As I smile down at my phone, another text comes in, this one from Duke.
Grumpy Not-Cowboy
Happy to be of service, Sunshine.
My heart melts in the best way. At the same time, it cracks down the middle. How do I choose what to do here? Cash, on paper, seems like the perfect man. A roughneck cowboy with a sunny personality and an open heart. Duke is a dark, moody bartender who is hard to read but seems to genuinely want to cherish and protect me.
I think the only way to navigate this is to not decide anything about them, for now.
Lunch tomorrow sounds great.
Cowboy Cash
Perfect. I love to eat.
I’m already overheated and overstimulated and his words make me tingle all the way to my toes. I can barely formulate a coherent thought in response.
Careful, Cash. Keep talking like that and I’ll start to think you’re interested in more than lunch.
Cowboy Cash
Darlin’, you have no idea.
Let me know when you’re ready for that ride we talked about.
Shameless flirt.
Cowboy Cash
Damn right, baby.
Throwing my phone down and pounding my head back in frustration, I make a plan. If I can’t decide what to do about the men who have consumed my brain, maybe I can figure out what to do with myself, in this town.
Changing into dry clothes and throwing my hair up, I make my way downstairs. Searching around for Mrs. Cox, I almost run right into a woman walking through the front door.
“Oh, sorry!” I say to her, stepping back.
“No problem. You know where I can find Lizzie?” she asks, tilting her head to study me. She’s tall, maybe five-ten, a good four inches taller than me. Thin with a very narrowwaist, small perky breasts that, thanks to her height, are right at my face, or at least feel like it. She stands in her tank top, braless, and low-slung skinny jeans, boots on her feet. She’s beautiful, in an America’s Next Top Model sort of way.
“I was just looking for her myself. Maybe the kitchen?” I spin, heading toward the back of the house. “Mrs. Cox?” I call out once I’m in the dining room.
“Callie? Coming, hun!” she yells through the kitchen door. Swinging the door open, the smile on her face immediately fades when she takes in the waifish model standing beside me.
“Indie, what are you doing here?”
I back out of the room, not liking the tension.
“Lizzie, why are you still so mad at me? It didn’t work out with him. It happens.”
Oh, God. Is she talking about Cash? Is this supermodel running the streets of Inspiration also an ex-girlfriend? I feel short, and a little dumpy, next to her. Not only am I shorter than her, but I have large breasts, my belly is more squeezable than fit for low-rise jeans, and a round ass. Roger used to use my insecurities against me, but I’m finally trying to accept myself.
But next to ‘Indie’? I feel woefully inadequate.
“It happens? Indie, you were married for a decade and you just got up and walked out one day.” A decade? Married? That’s a lot of history.
“Lizzie, what happened between Duke and me has nothing to do with you or this town. Never mind, coming here was a mistake.” She sweeps by me where I’m pressed against the wall outside the dining room. My stomach drops into my feet. Duke? Duke was married to her. For ten years. They had a whole life.
Stepping away from the wall, I move to flee up the stairs.
