Page 19 of The One Who Saw Her: Boone

"Don't ever let them see you limp."

The comment made her think of Boone, which led her to Lewis, waiting for her across the world, wrapped in the familiar weight of comfort and history. And then, without asking permission, Boone crowded Lewis out entirely.

Every detail of yesterday replayed in her mind and the heat in his gaze that made her knees weak without a single word. She hated herself a little for it. Hated how her pulse jumped at the memory of him, and that Lewis felt suddenly smaller—almost invisible in comparison. Boone wasn't just in her thoughts—he was in her skin, in the ache that curled low in her body and made her realize she'd been ignoring something fundamental about herself. Something impossible to push away.

But then she reminded herself how the big jerk had laughed at her when she fell—and then there was the talk in front of the fire.

"Was it that obvious?" she asked.

"We still talking about the limp?" Rea asked—and Vivi felt her cheeks heat.

Just how much was she giving away? The thought made her stomach twist.

"I've got a boyfriend," she said—more for herself than anyone else.

She pressed her hands against her chest, trying to anchor herself, trying to think of Lewis and the life she was supposed to be living.

Rea gave a knowing little smile—the kind that came from decades of reading people like open books. Then, with a graceful flick of her wrist, she said, "Now go enjoy some time with your friend. Men come and go—usually right when the check shows up. But girlfriends? They'll hold your hair, hide the body, and still split dessert with you."

"Oh, we're not really friends," Vivi said, referring to Jo. "We barely know each other. She's just the only non-Callahan I've met in town."

When Vivi had called to see if Jo wanted to meet for lunch and a little shopping, the woman had sounded genuinely suspicious, asking if it was some kind of prank. When Vivi assured her it wasn't, Jo had agreed, but only if Vivi promised not to cry into her boots, get trampled by a horse, or do anything else that would make her look like a city idiot.

"Because if you do, New York," Jo had said, voice dripping with mock menace, "I'm posting it on Instagram with your full name and your shameful new hashtag: #CityGirlGoneFeral."

But there'd been something else beneath her words—almost as if Jo needed girl time as much as Vivi did. Odd, since the woman owned the biggest hangout in town.

Vivi said goodbye and waved as Rea sped off, dust kicking up in her wake. She turned around and nearly bumped straight into the man from the coffee shop the other night—Spud.

He tipped his hat. "Ma'am," he said in greeting. "How's that orgasm coming along?"

"Um." Vivi stumbled over the single syllable, not sure what to say. So, she went with the truth instead of a white lie—something that was still new for her. "Working on it. How's the next wife coming along?"

"Working on it. Have a good day now." With another tip of the hat, Spud went on his way.

Not sure whether to smile or hide her face, Vivi shuffled to the Rustic Stitch, a western wear shop that, according to the neon sign in the window, sold clothes, exotic jerky, and fishing supplies. She ducked inside and the smell of leather, pine cleaner, and something pungent that reminded her of her grandfather’s garage gave her a welcome hello.

Jo wasn't hard to spot. Dressed in ripped jeans, a faded Willie Nelson concert tee, and boots that looked like they'd survived a small war, she was elbow-deep in a pile of rugged denim. Her black hair was pulled into a messy knot, a few rebellious strands falling across sharp cheekbones.

Jo wasn't the kind of woman who blended in—she was the kind who walked into a room and made the space shift just to accommodate her attitude. She didn't bother with small talk.

"Look what the city slicker dragged in," she said bluntly. "Muddy pink boots, designer jeans, and a borrowed flannel. You trying to survive a trip to the barn or audition for Farmer Takes a Wife?"

"Both," Vivi said with an exaggerated wink. "Apparently real cowgirl boots are a thing."

Jo either didn't get the joke or didn't care, because she just grabbed a pair of basic, brown, entirely unremarkable boots and tossed them at Vivi's head. She caught them midair.

"A thing is surviving without losing a toe in a stall," Jo said with such authority that Vivi wanted to dig through her purse for a notepad. "Pick the ones that don't squeak like a toddler when you walk. Trust me." She shoved a stack of flannel shirts and jeans at her. "And pick something that won't rip when a horse decides your pants are a chew toy."

Vivi sank into a leather chair to try on the boots, but when she glanced out the window, she noticed heads turning on the street. A group of local women were whispering, nodding, and pointing directly at her. One guy leaned casually against a fence post, squinting at the shop like he was chronicling her life story.

She sighed.

"Let me guess," Vivi said. "The poll on how long I'll make it before I run back to the city with my tail between my legs."

"Nope," Jo said. "This poll is about whether you and Boone have done the deed."

"What?" Vivi choked on air. "Why on earth would people think I'd sleep with that grump?"