Page 13 of Flint

As soon as I start working at the ranch, I'll begin rebuilding my emergency fund.

Maybe I'll get to see Flint too. I dismiss the thought instantly. It doesn't matter if Flint is at Valor Ranch. I probably won't even see him that frequently. The ranch is over thirty acres, and it takes dozens of men to run it. If anything, we'll bump into each other every now and again.

It'll have to be enough. I have kids to raise and a grandmother to look out for. I don't have time to get caught up with a cowboy whose gentle touch sets me on fire.

Within a couple of days of my birthday weekend, life returns to its simple rhythm. The days quickly morph into weeks, and I’m down to just a few days before my first day at Valor Ranch.

I’ve just brought my grandmother her favorite lunch as a surprise, a chicken salad sandwich with a fresh tomato slice on a buttery croissant, when I have to sprint to the bathroom. The next day, it’s the smell of the meatballs that I was making for the boys for spaghetti. The third time, it’s my breakfast that comes up.

Grandma stares at me with knowing eyes when I leave the bathroom.

“Food poisoning,” I explain, feeling queasy.

“Are you sure about that?” She presses gently. “The boys and I have eaten the same meals as you. Strange that we're not sick too.”

“You're being silly. We used protection every single time.”

“Then there's no harm in using one of those quick little tests, is there?” She asks, a gleam in her eye. She already has two great-grandchildren, but I know she wouldn’t say no to a third. I’d love more kids. I’d always planned to have a huge family, but I don’t know how I’d manage to juggle a third one.

Still, now that she’s planted the seed, the idea won't leave me. I buy a couple of tests and tuck them in my purse, promising myself that I’ll take one in the morning. I’ll confirm I’m not pregnant then we’ll have a good laugh over our tea and go about the day.

With the plan firmly in place, I slip out of bed before my alarm clock even goes off the next morning. I set a timer on my cell phone after I’ve done my business, prepared to wait the three minutes.

Just out in the hall, I can hear the soft creak of the old hardwood floors. She doesn’t say a word, but she hums as she putters around the kitchen and puts on the kettle.

My phone dings, and I glance at the results. Just like that, my sense of normalcy is shattered. Despite the fact that I knew it was a possibility, I never imagined I'd actually see that little pink line. It feels too strange, too surreal.

I double-check the results by taking a second test. This one is from a different brand, but the results are the same. For the first time in years, I’m actually scared. I’m so used to being in control, to knowing exactly what’s going to come next, and this is something I never saw coming.

I walk numbly to the kitchen, taking a seat in a chair. Before I even realize what I’ve done, my head is in my hands and tears are rolling down my face. “What am I going to do?”

“Oh, honey,” she whispers and wraps her arms around me. She strokes my hair and reassures me that life is going to get better again, the same way that she did when I was sixteen and would wake up grieving my father in the middle of the night.

I cry until it feels like there’s no more water left in my body, until I’m hiccupping and shaking and trying to pull myself together because the boys are going to wake in a few minutes.

Grandma hands me a damp cloth to clean my face then makes a cup of hot tea and sets it in front of me. She takes the seat across from me.

“I don't know what I'm going to do. Everything is already so hard,” I admit, my voice hoarse from the tears. When I found out I was pregnant with Brock and Branson, I was over the moon. I was married to someone I thought was a good man. I had a stable job and plenty of savings in the bank. I wasn’t a stressed-out single mom with too much week left at the end of every paycheck.

Grandma takes my hand in her gnarled one. “You're going to do what every mom does. You're going to find a way.”

Something about her words snaps me back. She’s right. I’ve come from a long line of strong people who’ve watched their lives go sideways and still overcome their hardship. I don't know how I'll care for another child. But I’m not alone. I have Grandma’s support, and together, we'll figure this out.

Chapter 7

Flint

“You assumed I needed lessons. I just didn’t correct you. That right there was the moment I fell in love with her,” I explain to Thomas O'Meowley. He just blinks up at me and doesn't say a word as I recount for the five hundredth time exactly how I fell in love with Ronnie.

It's been a month since I met her for that amazing birthday weekend, and my life hasn't been the same since. When I woke up in the motel room, the loneliness was crushing.

I know we had something amazing between us. But it must have made her afraid because she wasn't there.

I've spent the past thirty days trying to bribe Lauren into telling me more details about Ronnie. My latest round of bribery involved chocolate and that pissed off Bronco, her husband, so much that I ended up mucking out stalls for the next five days.

There has to be a way for me to find her. At this point, I'm thinking of going online to cross-reference every Veronica I can find in Asheville. Then I'll go door-to-door and knock on every place until I find her again.

“I know she was the love of my life,” I tell Duchess who headbutts my shin. She's been clinging to me ever since I came back. It's like she can sense my grief at losing Veronica.