise the way he jumps and flails.
"I think your dad likes fucking with you," Denny says, gritting his teeth as he helps me coax the horse into the pen.
"Keep your nose where it belongs, Denny," Josh barks, glaring at him. Josh is in charge of the cowboys, and he takes his job seriously. Friends or not, Josh wants Denny to keep out of the Hayden family's personal business.
Denny is right, though. My dad loves to buy the meanest bronc he can find, then ask me to tame it. I don't know why. Just because I'm good at it doesn't mean I should be depended on to do it. Like my mom says after every family dinner, ‘I might be better at doing the dishes than the rest of you, but that doesn't make me the only person capable of it'. We all trade off who does the dishes, except for Gramps. That old codger pretends to be asleep. The last time I called him out, he opened his eyes, winked at me, then shut them and pretended to snore when my mom walked into the living room.
Denny and Josh head out to work, and I stay with the new horse. He's beautiful, a light-colored Arabian with a black muzzle. This breed is known for being spirited, and judging from the way he's charging around the ring, I'd say he leans more toward hot-tempered than just plain spirited. He runs and runs like he's just so fucking mad at his current situation. I wonder if he would run himself to death, just to spite us.
My dad lumbers up behind me. If I didn't recognize his heavy gait, I'd sense his formidable presence. He comes to stand beside me.
"Hello, Son." His voice is deep, scratching across the inches separating our arms.
