Then I close my eyes and let myself do the one thing I've been trying not to do since I stepped off that bus.
I picture her.
The Williamses had a large sprawling ranch, and Falon had loved the rancher’s life. She’d pull her hair back into a ponytail, roll her sleeves up, and jump right into the thick of it. She could huck hay right along with the rest of them and backtalk a tractor while holding a wrench like it was an extension of her hand, determined to fix it, grease on her cheek and forearms as she brought the old beast back to life, smiling like a fool because she did it. I'd stood there longer than I should have, watching the way she worked. Confident, stubborn to boot, and entirely herself.
She'd caught me staring and raised an eyebrow. "You gonna help, or just stand there looking like a GQ cover?"
I'd laughed. Picked up a screwdriver. Worked beside her in silence until the job was done.
That was years ago. Before the promise. Before I left.
But the memory holds me to this day, the same way it did in the cockpit when everything went cockeyed, and I needed something to hold onto.
I open my eyes and exhale slowly.
Nearby is still honorable,right?
I can keep the promise. I can protect her without crossing lines. I can be Tyler's friend and nothing more.
I have to.
Even if the thought of seeing her again makes my chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with broken ribs or bad dreams.
I stand, grab my duffel, and start unpacking.
Everwood's temporary. Just a pit stop. A place to catch my breath and figure out what comes next.
That's what I keep telling myself.
But my hands are shaking, and I know, deep down, in the part of me that can't lie to myself, that I'm not here because Tyler asked.
I'm here because she is.
And that's the most dangerous truth of all.
Chapter 3
Feed Store Collision
Falon
Jerry's Feed & Supply had smelled like dust, leather, and hoof treatment for as long as I can remember.
I'm three items deep into Mom's list, chicken feed, check; grain, check; chain for the cattle gate, check; when I realize I've been staring at the same shelf of saddle soap for a solid thirty seconds.
My brain won't stop replaying Mom's casual little bombshell about Kevin Bennett being back in town.
Not that it matters. Kevin's been back for a couple of weeks now, and I've already bumped into him a few times. Once at the hardware store when he was picking up pliers, but as soon as I left, a quick look through the window showed me he just placed the pliers down on a bag of water softener and walked out; he didn’t even need or buy them. It was an excuse to talk to me. I ran into him again at the diner, which was common, but the weird things were the flowers and the basket of gluten-free muffins he had delivered to the ranch. I wasn’t even gluten free. He was. The notes on the windshield. It just gets weird from there. With each instance he was nice, polite, and a little overeager withthe "we should catch up sometime" energy, but I was thinking enough was enough.
The problem is Kevin thinks "catch up" means a date, and I think it means exactly what it sounds like: two people who went to high school together catching up on what has changed and what hasn't, and then going about their separate lives. But with Kevin’s gifts, I was inclined to think he would read way too much into it.
I can handle Kevin.
What I can't handle is wasting time staring at products I don't need. "Get it together, Anderson," I mutter, giving myself a mental slap and moving on to the next item on the list.
The bell over the door chimes, and the spell is broken.
"Hey there, Jerry, do you have any post hole diggers?" A rancher I recognize but can't name calls out from near the register.
