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“Not bad,” he clears his throat
Just say you missed me. I promise I won’t squeal.
There’s an unabridged version of us in some alternate existence that I wish I could see. One where we aren’t holding anything back. I’d tell him how much I’ve thought about him while we’ve been so busy and away from each other. And he’d kiss me and tease that he missed me more.
Occupying space together outside of his room feels edgy and new. I like riding around with him, feeling his hands on me in a different way, and throwing caution to the wind. The list of rules that we made flashes in my mind, but I shove it back to the little dark corner that it’s been hiding in.
For a minute, I pretend that our secret arrangement doesn’t exist. What would I say to him right now if it didn’t? Maybe the time it takes to get from where we are now to the ranch could be a little bubble of suspended rules and time.
“Where did you live before you came to Westridge? Do you miss it?”
His hand slides down the side of the steering wheel to flip up the blinker before we take the next turn. The steady and continuous clicking is the only audible sound for a minute and I assume he’s going to pretend I didn’t just ask him a prying personal question. But he surprises me.
“Not anywhere around here, that’s for sure. And no. I don’t miss it.”
His tone is less conversational and more coarse now. There’s a loathing to his admission that’s clearly been bubbling under the surface for quite some time.
“What made you want to live here instead?”
I don’t ask why he left wherever it is that he came from on purpose. That’d be going straight overboard with no lifesaver. Keeping the focus on the here and now might work a little bit better in getting to know him instead.
He rubs at the scruff on his jawline and again lets silence fill the cab of the truck before answering my question.
He’s so uncommonly handsome. I study his profile while he thinks.
“I’ve never felt uncomfortable here.”
It’s a simple answer, but I know exactly what he means. Sometimes you can’t put your finger on a reason why you feel like you’re in the right place. It’s less a reason and more a feeling.
“Living in a concrete box that I never chose for myself wasn’t survivable for me. The wide open spaces here suit me a whole lot better,” he continues. “Easier to keep people at arm’s length and my hands busier than my mind that way.”
It’s one of the most honest and unbridled things he’s ever told me. I’m like a dry sponge soaking up every drop of his words. I want to know more. I want to know why.
Interrupting my curious interrogation, his phone lights up and vibrates several times on the dash. He cranes his neck to read the caller ID but doesn’t bother picking it up.
We pass the last of the quaint little houses on the edge of town, finally reaching the dirt road. The miles of fences, cattle, tumbleweeds, trees, and burnt orange bluffs are beginning to give a whole new meaning to the word beautiful. I took for granted how much I love the peaceful simplicity of life here. Driving by what I consider to be my real “home” never gets old. I’m appreciating it a lot more these days.
I’m leaning against the door, thinking of how to respond to what he said, when Gage’s phone starts vibrating once more. Again, he looks but doesn’t pick it up.
“It’s okay if you need to take a call.”
“It’s not important.”
“Well, I really don’t mind—” I start to say, but he cuts me off.
“Stay in the truck.” The seriousness of his demanding tone has me sitting straight up in my seat. We’re approaching the front gate to the ranch, but parked in front of it is a large SUV with blacked-out windows. A man with sunglasses on leans against the front bumper. Waiting.
“Who is that?” I ask as we pull to a stop not far from the SUV. He leaves the truck running and starts to get out. I turn toward my own door and grab the handle to open it.
His large hand grabs my elbow and pulls me back.
“I said stay in the truck.”
I’ve never seen him like this. Sure, I’m used to him being a little bit grumpy all the time. He’s not afraid to tell me what to do when we’re naked and alone, but never like this. Like my life depended on it. I look back and forth between his eyes and the man outside.
“Blythe, do you understand me?”
I take a deep breath in and out of my nose and nod.
