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Felix sets a few strips of bacon and a fork on the plate before handing it over. “There you go.”

“I’ll have what she’s having.” Colton sidles up beside me, hair mussed and sporting a faint shadow of facial hair on his jaw. He’s adorable with his just-rolled-out-of-bed look.

“Hey,” I say, resisting the urge to reach over and adjust the collar of his flannel shirt to make it sit right at the nape of his neck.

He scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Hey,” he says gruffly, not even looking my way. Felix hands him his plate and Colton steps away with no more than a terse, “Thanks.”

Before I can talk myself out of it, I fall into step beside him. “Thanks for the lasso lesson yesterday.”

Colton nods and sits at the portable picnic table that Ty assembles and disassembles at every campsite. I slide onto the bench across from him and take a deep breath to steady my nerves, which are suddenly jangling beneath my skin. Maybe if he wasn’t acting so cold and rigid, this would be easier, but he practically has rejection written all over him and I haven’t even asked my question yet. “So, anyhow. I thought roping—er, lassoing—that stuff you taught me yesterday was kind of fun. And I thought, well, I was hoping maybe we could pick up where we—”

Before I can babble my way to asking Colton for another lesson, Jake jogs up to our table and hops onto the seat beside me. “There you are.” His arm wraps around my back as he gives me a side hug, like we’ve been pals for years. Heat rises to my face from the unwanted attention and Colton’s scrutinizing look. His disapproving gaze flicks to Jake, who grabs my fork and cuts himself a huge slice of my johnny cake like we frequently share meals from the same plate. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“You found me,” I say, squirming out of Jake’s awkward heavy-armed hug to put some much-needed space between me and the overpowering cologne he has on. I stifle a cough and sip my coffee to wash the taste of Axe body spray out of my mouth. When I glance up, Colton’s shoving food into his mouth like he’s the star contender in an eating contest and he’s got only twenty seconds left on the clock. A solid chill settles over the table, and it’s not from the steady breeze coming in from the north.

The awkward silence is killing me, especially since I’m not sure why Colton’s gone all moody and broody and Jake’s acting like we’re best buddies.

“I’m glad the rain finally passed,” I say, hoping to get conversation flowing. “Those cumulus clouds are a good sign.”

Jake gives me a pity-the-poor-soul look. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying, ‘Cumulus at morning, pioneers take warning, cumulous at night, pioneers delight’?”

“Um, I don’t think anyone’s heard that saying,” I reply, looking to Colton for some backup. He glances up at the sky but refuses to make eye contact.

“Well, you see,” Jake says, settling into what I’ve quickly come to discover is his mansplaining posture, “cumulus clouds form from ice crystals in the upper atmosphere.”

I shake my head. “You’re probably thinking about cirrus clouds. Those are the ones that look like wispy horsetails.”

“Nope. Cumulus clouds are puffy, low-lying, and full of rain.”

“How can they be low-lying if they’re in the upper atmosphere?” I ask.

Little does Jake know, I spent an entire month studying clouds for my eighth-grade science fair project. It took me hours to painstakingly depict each type of formation using recycled materials, modeling paste, acrylic paint, and cotton candy. One lesson I learned from that experience: spun sugar is tasty but it doesn’t hold up; cotton balls are a better choice. Another lesson: the small, puffy, fluffy clouds are low-lying cumulus, which hardly ever produce precipitation.

“Right, that’s what I meant,” Jake says. “Upper atmosphere. Lots of rain.”

“That sounds like nimbostratus clouds,” I say.

“Nimbostramous.” Jake laughs. “You’re hilarious. Isn’t that a character from that new movie about the fortune-telling wizard from the old days?”

“Um?” Nostradamus? What is even happening here?

“Oh, you were being serious,” Jake says, patting my hand like he feels bad that I could possibly have it so wrong. On the third pat, Jake’s hand sinks down on top of mine. Before I can register what’s happening and attempt an extraction, Colton’s gaze flicks down at Jake’s hand resting atop mine on the table. His left shoulder droops a fraction of an inch, and now I’m even more confident that he really did try to kiss me last night. We definitely need to find a quiet moment for just the two of us to chat without Jake crashing the party.

I pull my hand free and try to catch Colton’s eye to convey that what’s happening on this side of the table is, well, very much one-sided, but he’s studying the food on his plate like he’s cramming for a final exam.

Of course, Jake’s oblivious that he’s a squeaky third wheel. “Based on the cloud cover, I suspect we’re in for some rain before we reach Fort Bellows. But don’t you worry,” he says. “The wagon’s canvas coverings will keep you nice and dry while us Pony Express riders are out battling the elements.”

“You’re the only Pony Express rider,” I say, patience seeping away.

“Speaking of…don’t you have some mail to deliver or something?” Colton shoots Jake a thinly veiled glare. Guess he’s fed up with Jake, too. Although, it seems a bit extreme for the current situation; I wonder if there’s some history between them I don’t know about.

“Nah, I’m all good. But that reminds me—” Jake pulls out a phone. “I do have some digital messages to get to.”

“Wait, you have cell service out here?” I ask.

“It’s hit-or-miss,” Colton says.

“Mostly miss,” Jake says. “But a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.”