I push off the fence and narrow my eyes on Tanner. His throat jumps with a swallow. The lingering frustration I haven’t been able to shake these last two days comes to a head.
“He’s got some fucking nerve. There’snowarning, Tanner. You make sure to spread that around the bunkhouse. Rowe has no claim on me.”
Okay, maybe a little bit of one, but right now, I’m revoking it. If I want to sleep my way through the staff on the ranch, I’m damn well going to. Especially when he thinks he can enjoy having me on my knees for him, only to ghost me for two days afterward.
Tanner retreats a step, nodding slowly. “Alright, Tilly. I’ll take that under consideration.”
We both know he won’t be doing that. They’re all too scared of Rowe to dare to piss him off, especially with the woman they’re still getting to know.
I take a long inhale and consider my options here. It’s still early, not even lunchtime yet. If Rowe feels so confident that he can put a ranch-wide Tilly ban in place, then I’m sure as shit not going to hold back anymore. We can play this game, but I’ll win every single time.
Starting now.
25
TILLY
The game is on hold.
Temporarily.
I had every intention of having today be the one where I made Rowe eat his tongue, but my body had other plans. The pain was bad enough last night, but this morning, I couldn’t so much as stand without cussing and palming my stomach. This trailer doesn’t have a single thing I need to help me get through the next couple of days, and while I had myself convinced that I could just ask Ash to make a stop at the store, I didn’t make the call.
I’m thirty-three years old. I shouldn’t be calling my brother and asking him to drive a town over to grab me a heating pad and double-chocolate ice cream. There are certain things you never involve your brother in, especially when you’re a grown adult.
Glancing at the ceiling, I scrub a hand down my face. The cramping is only one-half of the reason I’ve been unable to get to work today. I’ve worked through this pain for far too many yearsto have it keep me tied to this bed. It’s this fucking never-ending sadness that won’t cut me loose.
Sadness is a bland explanation of the way I feel, but it’s the easiest. It’s really theemptinessthat uses my pain and wacky hormones as an opening to take me by the head and shove me beneath its black waters. Decades of time spent flailing in it hasn’t taught me how to swim. Not when stone hands wrap around my ankles and keep me stuck in place, forcing the inky liquid to fill my lungs.
That’s the morbid, honest description that never leaves my mouth.
I keep my eyes open and turn onto my side, facing the tiny closet. The thin, orange bottle of pills on my nightstand gawks at me, almost tauntingly. I’m not ashamed to take them, but I do wish I didn’t need to. Some days, I even feel like I don’t need to anymore. I’ve been living with depression for so long that I know that feeling never lasts. It’s what my therapist back in Nova Scotia was so great at explaining to me, amongst other things.
Moving a hand low on my belly, I look away from the pills and to the doorway. It’s silent. Too goddamn silent. I’m going to lose my mind if I have to spend an entire day staring at the wall with nothing to do but listen to the voice in my head.
I grab my phone from the fold in the blanket and tap the screen. It illuminates with a few messages that I open only to close again. The notifications disappear, and some of my tension slips away.Out of sight, out of mind.For now, at least.
The time on the screen reads 9:04 a.m., which means my absence should have been noticed by now. Faye wasn’t exactly a ball of sunshine when I called at sunrise and told her I wasn’t coming. Apparently, the old woman doesn’t give a shit about feminine issues. I’m shocked.
Rowe’s name wasn’t amongst the ones on my screen. He doesn’t have my number, so I shouldn’t be so upset about himnot texting or calling. What did I expect him to do? I doubt he’s even noticed that I’m not at the stable, anyway, which bites like a motherfucker.
Exhaling, I hide my phone in the blanket again and find that same spot on the ceiling. It’s brown and round from leaking water. None has fallen onto my face while I’ve slept so far. If I’m lucky, which I hardly ever am, it’ll hold off for as long as it takes me to convince someone to replace the shingles.
Minutes seem to pass slowly. I count my blinks, then lose track of them when I start to drift off. There’s a horse whinnying close by, but the sound drifts away. Diesel engines pass every few hundred blinks, and then I think even a quad rips by. My toes are warm from the heat gathering beneath the blanket as the temperature rises.
I can’t sleep.
My mind won’t fucking stop running.
There’s a rough rumble in the distance that grows in volume instead of quieting. I blink, staring out into the living room. Another swell of pain pulls a groan from my throat before I look away, squirming.
The rumble disappears. I bite my lip and swallow. Then—the slam of a car door, followed by heavy footsteps not quieted by the grass. I tug the blankets up on instinct, hiding my half-naked chest and watching as the front door whips open and a tall, wide-built man comes crashing inside.
Rowe heaves in breaths, his eyes searching the trailer frantically until they land on me through the bedroom doorway. I stare blankly, but my mind is running too quickly to make sense of any specific thought. The cowboy whom I’ve known for almost all my life whips the door shut behind him and takes three jilted steps toward me.
He sweeps a deep, almost terrified look over where I lie before his shoulders drop. His next inhale is longer than the prior ones.
“Why was your door unlocked?” he attacks, nearly roaring.
