Page 19 of Slow Burn

They all nod, and I explain which field we’re herding the cattle to, which direction we’ll need to push them to make sure they don’t get separated, and who will lead on horseback.

We all mount our horses, and move as a group out to the pasture. I keep my eyes fixed ahead of me, using every ounce of willpower to not glance back over to the house to see if Lyla is still out there.

Chapter 9

Lyla

The cool water from the shower runs over my skin, leaving goosebumps behind each drop. The morning air was brisk, and yet somehow after my yoga practice I felt hot, flushed, heat warming me through to my core and sinking low in my gut until I could have sworn I felt… turned on.

It feels like I was branded, the distinct shape of iron-dark eyes still outlined on my skin.

Once my body has sufficiently cooled down, the heat between my thighs settling, I shut the water off with a squeak of the handle and step out of the shower.

It only takes me a few minutes to make myself presentable. I twist my long brown hair into a claw clip, still wet, swipe some concealer, blush, and tinted lip balm on my plush lips and call it good.

I pick an outfit out of my suitcase, my favourite denim shorts and a cream, flowy, off-the shoulder top that drapes loosely around my hips. Then, I slide on my brown leather sandals, grab my purse and head out the door.

Today’s goal: coffee, and groceries. I could use some staples around here, at least enough to throw together a simple meal. Then I won’t have to rely on Beck, or anyone else.

It’s probably better if I don’t have to interact with Beck much at all. If we can keep things professional between us, and limit our time together to working on ranch business, it’ll give me less opportunities to fuck things up. To say something stupid.

The property is quiet as I get in my car to leave, but in the distance I spot Beck and the other cowboys out in the field on horseback, rounding up the cattle so they’re moving as one large group. As much as I shit on ranching, I have to admit, the way they work together in formation is nothing short of impressive.

Sage Valley is exactly the way I remember it as I drive down Main Street. The tall ash trees protrude from the centre median, and the historic store fronts line both sides. Most of the businesses along the main strip aren’t open yet, it’s not even nine.

Foodmart opens at seven though, bright and early, and it’s my sole destination this morning. It’s a small market, and carries mostly local goods from the neighbouring farms, like artisan breads and jam that’s to die for, with only a handful of brand name items that have to be trucked in.

I pick Critter up from the passenger seat and slip him into the tote bag I then sling over my shoulder. I decide he’ll be coming with me on my errands, at least until I trust him to be alone in the guest house. Beck didn’t ask me for a damage deposit–he isn’t charging me anything–but I wouldn’t put it past him to send me a bill if Critter decided that the baseboards looked like a chew toy.

“Be quiet in there,” I whisper to my armpit as we enter the store. I’m sure having a dog in a grocery store is some kind of health violation, and Critter would never be passable as a service animal. I think at this point, I am Critter’s support human.

The grocery store is quiet when I enter, one person is standing at the only open check out line. My shoulders relax a little as I pick up a basket by the door and sling it over my other arm.

If there’s one thing I appreciated the most about living in the big, bustling city, it was the ability to leave the house without being recognized.

In the city, you can be completely anonymous if you want. And most days, that’s what I preferred. Even after fifteen years living there, the connections I made remained limited.

I didn’t exactly put myself out there to make friends, and whenever I did it never lasted long. I’d end up saying something that put people off, I’d share my opinions too readily and too soon, and the friendship would peter out.

Relationships often died a natural death that came from someone subconsciously choosing not to spend time with me. Over the years, I came to terms with it, and accepted it was better that way. I’m not a loner by any means, but any friendships I have held onto I’ve been very careful to keep surface level, exchanging pleasantries and texting each other funny memes.

It’s not that easy in Sage Valley. Growing up here, my parents were an integral part of the town, and losing them wasn’t just a blow to Austin and me. It had a ripple effect. Anyone who’s been around here long enough will recognize me, want to know how I’ve been, what I’m up to, and why I’m back. None of which are topics I particularly care to talk about.

I weave up and down through the short aisles, making my first stop at the pet food. I pick up a bag of Critter’s favourites. Cat treats, actually. He loves them, even though I remind him that Kitty Whiskas are not meant for him. On days when I really need him to behave, they’re my best option. Especially on a day like today, when I want to get in and get out without making a scene.

I drop a treat into the bag for being quiet, and hear his lips smack as he licks them clean.

There’s only one item left on my list, a package of the Biscoff cookies Wade served me with my tea the other night. Between the two of us, we polished them off. I can’t imagine Wade gets himself out to the grocery store much these days, so the least I can do is replace them.

I drop a package of the cookies in the basket, when I notice a woman, middle aged, lips pursed together as she regards me from across the aisle. I offer her a tight smile back, acknowledging the uncomfortable way she’s staring at me. She turns on her heel with a huff and heads toward the cash registers at the front of the store.

Since I now have everything on my list, I head in the same direction.

That’s when I overhear her, hiss-whispering at the blonde woman wearing the green Foodmart apron.

“She’s stealing,” the woman says, her blown out hair bouncing as she shakes her head. “I’ve been watching, and every two aisles or so she grabs something and puts it in that hideous bag she’s carrying.”

I roll my eyes and approach the cash register. There’s only one, so I awkwardly unload my groceries onto the conveyor belt behind the woman. I don’t particularly want to give away Critter’s position in my bag, so I stay quiet, hoping the cashier will brush it off as a misunderstanding.