“I’m rolling my eyes at you right now.”
“Oh stop. Listen, I just got to the Shop and Stop. Can we talk about this later?”
“Anyone interesting staying this time? Oh, I hope it’s Kevin Costner! We could show him the real Yellow Stone experience,” she teases.
Tilting my head back, I laugh. “Not sure. Dad didn’t write any names. He’s killing me, Charli.”
“Well, good luck! Let’s get together soon. Love you!”
“Love you too.”
I press end and let out a raspberry, glad she didn't push me further. I roll the windows down for Dash. It’s plenty cool enough out for him to wait in the truck while I shop.
It takes me nearly an hour to hunt down everything on the list. Usually, Jo handles the grocery shopping for the ranch, but I sent her a text last night offering to pick up groceries since I was going into town. I try to help out wherever I can but I’m regretting it now as this list seems never-ending.
Next I stop to get fuel, and some feed to keep stocked in my trailer. It's now almost ten o'clock in the morning. The guests are supposed to check in at some point this morning but since Dad didn’t get the exact time they would be arriving. It could be any minute now. He isn’t out ranching though, so he’ll be there to check them in. Still, I’m eager to get back and get to work.
As I’m driving through town, I spot the mobile coffee truck parked on the side of the road. The rustic roast has the best damn coffee—and it’s the only coffee shop—in town. All right, one more latte and then I’ll get out of here.
I walk up to the window and place my order.
“Hey, Jessie! Can I get a cookie-butter latte please?” I went to high school with Jessie. She’s a nice gal and her coffee truck has been doing great this summer.
“You got it, girl!” she says as she starts to brew the espresso.
“Omg, you’ll never get this—I had a group of the hottest guys stop at my truck today and they left a fifty-dollar tip. I could tell they were out-of-towners, way too good looking to be from here.”
“Wow, that's awesome! I bet that made your day!” I say, giving her a warm smile.
“Hell yeah, it did! We don’t get that too often around here and it’s my biggest tip I’ve ever gotten.”
“Well, how about I’ll match it and make your day twice as sweet.” I say, stuffing cash in her tip jar.
“OMG, Sorrel, you’re the best. Tell your family I said hi!”
“Will do. Have a good one, Jessie,” I tell her as I leave and take a sip of the latte she made me. Fuck that’s so good. I should get the recipe. But I don’t have time. I've got to haul ass out of town and get back to the ranch.
Just as I pass the local bar, I spot a black Dodge dually with a stock trailer hauling three horses. It’s Kenzington’s rig. That POS has no business being at the bar in the morning with horses loaded in his trailer. What the hell is he doing in Lexington anyway? Maybe picking up horses from a nearby ranch? Either way, I don’t like seeing him in my town, at the bar I usually go to with my friends. I flip him off as I drive by. Not that he can see me, but it still feels good.
Now I have to worry about running into him in my town. Luckily, I’ll be busy at the ranch this week, so I’ll do my best to push away my worries.
I’m on pins and needles now to get the hell out of dodge. Dash is ready too. He’s hanging his head out the window, enjoying the warm summer breeze—ears flopping in the wind. The corner of my mouth turns up watching him—despite the twist in my gut, knowing Kenzington is in my town.
8
DENTON
After a few hours on the road, the boys are restless. We stopped for coffee at a quaint little coffee truck, but they needed something stronger. They’ve been busy arguing over who forgot the cooler the last half hour, so it was time to find the bar in this town. I type bars near me into the maps on my phone. The closest one to the ranch is called the Wagon Wheel, and it looks like it’s the only one in town.
We park the bus down a back street and walk to the bar. I take in the small cowboy town. There are a few shops, a diner, and the local bar, all surrounded by spectacular mountain ranges.
God, it’s pretty here.
We follow behind Johnny through the old saloon-style doors into the bar. The place is dim and hazy. The bar is lined with stools that are made out of saddles. On the walls are pictures of old cowboys and cowgirls doing various western activities. It’s the kind of joint where stories get louder and the night stretches longer. They have a badass stage that’s calling my name. I love playing in cowboy bars.
Parker makes his way to the jukebox, and Johnny, Ray, and Grady get a high-top table near the entrance of the bar. I order enough long necks for each of us from the bartender.
As we settle into the worn-out stools, the doors swing open, and a rowdy-looking group of cowboys stalk in. The bartender starts pouring whiskeys and the group makes their way to the pool tables in the corner of the room. A tall familiar-looking cowboy is standing at the bar.
