“Love you,” Laney adds.
“Love you guys, too.” I wave, then end the call. I don’t even have a moment to miss them or get lost in the swell of homesickness because the first video in the queue opens and begins playing. Landry Vaughn in a sweat-damp T-shirt, every single wrinkle of cotton clinging to his thick pecs and bulging biceps, fills the screen.
His brow is pinched beneath the shadow the rim of his hat leaves on his forehead. Eyes set on the kickboard he’s pulling out, worn siena gloves covering his massive hands, there’s so much focus and determination is the way he carries himself. Sweat slides down his arm, making the dark ink etched into his flesh shiny. I stare at the movie, a quick loop of forty-two seconds, because sometimes I use these short clips in transitions, montages, and ending credits. My heart hammers behind my ribs on the sixth rewatch, and when I realize I’m feeling some funny things toward Landry Vaughn, I exit the clip, make a note in my book about the file title, what’s inside, and where it can be used, then open the next clip.
Keep working, Quinn. You’re not here to fantasize about a man who honestly seems to hate your guts. Stay focused.
I continue through the footage, speeding up and skipping around, taking notes on what’s in the footage—whether it’s a few minutes of Landry and Tatum replacing the broken rafter in the stable while Daisy noses into his Levi’s (I get you, Daisy), or footage of Landry screwing in the new stable door hinges, or him yanking out the old stall mat riddled withwear and tear, only to turn around, sweating everywhere visible to the camera, and drag a new one inside.
So much good footage of Landry living his life, and I can already envision the way his story plays into a glorious victory. I get chills just remembering the energy in the empty arena, and try to envision this handsome, hardworking man arched back on a horse, pride in his eyes as he wins.
Amidst taking notes, my phone rings, and I answer without looking, expecting it to be Mom, or Lane. “Did you forget to tell me you made the chess club, too?” I ask, sketching down a note about the last clip I watched of Landry and Tate riding through the pasture on horses, their backs to the camera.
The person on the other line clears their throat, and I know immediately that it’s Landry Vaughn. “Miss Quinn, it’s, uh, Landry. Landry Vaughn.”
Awareness tingles down my spine, and red floods my cheeks. “Would be pretty strange if another Landry called me right now,” I reply, then add, “and hello, Mr. Vaughn.”
“Don’t,” he replies, voice rigid. “I mean, you can call me Landry. Mr. Vaughn is what Sadie’s pediatrician calls me.”
“Okay, well, hi there, Landry.” Why is he calling?
“Hi. Uh. Well, I’m just callin’ to say thank you, and to also… apologize.” He doesn't sound uncomfortable, but he does sound worn out. And the fatigue that rounds out his words has me worried. Worried about him, though I know that isn’t my place.
“Uh, you’re welcome and it’s okay, but I don’t know what you’re thanking me or apologizing to me for,” I admit, kicking off the sheet over my thighs, my sunburn suddenly warm again.
Landry's voice is even deeper through the phone. “Thank you for being so kind to Sadie.”
“I love kids,” I reply easily. “And Sadie is a sweet—” I catch myself and reword it, trying to respect him and his wishes. “She’s great, Landry, she’s really such a great girl.”
“You were going to call her a sweetheart,” he sighs, “and that’s why I’m apologizing.” There’s a beat of silence, but I give him space to find his words. Eventually he says, “What I said to you back at the house today, about just callin’ her Sadie. I just… It’s my job to protect her heart, you know? And I can see she adores you, and this film is just a few months. I don’t want it to be hell for her when you go.”
Wow. Not only was that brutally honest and hugely vulnerable, but seeing this bare, honest side of Landry is surprising, and I find my toes curling into the sheets as I stretch my legs. “I understand that,” I tell him, getting comfortable in the covers, laptop and notebook cast aside. “I don’t want to bring any pain or discomfort to her, and I know you don’t know me well, but I promise you, I don’t want that. You’ll have to take my word.”
He laughs halfway. “I don’t know you well, but damn, Quinn, of course I know you aren’t out here fixin’ to hurt a little girl.” Another pause, this one filled with breathing. “Anyway, I just felt like I ought to apologize for this morning.”
“Well, thank you.” He didn’t have to, but I love that he did, and more than that, I love that he explained what he was thinking.
“You, uh, likin’ the Sable Sky Inn?”
I look around the rustic, charming, fully redone little suite I’m in. “Actually, I am. I definitely thought I was gonna leave here with stitches on my back and one of my kidneys gone but…” I pause, because Landry Vaughn laughs. Rich, deep, melodic, his laugh bounces around between my legs, and my heart rate climbs. “But I was judgmental and wrong, because this place is amazing. Mabel is amazing.”
“How about the asshole who lives there with her?”
My brows pinch.
“McCharger,” he supplies, and then we both laugh.
“I think it'sMr.McCharger.”
“You think I’m gonna give that little asshole a title?”
I laugh again, and he does, too, and then the line falls quiet.
“I’ll see you in the mornin’, Miss Quinn. G’night.”
“Good night.”
I continue through the footage, and don’t get to sleep until midnight. But when I do, I’ve got images of little Sadie Vaughn floating through my mind, her toothless smile making me grin.
