I strolled through the barn,giving each horse who stuck their head out of their stall a good chin scratch and kiss. Callie strolled beside me with her tongue lolling out to the side. She’d settled in perfectly around here, though we’d have to watch her around the cattle. That heeler in her came out strong, and she nipped at their heels the first time she’d seen them.
Strider’s stall was last, and he was impatiently waiting for me. He immediately dipped into my pocket, where I stashed his treat, nudging me when I didn’t pull it out quick enough for his tastes.
“You know you’re spoiled, don’t you?” I asked as I fed him. He happily munched, closing his eyes as I reached for the spot behind his ears he loved so much. “None of the others got treats.”
He bobbed his head as if to say that was their problem and not his.
I gave him one last mint before switching off the large overhead light in the alleyway. The dimmers kicked on, leaving a low glow behind. It was just enough that I could easily navigate myway to the stairway at the entrance and climb to our old hay loft.
For the longest time, it’d sat unused after Dad had built the addition to the barn, moving everything downstairs for ease of access, so I figured I’d repurpose it. Now, it was my personal little haven.
Unlike my sisters, I hadn’t picked a plot of land to build on. Josie was the only one to begin construction, which made sense, seeing as she and Lincoln were ready to start their life together. Of course, my parents had given me the same proposal, but I’d turned them down. I knew the offer would stand when I was ready, but I didn’t like the idea of building something and sitting in it all alone.
Until that day came, I had the loft. I’d thrifted most of the larger furniture—the velvet orange couch was my favorite—and utilized a lot of hand-me-downs from our storage units. Dad had built a few custom bookshelves along the walls for me to put little knick-knacks on. Pictures of our family were posted throughout the years, along with a few of my riding trophies and ribbons from high school.
The wooden posts looking out over the alleyway were wrapped in hundreds of fairy lights, giving the space a soft glow that felt magical. I refused to install a big overhead fixture, opting for a standing lamp with a red fringe along the shade.
It was all random and quirky, but it was one of my favorite spots on the ranch.
Callie trotted up the stairs behind me. I needed to get her a nice dog bed for the corner. Maybe one that was fluffy and soft and?—
She didn’t hesitate to hop on the couch before I could correct her. The moment she closed her eyes and curled in on herself, I knew I couldn’t. She looked so content, so peaceful. If that meant I needed to keep an industry-sized lint roller up here, then so be it.
“I could use a snack. What about you?” I asked her. She lifted her head, staring at me in wonder as I pulled a bag of popcorn from the locked cabinet that doubled as a pantry. I wasn’t big on sweets, but I kept a few bags of M&M’s and some Sour Patch Kids for emergencies.
I popped the packet in the microwave and pulled out the spicy ranch seasoning I used to dust over the top. The scent of buttery goodness filled the air. It was one of my favorites, reminding me of midnight movie premieres in our shitty small-town theater with my dad. He and I had similar movie tastes. When Mom didn’t want to go, he knew I would.
Were all the movies age-appropriate? Probably not. He’d definitely snuck me into an R-rated horror movie once or twice over the years, but now they were my favorites. Plus, I didn’t think I was too messed up from watching a masked killer torture the same person in five movies.
As I turned on the TV, I almost thought about packing it up and asking Dad if he wanted to watch it in his den. But he looked so tired when I kissed his cheek after dinner. He clearly needed the rest.
Callie and I snuggled up on the couch together as the famous opening scene came on. She tried talking me into a few bites of popcorn, but it’d taken one internet search to talk me out of it. Instead, I grabbed the bag of carrots I’d plopped in the mini-fridge earlier in the week and snuck her some of those.
Hopefully, that would keep her sated until I got her something else.
We were about halfway through the movie when a loud banging noise came from downstairs. Callie went on alert, stalking off the couch to peer over the railing into the alley below. The lights were still off, but I could hear someone or something moving.
Maybe watching scary movies at night in a building filled with perfect hiding spots for a killer wasn’t the best idea.
Callie let out a low growl just before music filtered through the space, echoing off the concrete floors and rising to meet me in the loft. It was an old-school country, the kind my dad and Bishop listened to religiously.
Maybe Dad had gotten restless and gone for a walk. Maybe he wound up in his old office, reminiscing on his prime. But it was strange he hadn’t called up and let me know he was here, which meant one of two things: Either there was a killer on the loose who was hellbent on framing someone, or Bishop and I were the only two people awake on this ranch right now.
For some reason, the latter scared me more than the former.
At least with a random psychopath, my chances of having my pride stomped on were slim to none. Sure, I had to worry about murder, but I’d watched enough films to know what to do.
Bishop, on the other hand, was lethal. He could be a killer on his own, except it wasn’t my life he was taking, but something far more dangerous. He could obliterate me and walk away unscathed while I lay with the scattered pieces of a broken heart.
Which was stupid because for Bishop to break it, I would have to give him the power to do it. A few misplaced kisses and some—admittedly very hot—heavy petting didn’t mean anything, did it?
Sure, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. And okay,yes…Maybe I had daydreamed about what it would feel like to have the full weight of his attention, time, and energy directed toward me all day, every day.
But that was normal, wasn’t it?
I mean, he was stupidly attractive—I’d never, ever questioned that. Honestly, it kind of pissed me off how handsome he was. He had that whole ruggedly handsome, grumpy cowboy thing going on. It was stereotypical, but I couldn’t help but laugh at how well it fit him. The man hardly ever laughed orsmiled, and when he did, it was usually either at someone else's expense or a temporary lapse in judgment.
People said you never forgot your first love, but what about your first crush? There had to be some kind of special bond that linked two people together, right?
