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Anna
Isatinmyrental car, tension knotting between my shoulder blades.
It didn’t help that the air was cooling rapidly with the setting sun. All I could do was watch a never-ending line of cattle amble across the narrow, desolate road that led to Grandpa’s ranch.
I glanced at the dashboard, tapping impatient manicured fingers on the steering wheel.
Chicago would never keep me waiting like this. Not at the whims of livestock and their determinedly slow rancher. The mooing and earthy odor of the cows wasn’t what I wanted to immerse myself in either.
But I had no choice.
“Only in Marfa,” I muttered under my breath.
The quiet Texas town had presented its first challenge to my sensibilities. And I had failed. Just like I knew I’d fail Grandpa after inheriting his ranch and selling it off.
Oh well. That was the logical thing to do. Staying back to confront all the memories wasn’t an option.
I looked up at the procession of cows. Some had stopped in the middle of the road.
A sigh of frustration escaped my lips.
“Lord, God, what have I gotten myself into?”
Trying to grasp an iota of self-control, I mumbled another prayer.
“Lord, give me the patience to…”
My voice trailed off when I saw a rancher astride a horse. My view of him had been blocked by the moving cattle, and a wide-brimmed hat obscured his face. The man was barking orders at a ranch hand riding alongside the cattle.
My frustration escalated. I rolled down the window and leaned out, ready to lash out at him.
Calm down, Anna,I thought.
Despite the irritation bubbling within me, I smiled. Men were usually more pleasant when I appeared cheerful. Brushing the hair away from my face with my fingers, I called out. “Excuse me, sir. Could you please hurry it up a bit?”
The rancher didn’t even look at me. His reply was gruff, impatient. “They’ll move when they move.”
Something about the timbre of his voice was familiar. I frowned slightly, perplexed. I stared, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face. But all I could see was the horse’s mane as it tossed its head.
I bit back my irritation and called out once more. “Sir, could you please—”
“I said, they’ll move when they move!”
The impatience in his tone now bordered on rudeness. I rolled my eyes. “If you’d just—”
“They got legs, don’t they? Let them use ‘em.”
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I turned off the ignition and removed the car key. I swung the door open and stepped out of the car. I strode towards the figure on horseback, my heels clicking on the asphalt.
The familiar cadence of that voice tugged at memories I’d rather forget. But the closer I got, the more I realized I’d been right. I knew who the rancher was.
By the time I stood in front of the horse, a pair of intensely green eyes widened in recognition as they met mine. The eyes were on a face I hadn’t seen in nearly a decade but couldn’t forget.
Maximilian James Fletcher.
Everyone called him Max.
