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17
I woke with a dull, throbbing headache.
I lay there in bed, struggling to remember where I was… and then I saw the flowing canopy over my bed and remembered.
Then I remembered
why
I was there and started crying again.
After about five minutes of that, I got up, peed, and splashed some cold water on my face. I checked my phone, which I had plugged in before dinner last night.
Eight new voicemails, one as late as 4AM. Nineteen new texts.
I was out in the middle of nowhere, but apparently the cell reception was fine. Thank God I’d had my phone on Do Not Disturb.
I listened to the first voicemail, and my heart broke to hear his voice.
“Kaitlyn, please, for God’s sake, you’ve got to call me… you can’t keep doing this to me… PLEASE… don’t DO this to me… please, Kaitlyn, please… just call me… text me… ANYTHING…”
Then I listened to the second one, and my heart boiled over with anger.
I could hear him in a crowded place, with the noise of a bar and casino behind him. His words were more slurred than usual.
“Stop being a goddamn BITCH and call me! Jesus Christ – do you know how many woman just threw themselves at me in the last hour?! DO you?! …you know what? For every hour you DON’T call me, I’m going to FUCK one of them until I hear from you!”
Before I could hit the ‘Delete’ button, though, the next message played. It was dated one minute after the previous one.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that… That was fucked up. I don’t want anybody but you – but would you please just stop being a fucking BITCH and FUCKING CALL ME?!”
I hit ‘Delete’ and trashed every last message he’d sent me.
Fuck anybody you want, ASSHOLE.
Underneath my rage, though, my heart shattered a little bit more.
18
I shuffled out of the bedroom hallway in my XXL pink t-shirt. I felt absolutely miserable about Derek, but the smell and sizzle of cooking bacon and eggs temporarily lifted my spirits.
I was expecting the comforting sight of Ryan standing at the stove when I walked in. I was also a little surprised at how happy the thought made me.
So imagine my shock when a tiny woman in jeans and a denim shirt was standing there instead.
She looked to be in her mid-60’s. Her silver hair was done up in a long, single braid that reached halfway down her back, and her face was crinkled with the lines that come from a long life spent outdoors. Her eyes were kind and soft, and she didn’t have a lick of makeup on.
I froze at the edge of the hallway.
She looked up and gave me a friendly smile. “Mornin’, dear. I’m Mrs. MacCruder. You must be Kaitlyn. Breakfast is almost ready.”
After a few seconds, I managed to squeak out, “Um… it smells good.’
“Thank you, I hope you two enjoy it.”
“You’re… not eating with us?”
“Oh no, I just thought I’d whip something up for the two of you while Ryan’s out.”
I started to panic, imagining him to be… I didn’t know. On a cattle drive or something.
“Where
is
he?”
“He’s out saying hello to Mildred and Bessie and Fat Albert.”
“…who?”
“The horses, dear. He’s out at the barn with the horses.”
I was used to thinking of Ryan as Mr. Rock Star Bassist. Not as a guy who went out to barns and said hello to horses.
It was an odd sensation.
Mrs. MacCruder gave me an amused look from head to toe. “You might want to go get dressed before he comes in.”
I looked down, and realized my t-shirt had ridden up a little farther than usual. I pulled it down my thighs as far as it could go.
“We, uh, we didn’t…” I stammered. “We’re not…”
“I know,” she said with an impish smile. “But you might want to change into something else, or he’ll want to.”
I turned around, my face scalding red, and fairly ran back to my bedroom.
19
By the time I reappeared in a black skirt, blouse, and black leather boots, Ryan was in the kitchen with Mrs. MacCruder. He wore a pair of jeans, work boots, and a dark green shirt rolled up to expose his forearms. Oddly enough, he didn’t look out of place at all. Not like a rock dude trying to pose as a country boy. More just like a really tall, really cute ranch hand… with a badass haircut and a necklace he might have gotten surfing somewhere in South America.
“Hey, good morning,” he said cheerily. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very well, thank you,” I said, giving Mrs. MacCruder a tentative glance.
