Page 7 of Heart & Hope

Hudson.

Don’t get fucked up tonight, Reed. There’s a fence line with your name on it, little brother. Bright and early!!!!!

Ugh, the only thing worse than early starts? Early starts for ranching chores I fucking hate. And fencing is top of the shit list. In fact, apart from being in the saddle, there isn’t much I like about ranchin’. Mountains and fields only entertain you for so long. I’m more of a people person. Maybe one day I can go someplace else and explore some of the world.

The clack of heels comes back my way. Still glued to her phone, the woman walks past me. My usual Reed Rawlins swagger is nowhere to be found as I open my mouth to ask if she’s lost. But nothin’.

Not a word falls out.

Fuck me.

Head down, I cross the street and head for the truck, shoving my hands in the back pockets of my Wranglers. I glance back as she turns onto the avenue the Heritage Inn sits on, disappearing inside the giant old building a moment later.

I run a hand through my messy hair before rubbing it over my three-day scruff that I wasn’t self-conscious about ’til five minutes ago. Sliding into my black F-250, the sweet Napa leather seat hugs my ass as I slam the door shut and drop my forehead to the steering wheel.

Mind stuck on loop, blonde waves and dark eyes flying past, I breathe deep and close my eyes. That damn scent. Would be enough to drive a preacher crazy. I stare at the Heritage Inn as I fire up the engine. The rumble of eight cylinders brings me back to reality. The only thing I love more than my family, and a quick fling in the back of my truck, is my actual truck.

F-250, 6.7-liter Power Stroke V8 diesel. Blacked-out mag wheels and twin sports exhausts, black Napa leather interior. Rumbles at an idle. Pulls like a sixteen-year-old. Roars like nothing else when I open her up on the highway.

I let her roll to the first set of lights and glance back down the street. No gorgeous blonde. Probably for the best. A girl like that wouldn’t last two minutes with the red-blooded hicks in this town.

The light turns green, and my foot flattens to the floor. The rumble rattles the street, and rubber burns in our wake. A smile grows across my face. This, right here, is almost as good as what I was chasing in the first place.

The hour and a half it takes to drive back to Rosewood Ranch, the woman in the red heels fills my fantasies. I imagine her looking up at me. Me not losing the ability to speak at the most inconvenient time. I say hi, and she says hi back.

Nope.

This is getting way too Dear Diary.

Maybe, the blonde wearing only the red heels.

How about those heels over her head . . .

Oh fuck.

I’m goin’ to have to pull over if I don’t shut that down real fast.

When the familiar lights of home come into view down the long dirt road I have been driving for the last twenty-eight years of my life, I yawn. Bed sounds like a fantastic place right now. At a quarter past midnight, I roll into the barn and turn off the engine. With a little luck, Ma will be sound asleep.

Hudson, too.

I can count on Pa being out like a light; that man sleeps like the dead, luckily for me. Mack is away on tour again. And it’s hard without him here. The two of us have been peas in a pod since we were little boys. Huddo was always busy trying to bejust like the old man. And Lawson left for the city for college the second he graduated.

Smart.

I push through the white gate to the yard of the homestead. Charlie, Hudson’s little mutt, growls at me from the far end of the porch. “Shut it, gremlin boy.”

He pops his head up and yaps.

Fuck.

I slip inside, and the smell of Ma’s cookin’ greets me. A covered plate is in the still lit up oven. God, all of a sudden, I am fucking starving. I open the door and go for the plate. It burns my hand, and I hiss a curse, grabbing a tea towel.

“You’re home early, my boy,” Ma says from the end of the hall, leaning on the corner in her robe pulled closed, the tie knotted. Her dark blonde hair is plaited to one side. Her green eyes, identical to my own, hold nothing but love and kindness. At twenty-eight, I’m still her boy. It’s sweet, I guess, but being the youngest, it only reminds me how far I have to go.

“Town was quiet. Huddo should have come; that’s his style.”

“I wish he would. Your brother needs to get out more. Maybe Addy could get him to town; he could use some more time with her. I like her, she’s good for him.”

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