The fancy silver sedan kicks up dust as it travels toward Dawson Ranch, and I struggle to reconcile the image I’d painted for myself of Wes Dawson as an adult with the reality of the man who stood before me moments ago.
I remember Wes working on the ranch, roping cattle, driving the side by side, two-stepping at the county fair, and raising hell around this town in his teen years, but I couldn’t merge the boy I knew with the polished man who had stood before me, clean-shaven, with no callouses on his hands, reeking of expensive cologne and looking like he’d be too afraid to climb into a saddle.
Soft is what I would have called him.
It’s no wonder I hadn’t recognized him at first. His jaw had lost all the softness of young adulthood, turning sharp, whereas his middlehad softened just a tad, and he’d filled out in the shoulders, becoming broader, more substantial.
I blow a piece of loose hair out of my eyes with a loaded sigh. He said he was here to help Pops, but I didn't buy it. Why now, after all this time? Something didn't add up.
I had a feeling Wes wasn’t sticking around long enough to be of much help.He'd seemed on edge—teeth gritted, fists clenched, weight on the balls of his feet like he wanted to get the hell out of Dodge. It was clear he didn't want to be here, and he’d leave Pops alone on that ranch without a second thought if it meant he could get out of here quicker.
I'm convinced he's like every other city slicker that blows in and out again just as quickly. Like a tumbleweed just passing through. None of them wanted to be stuck in this small town, with its predictability, lack of amenities, and complete absence of privacy.They looked down on us. We might not have MBAs or fancy cars, or suits that cost more than a mortgage payment, but people here would drop everything to help each other. This small, tight-knit community in middle-of-nowhere Nebraska had something they didn’t.
Heart.
We lived a simpler life—fewer screens, no traffic—but that didn’t make us less than anyone else.
Wes never used to act superior, but after he called this place a "shithole" and couldn't take some good-natured teasing, it's obvious. He's just another city boy seated atop his high horse, looking down at the rest of us.
I decide here and now, I don’t like this new version of Wes Dawson. Mr. Fancy Pants with his hair neat and gelled and his poorly concealed looks of distaste.
I begin the trek up my gravel drive and whistle to Dixie, so she’ll follow, deciding my trip into town can wait until morning. Famished, I don’t take the time to heat up the leftover chicken in my fridge. It tastes just fine cold, and time isn’t something I have a lot of these days.
The shrill sound of my cell pulls my attention from my supper, and I don’t bother looking as I answer with my mouth still full. “Yeah?”
“Sawyer, we’ve talked about this.” My best friend’s tone is lightly chastising.
“’Bout what?”
“What’s an appropriate way to answer the phone?” Allie asks like she’s quizzing one of her students on what to do in case of a fire.
I roll my eyes at my best friend’s admonishment. “I think we’ve also talked about how I don’t give a fuck whether you like the way I answer my phone. You don’t like it, then don’t call me.”
She snorts her derision at me through the line. “You’re as stubborn as a mule.”
“You love me anyway,” I point out.
She sighs and concedes, “God knows why, but I do.”
I smile to myself and discard the last of the chicken by handing it over to Dixie, who’s waiting patiently on the floor for her fair share. “What’s up?”
“Oh, I just wanted to let you know that whatever you did the other night really pissed off Kyle, because he’s going around town spreading stories like manure.”
I blow a raspberry in agitation. “WhatIdid? The man is a complete buffoon. I tried being pleasant, but he made it impossible, so I showed him my claws.”
“Oh, Lord have mercy. Whathappened?”
I study my nails, which still have dirt under the bed. They could use a good scrubbing. “I threw my drink on him when he tried to cop a feel and left him with the tab. Why? What’shesaying happened?”
Allie is quiet on the other line, which makes my spine go rigid. “Allison Matthews, you tell me right now what that tiny-dicked loser is saying about me.”
I can hear the wince in her voice when she finally answers. “Well, you know... just that you were wasted and throwing yourself at him all night, and when he told you he wasn't interested, you threw a drink at him.”
I spit out my annoyance. “That little shit. I told you I didn’t want to go out with the guy, andthisis why! He thinks he’s God’s gift to women and when we’re not impressed with his antics, he makes us out to be crazy. I don’t have the patience for a man who needs me to stroke his oversized ego for him.”
“You haven’t been on a date in forever, and I thought maybe he’d grown up a bit since he stopped making his daddy pay for everything and got his own job. I’m sorry!”
“Well, I suppose we can go ahead and put that in the ‘Allie was wrong’column. Kyle is a dead man next time I see him,” I note. Dixie ambles over and plops down at my feet as I lean against the counter.
