Lucy is curled up at the foot of the bed, but when one of the cattle lets out a loud and drawn-out moo, she finally lifts her head. And when I lock eyes with her, her tail wags, her head tilts, and she hops from the bed with a soft huff as she pads out of the room, ready to start her day. “Guess that means we’re up then, huh?”
The guesthouse looks even cozier in the daylight. Black walls, big windows, and warm wooden floors that creak just enough to sound lived in. Everything about this house feels simple, yet done with great care.
I make a beeline for the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen, with a mug already sitting next to it, and a filter filled with grounds inside of it. I smile to myself at the sincere gesture and turn it on. My insides already warming at the sound of the coffee percolating. I open the fridge, hoping to find at least a little milk to use for cream, and am pleasantly surprised to not only find whole milk but three different flavors of creamer and a small container of oat milk. The small smile turns into a shit-eating grin as I envision the big burly cattle rancher searching the grocery store for oat milk.
And because I know that that’s the choice he went the extra mile to purchase, that’s the one I pour a splash of into my mug.
The moment the coffee is ready, I pour a good amount, plant myself on the caramel leather couch, drink God’s nectar, and listen to the sounds of the world around me.
As I drink, I start to mentally sort through the list of things I need to get done. And soon. Find work. Get more clothes. Find a place to live. Because there’s no way they’ll be okay with me staying here long term, right? The tasks feel heavy, but not impossible. At least not anymore. Because I already did the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do.
I got out.
I’m not sure how much time goes by, but the sound of a truck door slamming somewhere in the distance draws my attention. A man calls out across the pasture, followed by the sound of his laughter as it’s carried in the wind.
Lucy rests her head on my knee, her eyes soft and trusting. “Yeah,” I murmur, scratching behind her ear. “One step at a time.”
By the time I rinse my mug, sunlight has filled every corner of the guesthouse. It filters through the windows in soft, golden sheets as I make my way to the bathroom. When I open the door, I stop short.
It’s nothing overly extravagant, just simple and clean. The walls, a stark contrast to the rest of the cabin, are whitewashed shiplap with a warm wood ceiling, a white granite countertop matches the white tiles in the shower, and a beige-and-tan vintage-style rug runs the length of the room.
It’s a beautiful room, but it’s the other small details that undo me. There’s a small plant that had to have been just bought on the windowsill of the window across from me. Two neatly folded towels hanging on the rack that, when I bring them to my nose, smell freshly washed, just like the sheets I slept on last night. Through the glass door of the shower, there’s a row of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. A woven tray on the vanity holds travel-sized lotions, sunscreens, and even a small jar of hair ties with a couple of claw clips sitting next to it. Considering this is a ranch full of men, they really thought of everything, didn’t they?
My throat tightens even more than it did over the damn oat milk.
Turning on the shower, I step under the spray, letting the hot water trace away the last remnants of my peaceful night of sleep. The shampoo smells of honey and sage, the scent filling the small room as steam covers the mirror. When I step out, Iwrap myself in one of the thick towels and just stand there for a moment, toes rubbing against the rug beneath my feet.
When I catch my reflection, my first instinct is to catalogue the small bruises that cover my body, to look over any cuts that may need tending to, and while some purple and yellow spots still mar my skin, the first thing I notice is my face. Despite the fact that I ran only a few days ago and have yet to figure out a solid plan for my life, there’s color in my cheeks. My eyes look…calmer. Brighter. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I twist my damp hair and secure it beneath one of the claw clips from the tray.
It’s a simple act of self-care, but the notion that I could have stood in here for hours on end feels like a reclaiming of something I’d forgotten how to have.
Pulling out a fresh pair of socks, underwear, and a pair of jeans along with a simple white T-shirt that Joe packed for me, I dress myself for the day. Once I throw on my flannel from yesterday, I slide on my black Converse by the front door as Lucy excitedly waits next to me. “Alright, let’s go see about this tour. Shall we, Lucy girl?”
The second I open the door, she’s off like a shot, barking in excitement. For a brief moment, despite the cool fall morning, I close my eyes and let the warmth from the sun coat my skin until the sound of a rhythmic clopping of hooves grows near.
When my eyes open, I see a man on a horse the color of midnight, riding slow and easy across the stretch of golden grass. His body framed by the hazy morning light. His horse moves with grace beneath him, his onyx coat gleaming in the sun. And the man’s broad shoulders and easy posture tell me he belongs right where he is. Beneath a toffee-colored canvas jacket, a faded black T-shirt clings to his torso, and a well-worn cap shades his face from the rising sun; his curls, the same color as the horse below him, peaking out from beneath it.
My entire body freezes at the sight of him.
He looks toward me, his head tilting slightly, eyes catching the light, and everything around me stills. The dust floating through the air, the wind, even the rise and fall of my own breath. But then the sound of one of Lucy’s delighted barks breaks the spell.
The man grins, slow and sure. It’s the kind of smile that looks like it belongs to someone who knows exactly who he is and what effect he had on me. He tips his chin in greeting before turning his horse toward the barn and trotting away.
And I stand there, slack-jawed, like an absolute fool because I’m pretty sure that was something straight out of a romance movie.
Chapter seven
Jasper
Therisingsunwarmsmy neck as I guide Dezzy across the pasture and toward the barn. Normally, mornings like this settle me. Awake before the sun, open land, rhythm of hooves, the quiet that hangs in the air right before the ranch comes alive around me. Most days, I can breathe out here in a way I can’t anywhere else. Not even on the back of a bull.
But not today.
Because the only thing I’ll be able to think about from this moment forward is the woman standing on the porch of the guesthouse. Abigail.
I knew she’d be here. Hell, I was on the receiving end of my sister, Josephine’s, pleading phone call to give Abigail a place to go. A place to be safe. I knew I’d have to meet her today. But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw only moments ago.
I’d only meant to ride past the guesthouse, to simply make sure everything was okay. I wanted to give her space, to let her come to us when she was ready. But the second she stepped into the light, everything in me jolted to attention. The way she stoodthere, her mouth popped open, wary but steady. The way that, even tucked beneath a clip, her red strands called out to me, begging me to touch them. The way she blinked against the sun as she tried to memorize me in that moment, just as I was her.
