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MARIAH
My alarm clock jars me out of a dream at 6am sharp, pulling me from a world where I'm the damsel, but I'm not in a single bit of distress. In fact, I was having areally enjoyable time with my dream man settled enticingly between my legs.
Groaning, I reach out and slap the alarm clock into silence. The remnants of my dream cling to me, leaving a tingling sensation that slowly fades away as I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes. Ugh, alarm clocks are the worst.
I roll out of bed and hit the shower, letting the hot water blast away any hopes I had of snoozing a little longer. The shampoo stings when it runs into my eyes, and I curse capitalism for forcing me to work to pay for my impulse purchase problems. "Ah! Son of a bitch!"
Stepping out of the shower, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. One eye is all bloodshot looking from the shampoo incident. I sigh and shake my head, trying to ignore the disheveled reflection staring back at me. I look like I have pink eye. My vacation time can't come fast enough.
After wrestling my unruly red curls into a bun, I do my best to hide my sheer disdain for my job by applying a thick layer ofmakeup. A little shimmery eye shadow and a swipe of mascara seem to do the trick. The reflection in the mirror transforms, and I catch a glimmer of the confident woman I aspire to be.
Dressed in my usual corporate attire, I slide my feet into a pair of three-inch heels and head for the kitchen. I may only be five-three, but these pumps make me feel like I could body slam someone in a meeting. Granted, that would probably get me fired, unless it was Bill from accounting. That weasel deserves it.
In the kitchen, I grab a banana, espresso shot, and energy bar to go. Who has time for a leisurely breakfast when there are emails to answer and people to surreptitiously roll my eyes at? Ahhh, the glamorous life of a public relations executive...
Out the door in record time, I hustle down the busy sidewalks choked with other corporate drones. We avert eye contact and keep our heads down, united in our early morning misery.
Finally, I arrive at Peterson Public Relations, the firm I've put my blood, sweat, and tears into for the past five years.
I push open the glass doors and step into the buzzing hive of activity. The air hums with the sound of ringing phones, clicking keyboards, and hushed conversations. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for another day of navigating the treacherous waters of corporate politics.
"Morning, boss!" chirps my assistant, Amy. She flashes an energetic smile that makes me want to vomit. Or fire her. No one should be this happy before their second cup of coffee kicks in.
I grumble a response and head straight for my office, closing the door behind me for the sake of a little peace. Even though Ijustwalked in the door, I'm more than ready to head home already. How many days are left until I'm on vacation? Booting up my computer, I let out a sigh when the countdown timer I installed tells me I still have two more weeks working in this hellhole. I used to think working my way up in the company and making a bunch of money was the key to happiness. But thesedays, I feel anything but. My trip to Cedarwood Valley to see my best friend Reginacannotcome fast enough. Especially since I timed it so I could visit during shearing season to watch a bunch of hunky men getting all sweaty doing farmwork.
As I sit at my desk, staring at the one hundred and thirty-seven emails calling my attention, my mind drifts away from the heady world of pitching stories, arranging press events, and putting out PR fires. All I can think of is Cedarwood Valley, with its picturesque landscapes and serene atmosphere, a distant paradise calling to my soul. The thought of escaping the monotony of the city and immersing myself in the simplicity of nature brings a sense of relief to my weary heart. I recall the vibrant green pastures and the gentle breeze that whispers through the trees, carrying away all my worries and frustrations.Two more weeks.Just two. I can do this.
CLARK
Iwipe the sweat from my brow and lean on my shovel, gazing out at the sprawling Double C Ranch. A wave of nostalgia washes over me as I take in the sight of the rolling hills, dotted with grazing cattle and the occasional horse. This place reminds me a lot of the first ranch I ever got to round up cattle on as a kid. While back then, I didn't get to spend as much time working with the cows as I hoped. My entire life, from the moment I was born, has been centered around ranching. The land and the animals were my world while I lived on my grandfather’s small, non-working ranch. But from the moment he passed, and I was shipped back to the city with my father, the focus was mostly on the business side of things, and even the politics...
It's the land and animal care that I like most. The smell of the earth, the sound of hooves on the dusty ground, and the feel of hard work under my calloused hands are all familiar comforts. It's tough and dirty, but I don't mind it one bit. Out here it's just me, the dirt beneath my feet, and the cattle. No pretense or pressure to be anything but myself.
"Clark! Quit ya daydreamin' and get back to mucking that stable!" Austin Cassidy, the ranch's owner, yells, jolting me out of my moment of revery.
"You got it, boss!" I call back, then mutter under my breath, "Hardass." Austin isn’t much older than me—he’s twenty-nine to my twenty-eight—and he works us even harder than his father did before he took over the day to day a few years ago. But he's a decent guy under all that gruff. He’s always been good to me and showed me a bunch of patience when his dad gave me a job when no one else wanted an eighteen-year-old kid with hardly any big ranch experience. I'll forever be grateful to the Cassidy family as a whole for that.
As I get back to shoveling manure, my mind drifts to my past, to the time before I left home. To when life wasn't nearly as simple as it is now. Growing up as the sole heir to the prosperous Calloway beef empire was...complicated, to say the least. Endless lessons and expectations constantly hurled at me from all directions—my father, the ranch managers, board members. Groomed since birth to take over the family business, crunch numbers, grow, grow, grow...
By age eighteen, I was ready to crack under the pressure. I wasn't interested in maximizing yield and profit margins. I wanted to experience life beyond the walls of the sky-high office in the city, to feel the earth beneath my feet and breathe in the scent of freedom. So, I made a choice that shocked everyone.
I left.
I withdrew what money I could, bought an old pickup truck, and lit out under the cover of night. Probably not the smartest idea for an angst-ridden kid, but I wasn't thinking straight. I just knew I needed out.
For the past decade, I've kept a low profile working out here in Cedarwood Valley. The name 'Calloway' tends to raise some eyebrows in small towns, so I go by Clark West nowand work hard, just like everyone else. No special treatment or expectations.
Of course, my father tried tracking me down once he realized I was serious about not returning. But since he never showed up to drag me back, I figure I've managed to stay off his radar so far. I know he means well in his own way, but I need to live life my way without him looming over my shoulder.
Out here I can just be Clark. I can make my own choices, get my hands dirty, work hard and earn my place instead of relying on the family name. I know my father hopes that one day I'll be ready to face my responsibilities. But I'd rather die than sit behind a desk for the rest of my life. No way. The corporate life is not for me. Out here, I'm exactly where I want to be. I'm where I belong—free.
MARIAH
The familiar sights and smells of Cedarwood Valley wash over me as I drive down the long dirt road leading to Regina's old cottage. The wide-open spaces and clean country air feel like heaven. I haven't been out here since Regina got married to her 'farm boy', Josh, and I can't wait to see my best friend again.
Before she moved out here, I got to see her almost every day. But an asshole ex-fiancé who left her standing at the altar caused her to re-evaluate her living situation. And while I miss her terribly, she's loving the small-town life, in love with her sexy farmer, and happier than she's ever been. We should all be so lucky.
When I pull up to the charming little cottage, Regina is already standing on the front porch, waiting for me. Married life certainly agrees with her because she looks radiant. Her cheeks are flushed with a healthy glow, her skin is tan and her eyes sparkle with that hard-earned happiness. The moment I step out of the car, she rushes over, wrapping me in a warm hug.
