And then there was Dani, laying on the floor, cocooned in a blanket like a corpse that died sometime during the night. One foot was sticking out and twitching occasionally as if she were dreaming of running.
My head throbbed, my stomach churned, and my throat felt like I’d swallowed dust. I pressed a hand to my temple, groaned again, and slowly sat up.
That’s when it hit me.
Ray.
The memory slammed into my chest. My breath caughtmid-inhale, sharp and painful. I froze, hands gripping my knees as my stomach dropped fast and hard.
“Oh God,” I whispered. “Oh God. Oh no.”
Last night rushed back in a fragmented montage, tequila shots, Dani’s terrible dance moves, me crying, the knocking, the stranger at the door, the hat in his hands, the words he’d said.
Uncle Ray was gone. Really gone. The man who raised me, the man who’d taught me how to tie knots, how to sit a stubborn horse, to recognize a fever in a calf before it got dangerous. The man who’d never once made things easy on me.
“Hey,” Dani croaked again, dragging herself upright like a resurrected corpse. Her hair was tangled, and her eyeliner smudged, making her look worse than I felt. “You okay?”
No. Not even close. But my throat was tight, so I nodded. She scooted closer, blanket still wrapped around her, and rested her head on my shoulder. She was warm and familiar and exactly what I needed, steady pressure in a world that was cracked open. We sat like that for a while, quiet and hungover and broken.
Then she whispered, voice hoarse, “Did we hallucinate the hot cowboy?”
I let out a weak sound, something between a sigh and a dying animal. “No. Wyatt’s real. I didn’t know him well when I was growing up, but he lived at the next ranch.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, thank God. I was scared we’d invented him. That man looked like a responsible older lumberjack with emotional trauma.”
I groaned into my hands. “Please stop talking.”
“No, seriously,” she said, rubbing her face.
I grabbed a pillow and covered my entire head with it. “Oh my God.”
She snorted. “I can’t believe he said he’d come get you this morning after the things we said to him.”
I froze under the pillow, my heartbeat thudding loud enough that I could hear it. Right. He was coming back to take me home. To whatever waited at the ranch that was now my responsibility.
My stomach twisted. Grief pulled tight in my chest. Underneath it, something else flickered, fear maybe, pressure, reality. Everything was going to change.
I forced myself off the couch. My body screamed with every shift; my hips were stiff, my neck tight, my stomach rolling in protest. I needed water, painkillers, a shower, a therapist, and possibly divine intervention.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Unknown number, and my pulse skittered.
Dani perked up like a meerkat sensing danger. “Is it him?”
I nodded.
“Answer it,” she squealed as she held her head.
“I can’t.” I stared at the unknown number on the screen.
“Then let me.”
“No,” I shouted loud enough to make me groan.
The buzzing stopped. Then started again. My palms went sweaty. Irrational, but real. He wasn’t scary, not objectively. He was stern and steady and completely out of place in my tequila-soaked disaster of a life. But still, the thought of answering made something inside me seize.
I forced myself to pick up. “Hello,” I croaked.
“Morning, Miss Callahan.” His voice was deep and sleep-rough, a low, steady sound that tugged at something low in my stomach I didn’t want to examine. “I’m outside.”
