I take my eyes off the empty road to really look at Frankie. She keeps her eyes straight ahead. Her breaths are short and shallow. Skittish.
I tsk. “I don’t mind a little mystery in my life. Why don’t we wait until neither one of us are in the middle of an emergency to tell each other our deepest darkest secrets?”
Frankie meets my gaze with a wry smile. “No idea what you’re hiding, but my darkest secret is that this is my real hair color.” She points to the curls she’s been hiding under a blonde wig and her Flamingo’s hat.
I shrug, letting out my own grin. “My darkest secret is that I think you’re pretty cool no matter what name you go by or whether you’re blonde or…” I glance at her hair. “Sorrel.”
Her brows lift. “Sorrel?”
“Reddish-brown,” I say. “Horse term. Sorry. I was looking at your hair and that’s the word that came to mind.”
“Instead of auburn?” She blinks hard.
“Right.” I huff out a laugh. “I forgot the people word. Sorrel’s what we’d call it on a horse.”
Frankie bursts into a loud, snorting laugh I’ve never heard from her before. It fills the cab of my truck without any of the teasing or gentle sarcasm I’m used to from her.
“For the record, I’m partial to sorrels.”
She laughs again, and I’m already addicted to the sound. “I’ll bet you’ve broken heaps of hearts with lines like that, Cal Holloway.”
“Heaps.” I grin.
“Is that how you won your wife’s heart? Comparing her to a horse?” Frankie makes a nervous breathy sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and nervousness.
“Something like that.” I turn my focus back on the road, but my mind won’t let go of Frankie’s question.
My family and friends don’t talk about Kayla. Probably because I never do either. It was no secret things weren’t great between us when the car wreck happened. Maybe everyone, including me, is afraid to reopen old wounds.
So, I’m surprised that Frankie’s question didn’t hurt. In fact, just like when she cracked open the truck’s window at the Cove, she’s let in air I’ve missed breathing.
I don’t think I’m ready to talk about my wife yet, but I like that Frankie asked about Kayla. I like that she cushioned her question in the joking way we’re both comfortable with.
In vet talk, the best way to earn a skittish animal's trust is to turn your back to it, even at the risk of the animal biting or bolting. You let it approach first.
I think Frankie just took a first step toward trusting me.
Or maybe it’s the other way around.
Chapter 3
Frankie
Cal’s truck rumbles down the road with a comfortable but hurried hum. Its red paint is slightly sun-faded, and I noticed a couple dents when I got in. Heavy duty rubber mats line the floor, dirt embedded in their ridges. The pine tree air freshener hanging from the mirror competes with the smell of dust, leather, and disinfectant.
Everything in this truck feels soCalthat if I’d had to pick out which truck was his in a sea of Ford 250’s, I would have picked this one. It’s big. A little beat up. Not at all flashy, but not boring either. Just completely steady. Like Cal.
He turns down a road I’ve been down many times before on long post-work drives. After being on my feet all day, surrounded by people, I need what every introvert needs: space and quiet. I listen to a favorite podcast or an audiobook. If I’m in a talking mood, I call Archie or Piper—occasionally Dex or Rhys.
Not being at the wheel, though, means I can sit back, relax, and really take in the scenery. Serenity Cove is surrounded byrolling hills dotted with ranches and the occasional winery. The hills are almost as beautiful as rolling waves. Most of the year, they’re green and peaceful. But even when they turn brown during the summer months, they’re full of life.
Not with people and houses like the Hollywood Hills, but wildlife. Hawks and different birds fly overhead. Horses gallop through pastures. Jackrabbits hop across the road. There’s always something new to see, and I’m seeing so much more of it today with Cal driving.
He slows to turn right down a private, gated road.
“I’ve wondered who lived behind these gates. Does the BS on them mean what I think it means?” I ask as Cal speeds through the open gates toward a house not visible from the road.
“Ha. Only if you think it means Black Stallion Ranch. Hank Black owns it.”
