“I will.”
Knox slaps his hand on my shoulder before walking me down the hall toward the door.
“City boy,” Teagan calls after us softly. I glance over my shoulder to find her lingering by the table, stacking plates. She has a glimmer in her emerald eyes and a playfulness in her smirk. “See you in the morning.”
I step out onto the porch, and the cool night air wraps around me instantly. The sky is darker, streaked with purple and scattered stars just beginning to appear. My boots crunch against the gravel as I head to the bunkhouse, replaying the events of the day.
Fucking city boy…
I huff and shake my head as I climb the steps of the empty bunkhouse. After closing the door behind me, I lean against it for a moment before pulling off my boots. I cross the room to the small desk beneath the window and sit before lifting the cover of Rosie’s journal.
The worn leather feels different under my fingers now. It’s grounding. My lifeline to the woman I love. I flip to the next blank page and pick up my pen.
Dear Rosie,
I finished the drive to Montana today. You would love it here.
The words come easier than they used to. I tell her in detail about the land stretching endlessly under a sky so wide it makes you feel small in the best way. Then about the Wilsons.
James is gruff and quiet. He reminds mea lot of the old man who ran the butcher shop on Melbourne. The grumpy one who hated everyone but you.
And Knox… He doesn’t quite strike me as the brightest marker in the box, but I’m quite sure beneath all the charisma and sarcasm, there’s a pretty genuine guy.
Then there’s Teagan.
I hesitate, my pen resting against the page, trying to decide how to describe her to Rosie.
I used to tease you about being stubborn and sassy, and after meeting her… I take it all back.
Shaking my head, I think about how quickly she climbed back into the saddle of the horse who bucked her off this afternoon and the crap she gave me at dinner.
I miss you, dreamer. And, like every night, I wish you were here with me.
I close the journal gently and set it aside. For the first time in seemingly forever, the longing ache isn’t the only thing in my chest. Possibility is weaseling its way in.
The cold wakes me before my alarm does, seeping in through the old farmhouse windows. I pull the covers to my chin, lying there for a second, just staring at the ceiling and listening to the quiet hum of the house.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, and my bare feet brush against the cold hardwood floor. Wincing at the icy sting, I jerk my legs up for a second before replacing them and standing.
Dressing quickly, I pull on thermals, thick socks, well-worn jeans, and a flannel. I brush the tangles from my hair and braid it down my back.
By the time I step onto the porch, the sky is still a cavernous indigo, the stars barely clinging to the heavens. Frost coats the grass in a delicate icy sheen, and it crunches under my boots as I step off the porch. My breath fogs in front of me, curling into the air as it disappears.
Early spring in Montana is raw and unforgiving. I shove my hands deep into my jacket pockets and trudge toward thestill-dark bunkhouse, my shoulders hunched against the bite of the cold.Let’s see how the city boy handles this.The thought sparks a small, wicked smile.
After quickly traversing the bunkhouse steps, I rap my knuckles against the door. Nothing. Not a sound from the other side. “Rise and shine, city boy,” I shout, loud enough for my voice to carry. The only response I receive is silence. “Unbelievable,” I huff, rolling my eyes.
We start at five. Sharp. Dad doesn’t tolerate laziness, and neither will Deacon. If he thinks he can stroll in here with his expensive boots and pretty hair, then sleep past sunup, he’s got another thing coming. I step back and kick the door with the heel of my boot, and the thud echoes across the yard. “Easton!” I shout. “You gettin’ up this morning?”
“Teag?” a deep voice carries from the barn. I turn toward it and freeze, my mouth dropping open slightly. Deacon’s broad shoulders are unmistakable even in the dim light. Puffs of fog blow from his horse as they walk. Knox is beside him, already mounted, with the reins loose in his hands. And behind them, Easton. The brim of his hat is tipped low, and the leather of the reins is threaded through his fingers. He leads his horse, the three of them moving toward the pasture gate like they have been waiting on me for hours.
Deacon squints at me. “You plan on joinin’ the rest of us for work this morning? Or you gonna sit on the porch and watch the sunrise?”
Heat creeps up my neck and washes over my face despite the cold. “I…” I glance back at the bunkhouse door. “I thought?—”
“The city boy has been up since four,” Knox shouts back with a cocky grin. “Unlike you.”
Of course he’s been up.
