“Hey, Abigail?” I say as I approach the driveway to the ranch finally comes into view.
“Yeah?”
“Welcome home.”
Chapter three
Abigail
WillowCreekRanch.
The name alone feels like a memory I haven’t yet lived. Like something within those three simple words has been pulling me here my whole life.
Then again, maybe it has been. The thought rolls around in my mind as I rub the black ink along the back of my left arm through my sweatshirt and flannel.
We slow as we turn from the small dirt road into the gravel drive. Two stone pillars mark the entrance, tall and weathered. Clear, they’ve withstood the test of time, and that this ranch has likely been here longer than anyone on it. A wooden beam stretches across the top, holding letters cut from steel which catch the light of the evening sun. At the end of the sign is a steel image of a willow tree, branches bent low. Almost as if it is as tired as I am.
The archway is as simple as it is grand, and yet, this place already feels like exactly what I need. A place that won’t ask for polish or perfection. A place where I can justbe.
Rolling down the window, I let the wind sting my face as we pass under the sign. The air smells like dirt and wild grass, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel something steady inside me.
Beau continues down the long driveway as I hang my head out the window, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice him turn on my seat warmer in an attempt to warm me as I take in everything around me.
“How long is this driveway?” I ask, noticing I have yet to see a single building, only acre upon acre of fence and field.
Beau huffs a laugh. “I guess driveway’s a bit of a loose term. It’s about a mile and a half.”
“A mile and a half!” I say with a little more shock than necessary. “That’s like… half of Central Park.”
For the first time since we climbed into this Jeep, I allow myself to really look at him again. I can’t help but notice the crinkles on the edge of his eyes as his smile deepens. “Yeah, you’re definitely not in Kansas anymore, Todo.”
“New York,” I correct him.
“Did you get what I was saying?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then don’t be a smart-ass about it,” he finishes with another one of those damn winks.
“You—I—you’re the smart-ass,” I say, almost under my breath. I used to be so quick, so witty. Hell, Kat and I could verbally spar like nobody’s business. But I haven’t had a relationship like that with anyone in years. Clearly, I’m off my game. Nevertheless, I probably shouldn’t be calling someone I’ve only just met a smart-ass.
Actually, scratch that. He started it.
Beau lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Good one.”
There’s a beat of silence before he glances over at me again, curiosity flickering across his face. “Can I ask you something?”
I narrow my eyes. “That depends, I guess.”
He grins. “I know it’s not polite to ask a lady, but I think it’ll help me understand you better. How old are you?”
I blink, surprised by the bluntness. But something about his expression tells me it’s a genuine question. “Thirty-two,” I answer.
His brows lift slightly. “Huh.”
“Huh?” I repeat.
“I don’t know,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “Just wouldn’t have guessed.”
