Quilted.
What bachelor has a quilted bag? And it’s not bold, masculine colors. Those quilt squares are soft pinks and blues and yellows, with flowery patterns.
At least, I think they are.
The light isn’t the best in here, even before the dots in my vision.
He rises and crosses half the barn to stand next to me, a can of sparkling water in his hand. “Drink.”
“Thank you.”
I’m so tired of being mad at myself.
Drink more, Maisey. Between the elevation and the lack of humidity out here, you know you need it. You’ve studied how to handle wildlife, so put it into action and quit freaking out every time you see even a chipmunk move. Don’t go wandering outside at dusk. See previous reminder about wildlife.
It’s what I repeat to myself over and over every day.
Yet here I am, halfway across the property from the house at dusk, dehydrated and standing next to a wild animal that Ishouldknow how to handle, but who’s not acting at all like I expect him to.
And if he couldpleasequit rubbing his hands down his thighs and highlighting just how solid they are, I’d appreciate that greatly.
The last thing I want is to have to ask him if he has another can of water because his body makes my mouth go drier than the Wyoming summer.
“I always thought you didn’t come because you thought you were too good for Tony,” he mutters.
It’s a really good thing I’m not holding that sledgehammernow. “That’s a lovely thing to think about someone you’ve never met.”
He shakes his head. “I miss him. He was—if I could’ve picked my own father, I would’ve picked Tony. And you showing up now is bringing up old memories that are good but that hurt, too, because they remind me that he’s not here anymore.”
I watch him, not sure what to say.
This almost sounds like an apology, andI’m sorry I thought you were oldisn’t an appropriate response.
“When I moved back here to Hell’s Bells six years ago, Tony took me in like one of his other strays. I was in a rough spot. Bad breakup. Lost my job over it. But Tony set me up in the gatehouse and would have me up to his place for a beer after school to shoot the shit and watch the sun set. It was ... nice to have a friend without expectations.”
“I’m sure he enjoyed that.”
I don’t mean to sound sad.
But he’s right.
Uncle Tony was a good person, and I didn’t see him nearly enough in his last years. I took him for granted.
And I miss him too.
“He was really proud of you and that stupid show,” Flint says.
I hide my face’s reaction by taking another drink. I don’t think I’ve actually grieved him. I’ve been too busy. Or maybe I feel like I don’t have the right.
Not the way everyone here does.
He was part of this community.
And I’m just the lucky person who hung out a few weeks for a couple of summers twenty years ago, inherited his ranch, let it sit for a year, and is now changing everything up.
“He never told you?” he asks.
I slide a look at him out of the corner of my eye. “Are you treating me like one of your students?”
