“Don’t think it has anything to do with having a type, Jay. I don’t—” I sigh, taking my hat off my face before I suffocate myself. “People don’t… matter to me.” I realize how harsh that sounds and grimace. This is why I hate talking about this shit.
“Blair and the new baby, for example. I care about them just about as much as I’d care about any other stranger—I don’t want to see anything bad happen to them, but I don’t really have an emotional connection to them. I care about them because Colton cares about them and if anything happened to them, it would upset him. Otherwise…”
He nods like he gets it, but I don’t know for sure that he does. “But then by that logic, at one point, you cared about Austin only because she was Kenny’s best friend and Kenny would be upset if something happened to her.”
He’s right. I wish I could pinpoint what changed things. The night I took her home from the bar, drunk off her ass and asking for birthday spankings was the catalyst perhaps, but that was more about me seeing her as an adult woman than seeing her as anything more than Kenny’s best friend. She’d caught my interest, sexually, but a few women had over the years. That hadn’t made them any more special to me than an acquaintance though.
I run over everything in my mind—from unknowingly subscribing to her on the cam site, to finding out she was RedRanger, to the night she spent with me in the barn, and the texting banter that led to her spending that first night with me. There wasn’t a single, individual moment that stood out to me as the moment Austin shifted from a woman my dick likes the look of to a woman with the power to shred my heart into pieces.
“You wanna know what I think?” Jameson breaks the silence a few minutes later, taking me out of my head. I continue to stare up at the clouds, trying to find pictures in them like Dad and I used to.
“No, but I bet you’ll tell me anyway.”
“I think it’s because she gave you hell. You were so used to being able to control everything—to all of us just sort of rolling over to your need to take care of us, even when we’re all more than capable of taking care of ourselves. And then in comes this spitfire of a woman who not only fits you sexually, but also flips your perfectly planned world upside down, and, for once, challenges you instead of just giving in.”
“You’re making me sound like a fucking controlling asshole,” I grumble, though I know he’s right—at least somewhat. It was something I’d been working on fixing since that conversation on the couch with Austin about arrogance.
Jameson tilts his head this way and that, thinking. “Not an asshole,” he settles on and I snort. Controlling, but not anasshole. Great. “I think it’s intent, you know? You’re not controlling because you’re trying to be belittling. You’re controlling because you're anxious.”
“I’m not anxious.”
“Agree to disagree,” he says, waving a hand through the air to push the point aside. “Get a shrink for that shit. My point is that you controlled everything so much, had a routine down pat and plans A through F should things go to shit, and in walks this person who can’t be controlled. Who keeps secrets and argues with you at every turn, who doesn’t submit easily and is unpredictable. On top of that, she turns everything around on you. Instead of you taking care of her, you’re experiencing what being taken care of feels like. Instead of you being the one who doesn’t want to commit, it’s her.”
“Thanks.” Not a huge fan of the reminder.
“My point,” Jameson continues, “is that you put effort into it. You had tochooseto make her matter to you. I think Austin could’ve always just been your little sister’s best friend who you found slightly attractive, but at some point, something flipped a switch in your brain and you decided to dig a little deeper. You put effort intoknowingher.”
“And look where it got me.” I get up and leave, done with the conversation. Being reminded that the only woman I’ve ever cared about romantically wanted fuck-all to do with me isn’t exactly the way I wanted to spend this afternoon. I bet if I give Colt the chance to skip off the rest of the afternoon and head home to Blair, he’ll do so gladly and I can pick up what’s left of his work. Stay occupied for another couple hours at least.
But Colt’s leaf is still turned over, apparently, because he wipes the sweat from his face with his equally sweaty, tattooed arm and declines. I want to make a joke about what’s keeping him out in the heat instead of in bed next to his girl, but I don’t really want him turning that around on me and bringing up the fact no one’s sharingmybed anymore, so I turn around and start walking toward my cabin.
I’ve taken up walking more. It wastes more time than driving and my cabin’s not too far away from everything else on this ranch, only a little over a half mile from the Big House.
I’m so lost in my own self-pity that I walk right past the other pickup in my front yard. My hand’s already on the doorknob when a voice sounds from the porch swing. “Damn, Rancher. It’s like that?”
FIFTY-FIVE
AUSTIN
My stomach’sin my throat and I can’t stand this. I’m trying to decide what would’ve been easier—staying away and not having to deal with the rejection I know I deserve or the possibility of living the rest of my life knowing I’d have a what if for breakfast each morning.
Maddox jumps in surprise and it makes me wonder where his head’s at. Surprising him was always hard, because he was always paying attention to every shift in the wind. My mind catalogs every visible part of him in the seconds it takes for him to respond.
He looks the same, though I hadn’t really expected him to have lost weight or gained wrinkles in my absence. I just thought my memory might’ve over-exaggerated how good-looking he is. His jaw has dropped just slightly, eyes widening. I stand from the swing because it feels too casual, and his hand drops from the knob as he turns towards me.
“Aus,” he finally says, his voice a tad croaky. He clears his throat and his eyes rake over me. I’m dressed a little differently than he’s used to—a long, summery dress instead of short denim shorts and a cropped T-shirt. I’d been working on wearing clothes I actually liked wearing instead of what I figured wouldget me the most tips. My wardrobe was chaotic because of it, but this was one of the nicer outfits I own now.
I healed up nicely. Unless you were looking closely, the only visible reminder of Dad’s tantrum is the pink scar along my forehead and a much smaller one on my bottom lip. The bruises are long gone, thankfully.
There isn’t much left of the Austin he knew in May. At least not on the outside.
“Hey,” I say back quietly. I’m going to throw up. This was a bad idea. He doesn’t want me here. And why would he? After I?—
“Hey yourself.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and walks closer. He takes a seat on the swing and pats the spot next to him, where I’d just been sitting a second ago. I try to decide if it’s better or worse that he hadn’t invited me inside.
I sit down next to him, leaving more room between the two of us than I would’ve even before we were… whatever we were. Together, I think. I swallow hard, trying to think of what to say. I’d rehearsed it, of course, but nothing I’d rehearsed sounded right. It’d all been funny quips and reliant on the hope that I could charm him into thinking this was just another one of our spats.
“Did you stop by and say hey to Kenny yet?” he asks me, throwing me off. One of his arms runs along the back of the swing and it’d be so easy to tuck myself against his side and feel that arm fall around my body and pull me closer, sitting like we used to.
