“I’m on it,” I say.
He drives away, the red and blue lights flashing once as he navigates the ruts.
I stand there in the rain, alone. I look toward the house. It’s quiet. Too quiet.
It’s been two days since the storm. Since the confrontation in the living room about the fines. Since the day Saramaria took the truck and vanished into the gray afternoon.
She came back that night, grabbed a bag, and left again. She’s been staying at Pearl’s. She comes by during the day to discuss the repairs, but she refuses to stay the night. She says the guest house is quieter. She says she needs to focus.
I miss her.
It’s a stupid thought. I’ve known her for weeks. I spent years without her. But the house feels hollow without her. The air feels stale. I miss the way she moves through the rooms, the way she smells like vanilla and frustration, the way she challenges us at every turn.
Knox has been spending all his time with Diablo. The bull is restless with the weather, and Knox is the only one who can calm him down. That leaves me and Boone. And Boone... Boone has been acting strange. Distracted.
I hear a sound behind me. Boots on gravel.
I turn, expecting Knox.
But it’s Boone.
He’s walking toward me from the barn, a coil of rope over his shoulder. He looks wet, his hair plastered to his head, his coat dark with water. He stops on the other side of the ditch.
“How is it?” he asks. His tone is casual, but his eyes are scanning the damage.
“Cut,” I say. “Three major breaks. We’ll have to replace about fifty feet of pipe.”
Boone nods. “Vandals?”
“West thinks so.”
He looks toward the road where West’s car disappeared. “Sheriff’s department getting involved now?”
“Just West being thorough.”
Boone shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable. He picks a piece of long grass from the edge of the ditch and puts it in his mouth. He chews on it, staring at the mud.
“I was in town this morning,” he says. “With the electrician.”
My stomach tightens. I know what he’s going to say. I know the look on his face. It’s the look of a man with news he doesn’t know how to deliver.
“And?” I ask, keeping my tone flat.
“He says the main grid to the cabins is toast. The storm took down three poles on the highway. But he thinks he can bypass the system. Run a line from the main house transformer to the cabins using heavy-duty cable. He’s got the supplies in his truck.”
“That’s good,” I say. “Means we can move back into our own beds soon.”
“Yeah,” Boone says. “He said he can start tomorrow. We should have heat by the weekend.”
I nod. I should be happy. I want my own space. I want to stop smelling Saramaria’s shampoo and feeling like a guest in my own home. But the thought of her sleeping alone in the guest house at Pearl’s or alone here in the big house bothers me.
“Okay,” I say.
I turn back to the ditch, kicking at a clod of dirt.
“That’s it?” Boone asks. “Just ‘okay’?”
“What else do you want me to say?”
