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He groaned as he got off the truck, the vehicle moving when his weight was no longer pushing it down. When he stepped toward her, she thought the conversation was over, that she’d managed to end it, but the sad look in his eyes told her it was far from over.
“You should call her.”
“What’s the point? Our lives arenotcompatible. There’s no way it would work.”
“You don’t know that if you don’t give it a try.”
“I refuse to do to her what Dad did to Mom.” Eli turned then, leaving him behind her as she walked toward her cattle. They had at least a dozen calves to catch and tag that day, and the longer Bill stood there and talked, the longer it was going to take, and Eli wasn’t sure she had the energy to run circles around him anymore—or the will.
When they got down the hill, Bill put a hand on her arm to stop her. “You should ask your mom if the decision was worth it or if she feels it was a mistake.”
Eli didn’t answer him. Instead, she set her bucket down, prepared a tag, and grabbed her notebook to record everything. She handed them over to Bill as she went on to catch one of the calves. Buddy was the easiest, since he already liked her from her feeding him when he was first born.
She wrapped her arms around his middle and sat him on his butt, while she swung a leg over his hind quarters to keep him in place. Bill came over without a word and pierced the tag through Buddy’s ear. After checking to make sure it was properly in place, Eli let Buddy go, patted his bum, and sent him on his way. It took them the better part of the afternoon to catch the calves that had been born the last month and tag them all, but eventually they were done. She’d have to do another round of it when her cows were done with calving, but she’d rather do them in small batches than all at once.
Luckily, Bill didn’t bring Sarah up again—or Bridget for that matter. By the time she got back to the house, her muscles ached from wrestling calves. Stripping down, Eli jumped into the hottest shower she could stand and pressed her forehead to the cold tile. Bill was right, as much as she didn’t like to admit it. Sometimes she really hated the fact that he knew her so well. That still didn’t tell her what she was going to do about it all, though. Collapsing into bed after scrounging up some food, Eli tried to shut her mind off so when her alarm went off at three in the morning she’d have a chance of being able to focus.
* * *
Sarah was late. She hated being late. By the time she pulled up to theFlying Saucerin Garland, she knew Kara was going to be annoyed with her. When she sat down at the small table outside—near enough to the lake that they felt like they were almost on the water.
“I’m so sorry. 620 was backed up.”
“It’s always backed up.”
“I know.” Sarah clenched her jaw. In all honestly, she’d left her apartment late because she hadn’t been quite sure she wanted to go, but then the thought of ditching Kara had guilted her into going anyway. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to explain that whole ordeal to her.
It was likely going to be their last time seeing each other in person for the next six or seven months, and she didn’t want to leave her best friend without saying goodbye—not that they wouldn’t talk during that time almost constantly, but it was far more difficult to keep in touch on tour than when she was in the same city.
“How’s everything going?” Kara asked as the waitress came over to take Sarah’s order.
“It’s going.”
“You’ve been quiet.”
“Have I?” Sarah honestly hadn’t noticed. She’d been so caught up in finalizing all the details and overtime practice runs of their sets that she wasn’t even sure what day it was most of the time, or what time of night it was.
Kara nodded. “I don’t think you’ve texted in days.”
“I’m sorry.” But she wasn’t. She honestly hadn’t even noticed she’d kind of dropped off the face of the planet. When her beer arrived, she drank at least half of it before she popped a handful of the dill popcorn into her mouth. Kara eyed her curiously before she set her own drink down and stared out at the water. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Kara sighed. “You know, I was thinking of maybe moving home.”
“What? Why?”
Kara shrugged. “Easier. Don’t have to deal with broken hearts all over the place.”
Sarah froze. Her gaze moved straight from the wooden bowl of popcorn to Kara’s expressive eyes, and it wasn’t fear or worry or anxiety or sadness Kara looked at her with. It was anger. She was had. “I’m not running.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“Sarah, I have known you for years. Trust me, you are running.”
