Page 19 of Untruly With You

For a while, we sit in the silence—at least, the relative “silence” of the city. Laine fiddles with the raw-edge hem of her pants. When she looks at me, I can see the questions behind her wide, dark eyes.

“I need to hear about your family,” she murmurs, reaching over to squeeze my knee reassuringly, her fingers brushing across my skin. I clear my throat, momentarily lost in the gentleness of her gaze.

I close my eyes for a few slow seconds.

“If we’re going to pull off the fake-dating thing, we need to talk about things that a couple would,” Laine insists.

“Well,” I begin with a heavy breath, “my father, Hank, is the epitome of a tough cowboy.”

“And you two don’t get along?”

I shake my head once, squeezing my eyes shut against the memories that flood back. “He’s not a bad guy. Rough around the edges, sure, but he’s not violent. He’s like…quiet thunder. A bit scary and rugged, but not dangerous like lightning. He thinks about the ranch—Silver Ridge—all day, every day. It’s his entire world. It isn't a job for him—it's a way of life. He's poured his heart and soul into that land, and he taught all of his kids to do the same. But there were moments when I felt like I was suffocating, like the vastness of the ranch was closing in on me.”

I turn my gaze back to Laine, my voice softening even more. “That's when I knew I needed to step away. I wanted to experience something beyond the endless solitude. That's how I ended up in New York.”

Laine nods, and I can see her fighting to stay quiet. It doesn’t come naturally to her, but she tries.

“I’m closer to my mom,” I explain, and Laine’s mouth shifts into a smile. I can practically hear her thoughts:finally, some good news. “Her name is Magnolia, and she’s a total sweetheart. We used to love reading together…or cooking, or gardening, or riding horses. Really, anything relaxing was right up her alley. She used to own the dance studio in town before Cassidy took it over.” Laine’s eyes widen. “Yes,” I confirm. “ThatCassidy.”

“Do you miss her?” Laine asks. When my face twists up, she clarifies her question. “Your mom, I mean.”

My lips pinch into a tight smile. “Definitely. She and Frankie come out a couple of times a year to visit me, but it never feels like long enough.”

“And Frankie? What’s she like?”

I sigh, wondering how I can sum her up. “Frankieis…amazing. She’s outgoing and fun and has the most contagious smile.”

“Does she have your dimples?”

“Hers are better.”

“Impossible,” Laine says, her eyes reflecting the city lights. “Does Frankie work at the ranch?”

“Part-time. The rest of the time, she’s at the local radio station. She bought it right out of college. It’s small, but she’s always loved music, so it’s a good fit.”

“Is Wells as much of a jerk as I imagine him to be?” Laine asks, bumping her shoulder against mine to try to make me smile.

“Probably more,” I joke. “He’s outgoing, like Frankie, and was a total flirt in high school. And a troublemaker. He used to get into all kinds of trouble. Maybe he still does. I don’t know. He wants to take over the ranch, last I heard.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“More power to him,” I scoff. “So long as it’s not me.”

Laine nods again and opens her mouth before closing it. She repeats that motion three times, and I already know what she wants to ask.

“You want to know about Duke?” My voice is soft, catching on his name.

Laine scoots closer to me, tipping her head down so it rests on my shoulder. As usual, my initial reaction is to shirk away from the physical touch. It’s been so long since I’ve had someone show their care in that way. But I settle in, leaning my head down atop hers. Warmth spreads across my face. I forgot how nice it is to be close to someone like this.

"Duke was the golden boy of our family," I say, my words thick. “It was like all the best traits of the family got blended into him. Hardworking like Dad, kind like Mom, outgoing like Frankie, charismatic like Wells—”

“Smart like you?” Laine interjects.

“I think it’s more like I’m smart like him. Duke was the one everyone thought would take over the ranch—the one my father had high hopes for. He was the oldest, after all.” I pause, struggling to put the weight of what I’ve been pushing away for six years into words. My chest tightens, and my pulse races. Laine, likely hearing my breaths quicken, sets her hand back on my knee, a silent source of comfort. I inhale slowly through my nose. “He had this way of lighting up a room when he walked in. People were just drawn to him. It was impossible not to like him…kind of like you.”

“Sounds like you two had more in common than you think,” Laine says.

“I wish. He loved the ranch, spending countless hours there, training and bonding with the horses. It was a part of him, you know? Then…apparently, one day, he didn't come back from a ride. He got bucked off and hit his head, and…I had just finished up my freshman-year finals when I got the call.”

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