“Winnie! Win!”
We collide, arms wrapping around one another, and I feel my body start to convulse with a sob. I don’t let myself go completely, because there are other people around, but damn does it feel good to be hugging my best friend.
“When did you leave? Why didn’t you call me?” Candice asks, pulling away from me and looking me over.
“I left five days ago. I had to get rid of my regular phone and I decided to use the burner for emergencies only. I didn’t want to take any chances,” I explain. I pull off my hat and sunglasses and shake my hair out.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re here now. You’re safe now,” Candice says, drawing me in for another hug.
“What the hell is going on here?” A tall, broad-shouldered man comes around from the other side of the truck that I’m parked behind, arms crossed, a scowl on his ruggedly handsome face. “I’m trying to unload here, and some ditz is blocking my truck in.”
And just like that, the mysterious, scowling handsome stranger turns out to be an asshole.
“Some ditz? Someditz? I’m Candice’s best friend. Who the hell are you?” I spit out, irritated by the term ditz, and too exhausted to contain myself. It’s an insult that’s been lobbed at me countless times before, along with bimbo and blondie. Men (and some women) assume us pageant queens are idiots.
The burly asshole takes a step forward, boxing Candice out and facing me head on. I meet the stranger’s flashing gaze with a steely one of my own.
“Impossible. I know all of Candice’s friends and you aren’t one of ‘em.”
“Um.” A nervous note fills Candice’s voice.
“You didn’t answer my question. Who even are you?” I ignore his remark about how he knows all of Candice’s friends, and jab my finger into his chest to annunciate my point.
He reaches out and catches my hand in his. But despite his thunderous expression, his touch is light, and he holds my hand as gently as one would a baby bird.
“I’m the barn’s farrier,” he says.
“What’s that?” I ask, because I honestly have no clue. I’m not really a horse or cowboy person. I visited Star Mountain once a few years ago, after Candice’s grandparents passed away. While I loved the horses and the scenery, I went on one trail ride and mostly tended to Candice in her grief.
The man lets out a laugh, and doesn’t drop my hand. “What the hell is a woman who doesn’t know what a farrier is doing at a horse rescue?” he mutters, almost to himself.
I try to come up with a retort, but before I can, Candice comes over and gently pushes me and Asshole apart.
“Jonah, this is Winnie,” Candice says. “She’s my best friend and she’s going to be staying here for a while. Benice. And Winnie, this is Jonah. He makes shoes for our horses.”
“Horses need shoes?” I ask, widening my eyes and dropping my mouth open in mock surprise. Because while I did not, infact, know what a farrier was until a few moments ago, I do know that horses need shoes. I’m not acompleteditz.
“Jesus Christ.” Jonah sighs and rubs a hand over his face.
“Jonah!” Candice says, her voice sharp. “Treat Winnie with respect or I will find another farrier. Winnie is going to move her car closer to the house, and then we’ll be out of your hair, okay?”
I scurry back to the car and do as Candice says, wanting to get away from Jonah the asshole as soon as possible. I move the car in front of the Wilson’s ranch house, and head inside with Candice and Nathan.
It looks exactly like I remember it: pine siding and worn, cozy furniture, floral curtains that Grandma Wilson must have put up in the eighties, and the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen.
Beau is sitting in the living room and tries and fails to hide his shock at seeing me, his mouth dropping open. “Win, it’s good to see you,” he recovers. “Glad you made it here alright.”
Suddenly, exhaustion hits me like a freight train. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been on the road all week, or maybe it’s that this place is so clearly ahome. Something I don’t have anymore.
“You too.” I do my best to smile at Beau. “Candice? I’m going to take a nap, if that’s okay? I’ve done nothing but drive for the last five days, and I just want to sleep.”
“Of course,” Candice says. “You’re in the last room on the left.”
I walk down the hall and open the door to the bedroom, before realizing that I left everything in the car. I don’t have my toothbrush or pajamas. I don’t have my burner phone, which is probably good because it means I can’t use it to google my name and see what comes up. I’m sure the reaction to my social media post declaring that I was taking an indefinite hiatus caused quite the stir. In the days leading up to my escape, I changed all my passwords and linked them to a new email address—I made it anaddress my parents will never, in their wildest dreams, be able to figure out. So, I’m fairly confident that my accounts will be fine without me.
And if it’s not?
I’m not sure I care. I’m not Winsome Grant anymore. I’m whoever the hell I want to be.
