Page 62 of The Scars We Heal

Cait

Boone’s Western Wear in 15?

Copy that.

“Sorry, guys, I gotta go.” I threw Isa and Reid a casual salute with my index and middle finger then jogged over my pickup, abandoning them with the rest of the boxes.

“Hey!” Isa yelled. “We’re not done moving the boxes!”

“Sorry, it’s an emergency!” Before she could protest again, I closed the door and turned on the engine, reversing out of the driveway.

Fifteen minutes later, Caitlin and Whitley were waiting for me in front of Boone’s.

Whitley waved her hands wildly when she saw my pickup pull into the lot, and I laughed to myself as I parked and cut the engine.

“Who’s ready to go get some boots?” I called out to them.

“Me!” Whitley squealed with delight.

“Thank you for coming to help.” Pink streaks formed across Caitlin’s cheeks. “It’s been a long time since I’ve gone shopping for cowboy boots, and I wanted to make sure I got her the right size and everything.”

“No problem.” I placed my hand on the small of her back, leading her into the storefront.

Whitley held her hand on the other side, and she was half skipping, half pulling Caitlin down the aisle.

“Boots, boots, boots, I’m gonna get some boots,” she sing-songed.

“What color do you want?” Caitlin asked.

“Orange! Like Cheeto!”

“You don’t just want some brown ones?”

“No.” Whitley pouted. “I want orange ones.”

“The kid’s section might have orange ones,” I reassured Caitlin, whose face was written with doubt.

The kid’s cowboy boot section had a rainbow of colors, spanning from hot pink to baby blue and the classic brown.

“Do you want to try these ones on, bug?” Caitlin pulled off a brown pair with flowers embroidered on in blue, pink, and yellow.

“No!” She shook her head.

“What about these ones?” She suggested some red ones.

Whitley was on the verge of a tantrum, throwing herself on the floor and smacking the ground with her hands as she yelled, “I want orange ones!”

“Let me see what I can find,” I murmured, squeezing Cait’s shoulder as I walked by her.

My eyes scanned the shelves, looking for the perfect pair of orange boots. There was a ton of pink, blue, and white, but I was having a hard time finding anything orange. The last thing I wanted was to go home empty-handed or worse, go home with a disappointed Whit because we had to settle for something else.

I resorted to pulling boots off the shelf to look behind them, in hopes that the perfect pair would jump out at me.

“Mommy, those boots are so ugly. I don’t want them,” Whitley argued with Caitlin behind me, and I had to stifle my laughter. That girl was a bundle of sass.

“I think they’re adorable,” Caitlin muttered, but the clunk of boots against the wooden shelf told me she put them back. “I don’t know if we’re going to be able to find any orange boots, bug.”

“B-but,” Whitley started blubbering. “I really want boots that match Cheeto.”