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Nothing comparedto the high of getting one of Ashley’s letters. It was my own personal brand of euphoria. I’d tried for years to not let them mean so much.
Such a fucking waste of time. I couldn’t ignore how seeing his unique scrawl made me feel. It felt like a million butterflies taking off at once every single time.
I shuffled through the mail, looking for any sign of a reply from him. It had been three months since the last one, and I was itching with the need to hear back. This period was the fourth longest we’d gone without talking to one another. The other three were all dark periods in which he was deployed to areas where he couldn’t reach out.
While I hated not knowing if he was ok or not, I was bothered even more with the fact that I knew he hadn’t been sent off this time. He always made it a habit to send me a last-minute note when he knew he’d have to go dark on me.
This time, I’d gotten nothing. There was zero indication to explain why Ashley was MIA.
Oh god.
I hoped he wasn’t really and truly MIA. It wasn’t like I’d know if he did disappear. I wasn’t family or anyone special enough for the higher ups to call.
Grumbling at the papers in my hand, I froze for a second before climbing up on the saddle to head back to the main house. Buried between an advertisement for better internet and a bill was a small rectangular envelope covered in dirt.
The first thing I noticed was the postmark date. It was for a few weeks earlier.
Looked like he hadn’t forgotten me after all. There must have been some type of mail delay. It was possible with how weathered the formerly white paper appeared to be.
Tucking the rest of the mail into the saddlebags, I placed Ashley’s letter in my shirt pocket. I’d have to take a moment alone to read it before getting back to work. I just needed to drop off the mail with Atticus first.
Since that first reply came from Ashley eight years ago, I’d taken on the role of mailman for our ranch. Anything going in or out came through me. That way, I could filter out my own messages and no one would be all that wiser.
You see, everyone thought I was horrible at keeping secrets. It was the running joke around here that you couldn’t trust me with anything you didn’t want the others to know.
But the truth was the complete opposite.
I was the best at keeping secrets.
Sure, I’d told a story or two I shouldn’t have along the way. In my defense, I hadn’t been told they were secret at the time.
Not all secrets deserved the same level of care. Just the really, really good one.
Like how I’d managed to have a pen pal for eight years without anyone knowing. That was a pretty damn huge thing for my friends to be clueless about.
I would have said something had Ashley not become such a big deal to me. From the first reply, I knew he was different. I couldn’t share him. I wouldn’t.
He was meant to be someone I could tell my deepest thoughts to. I could pour my heart out on the page, and there would be no consequences because he was half a world away.
That was my saving grace.
I hopped down at the porch and shot up the stairs to head inside the kitchen. Our horses were trained enough to keep steady while we were inside, so I wasn’t worried I’d lose my ride while dropping the mail.
Atticus was still sipping coffee at the kitchen counter while Harlan, our ranch cook, worked on breakfast. My steps had my boss looking up with a smile.
“Anything good today?” He asked in a teasing tone. “Like one of those publisher’s clearing houses checks. That would be a nice surprise.”
Harlan snorted from his spot at the stove. “There’s no need. We’re operating well enough. Besides, the taxes on that would kill us.”
Atticus winced with a nod. I laid the stack of mail down in front of him as I waited for him to let me know if he needed anything else. While I wanted to rush off to read my letter, I knew better than to let them think I had something more interesting to chase after. At least not this early.
Spotting new muffins in the basket, I leaned over the counter to grab one. Harlan smacked my hand away before I could get a grip on the wicker edge.
“Hey! That’s mean,” I told him.
He grumbled something under his breath before speaking loud enough for me to hear. “No sneaking food early. You’ll have plenty to eat with the others.”
I thought for sure that him finding Griffin would ease his grumpiness. Turns out, it wasn’t enough for him to find love and get laid. No, our big bad chef is still protective of his food.
