At least someone was enjoying themselves.
I sighed as I took in the familiar surroundings. Pale-blue mountains stretched toward the sky in one direction, dark tree silhouettes dotting the hills and ridges. In the other direction, the land stretched on for miles, bordering the Sapphire Gulch Creek that ran through the valley the town was nestled in.
Goldfinch hadn’t changed much since the last time I’d been here—five years ago. The population had grown, a phenomenon most college towns experienced, but for the most part the businesses and neighborhoods looked the same. Some houses appeared to have had better days, the paint on their siding now weathered and cracked, but most seemed to have gone through modern updates.
I knew every inch of this town, every side street and backroad, yet I could never muster up the courage to drive past my old house.
The house that was never a home.
I wondered if anyone lived there now or if it was vacant, haunted by the ghosts of my childhood.
I knew exactly which street it was on. Physically, I could probably still drive there blindfolded, but, mentally, I couldn’t do it.
The truth was, I never wanted to stay in Montana. The winding dirt roads and sprawling landscapes held too many memories—ones I yearned to remember and ones I wished I could erase from my mind.
My goal was always to get out and never come back. And a few times I did get out, but something always brought me back. Whether it was a rodeo, a court date, or something else stupid. This place, as beautiful as it was, had a death grip on me I couldn’t shake.
I stopped at a red light, and my knuckles paled as my hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“Stop it! Don’t touch her!”
Glass shattered somewhere to my right, and my body recoiled as I sucked in a breath, heart thumping as my chest tightened like an iron suit of armor. My eyes darted toward the floorboards, frantically searching around for the shards. Warm liquid dripped down my palms, and I lifted my hands off the steering wheel, turning them over. My hands shook, but there was nothing there. There never was.
Pancho tilted his head at me and whined, the sound breaking me out of my panic.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.
The blast of a car horn pulled me out of my daze, andI looked up, noticing the light I’d been stopped at had turned green. The car behind me changed lanes, speeding by as the driver flipped me off.
I pressed my foot down on the gas pedal, and the engine rumbled as I slowly started to inch along again.
My heart still raced in my chest, but I had to pull myself together.
It was one day.
A few hours.
I inhaled through my nose and exhaled a couple of long breaths through my mouth until I gathered my composure again. Pancho licked my arm in an attempt at comfort, and a wobbly sigh fell from my lips.
“What do you make of all this, Pancho?” I asked, even though I knew he wouldn’t answer.
He lifted a paw in the air, which was good enough for me.
I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “All right, bud. Let’s do the damn thing.”
I pulled into the parking lot of the rodeo grounds about five minutes later. The rodeo didn’t start for a few more hours, but I needed to let my horse, Lucky, get settled and rest for a while before warming him up for competition.
I hopped out of the pickup, fully intending to leave Pancho in the cab with the window rolled down. He had too much energy to be running around, and he was a bit of a pain in my ass. That dog found trouble wherever he went. My life would be a bit easier today with him in the truck. But he clearly had a different idea when he leapt over the center console to jump out of the vehicle and take off running.
Goddammit.
“Pancho! Come back here, asshole!” I yelled as I ran after him.
He’d run up to a random group of strangers and started jumping up on one of them. The damn dog was rubbing his back against the poor man’s leg, front limbs splayed out as he sat up on his hindquarters.
The man reached down to pet him, his straw cowboy hat blocking his face. His friends just laughed, arms crossed in amusement. They looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place who they were from afar. The rodeo world was close-knit, though, so I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d seen them before on a big screen at a competition.
When I finally caught up to my devil dog, I leaned down to grab his collar so I could pull him away. “I’m so sorry about my dog, he’s—” I started to apologize, catching my breath. But as I stood up, I came face-to-face with a familiar pair of ocean-blue eyes.
