Page 14 of Slow Burn

I wasn’t expecting her to ever come back to Sage Valley. She made such a big deal about how she’d gotten out of her tiny hometown, and over the years, everything I heard through the grapevine made it seem like she had found her place far away from here.

Honestly, that was the only thing that allowed me to move on, at least somewhat. To stop ruminating over what could have been. Because it was a fruitless exercise, and I’m not that kind of guy. I don’t daydream, I don’t worry over the past, I don’t spend time thinking about things that serve no purpose.

Besides, my crush on Lyla was just that–a childhood crush. Something I should have outgrown a long time ago.

My hands are tied now, my dad said so himself. I either give the ranch one last fighting chance and work with Lyla, or I risk losing it forever. I’ve given it my best shot, I really have. It’s not like I haven’t tried to turn the ship around over the years.

Unfortunately, one of the more inconvenient side effects of my father’s health going downhill was his ability to make sound business decisions. There’s a lot that has fallen through the cracks, and I have to recognize that it might be beyond my scope at this point.

I try not to let the murky feeling of resentment build, because it wasn’t my dad’s fault. I just wish he’d have told me how much he was struggling before it got to this point. There are so many missed bill payments I wouldn’t even know where to begin, nor do I have the kind of cash on hand to shore them all up.

I decide to get up, the tossing and turning only adding to my rising frustration, and I head into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face, shock my system into submission.

The cool water does help to clear my mind of all the swirling thoughts, the images seared into my mind of Lyla’s face as she pinned me with her gaze. Her plush lips pursed together as she assessed me.

Guilt roils around in my gut as I think about how I behaved tonight. I might be a practical thinker, logical minded, no nonsense kind of guy. But I’m not an asshole, and the way I treated Lyla, while not unforgivable by any means, had me sinking lower than the standard I hold myself to.

Let’s face it, I was less than hospitable.

My dad was right about a lot of things tonight. Mainly that I owe Lyla an apology.

Now that my mind is clear, there’s only one thought left that I can’t shake loose: Lyla is staying at the Sage Brush.

There’s nothing wrong with the Sage Brush, it’s a great motel for travelling salesmen, serial killers, or to rent out by the hour. I can’t say that it’s clean exactly, nor is it walkable to anything you might need in town, but they do advertise that they have deadbolts on all the doors.

My guilt is replaced by annoyance, anger even, that Austin wouldn’t find somewhere better for her to stay. It wasn’t realistic that she stayed with him, she wouldn’t want to bunk with the rest of the ranch hands. But surely there was somewhere better than that.

I don’t let myself think about what it means, what I’m about to do. But I creep out into the hall and open the linen closet to find some clean bedding, and then I head down to the nearest guest house.

Chapter 7

Lyla

The Sage Brush Motel was the only thing with availability when I came back to Sage Valley.

My savings will tide me over for a while–not indefinitely–and they would have afforded me somewhere decent to stay had there been any availability. There are no fancy hotels here, and no rooms at any of the cute little B’n’B’s in town either. Rodeo season also attracts a lot of out-of-towners.

Sutton had offered me a place to stay on her couch, but with her sporadic shift schedule and crazy on-call hours, I didn’t want to get in her way. I don’t want to get in anyone’s way. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf, be considerate, not step on too many toes.

Staying with Austin isn’t an option. He lives in the bunkhouse with the other ranch hands and to me, that sounds worse than a dumpy roadside motel.

I’m opting to look on the bright side. I love having my own space, where I can relax and be completely myself, unfiltered.

Critter greets me as I enter, his adorable snaggletooth sticking up and pushing in his top lip. He’s a tiny chihuahua mixed with something that no one can be sure of. Whatever he is, he comes with a feisty personality and a lot of love to give.

I found him when I was doing my usual scroll through the animal rescue pages online one night, and I connected with him on a soul level, even through the screen.

“Hey Critter,” I reach down and scratch him between his ears and he wags his skinny tail, his whole body wagging with it, back feet just about lifting off the ground. “I missed you today.”

I look around the tiny motel room when I enter and shut the door, making sure to turn the deadbolt and do up the chain. Sage Valley doesn’t have a significant crime rate, but I’ve watched enough true crime documentaries to know this is exactly how they start.

A single woman, staying in a roadside motel, in a room at the end of the building, tucked away and out of sight.

I head into the bathroom to take my makeup off, but a mess of torn toilet paper all over the floor stops me in my tracks.

“Critter…” I warn, finding the culprit standing in the doorway, head cocked as if to say what? “You been getting into trouble while I’ve been gone?”

His head tilts the other way, bug eyes showing absolutely no trace of guilt.