No, no, no.
“Hey, how do you feel about filling in for softball Thursday?” he asks, switching hands on the steering wheel.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“How you feel about assembling furniture?”
He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t have to for me to catch the knowing, easy grin that forms. “What do you need, Ev?”
“I bought a new bookshelf.”
“I can do that.”
“And a desk. They’re being delivered tomorrow.”
“Anything else?”
“Not that I remember.” It’s possible I bought more since said bookshelf and desk were purchased in the middle of the night. I wasn’t even aware I’d bought any new furniture until I received the shipping confirmation email this morning. I really need to disable purchases on my phone after midnight.
“One bookshelf and desk assembly in exchange for playing short stop on Thursday.”
“Deal.”
For a moment, things between us feel normal again. We feel likeus.I breathe out a tiny sigh of relief as Wyatt turns onto a gravel road that’ll lead us to Stone Ranch. Maybe I imagined the electrical current earlier. I probably just caught the poor man off guard with my flirtatiousness considering I was basically in my underwear. Yeah, really didn’t think that one through.Note to self: dial back flirtatiousness and remember to wear more clothes around the poor man.
Moments later, the familiar arch of Stone Ranch appears at the top of the hill, and Wyatt slows for turn. I relax, knowing Birdie will be in good hands. Dr. Paul Stone, or Paps as most of the town has called him years before he retired as the local veterinarian, has a no rejection policy when it comes to accepting animals onto his ranch. Said policy has resulted in a mismatched collection of farm animals, all better off for having the old man with the biggest heart in Montana welcome them in.
I really hope they’re successful in converting this ranch into an official nonprofit animal sanctuary. If Birdie’s current circumstances are as concerning as Wyatt seems to think, maybe the alpaca could live here permanently. She’d make a great addition to a future petting zoo with how snuggly she is. Oh! Is alpaca yoga a thing? I’m about to Google it when Wyatt stops the truck outside the big red barn in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint.
I look up to see Paps pushing himself out of his golf cart seat. The old man makes a beeline for Birdie, whose head still hangs out the window.
“Hey there girl,” Paps greets, rubbing a hand along her cheek. “Glad you’re safe.”
Wyatt cuts the ignition and I hop out of my seat.
“I’m relieved you found her,” Paps says as I meet the men on the other side of the truck. “I hate to think what could’ve happened to her if she was still on the loose.”
“Is she known for escaping?” Wyatt asks as I scan the expansive ranch for signs of my best friend. Macy’s not by the horse stable, the main house, or the goat pen. I wonder if she and Ryder are chasing a certain mischievous goat. It’s also possible—and perhaps more likely—that their current shenanigans are R rated.
My gaze drags down Wyatt’s body, my own R-rated thoughts invading uninvited.
Getting a fucking grip, Ev.Nothappening.
“Walter never mentioned it,” Paps says, his tone sounding grim enough to draw my attention back to the reason we’re at Stone Ranch. He lifts the ball cap from his head, scrubbing a hand through it. “This whole situation is a damn shame. Walter never had a chance once his grandson got involved. That ungrateful lout didn’t bother to ask the man whathewanted with any of this.”
I want to ask where Walter Smalley is these days, but I catch the possibly insensitive question before it escapes my lips. I’ll ask Wyatt when we’re alone.
“We found Birdie in Everleigh’s garage,” Wyatt explains as he opens the truck door and grabs for the leash before Birdie hops out. “No idea how she got there.”
“So, you’re in Walter’s old place then,” Paps says to me.
“I bought his house, yes,” I say, feeling guilty for reasons I can’t rationalize. When the house came up for sale, I didn’t think twice about putting in an offer. But that’s my way, impulsive and a bit reckless. The house was cute, I wanted it, so I bought it. “Should I not have?”
“Better you than some outside house flipper,” Paps grumbles. Birdie tilts her head at the man, and he softens right up at the sight of her. “I hope you at least got a fair price for it.”
“A great price, actually.” It’s one of the reasons I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to buy a house despite my inability to stay in any one place long. But I figured I could always rent it out if I ended up back on the road again. The trust from Mom and Dad will someday run out, and having passive income from a rental property seemed like a sensible, adult decision.
