Page 27 of Lost and Lassoed

So I rolled out of bed, threw on a pair of leggings, a sportsbra, and a sweatshirt, grabbed my sneakers, and quietly slipped out Gus’s back door.

At the edge of his backyard, a little trail led to one of the larger trail systems at Rebel Blue. I didn’t know the trails as well as Emmy—not even close—but I could find my way around just fine.

When I ran on the road, I always had my headphones and a playlist that made me feel like I could run through a wall—in a good way.

But I didn’t like to listen to music when I was hiking or trail running—obviously because of safety, but also because nothing beat the way the sounds of the mountains cleared and calmed my head.

I ran along the trail, watching the sun come up, breathing in the cool morning air, and listening to the breeze rustle the trees, until my phone said I’d hit two and a half miles and it was nearing five-thirty. Gus would be leaving soon, so I turned around and headed back the way I came.

It took me about twenty-five minutes to get back to Gus’s. I walked up to the back door and stripped off my sweatshirt before I walked in. I dropped it on the back porch—I had worn it through my whole run, so I was disgustingly sweaty. And smelly. I’d let it air out before bringing it inside.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and I tried to do the same when I closed it behind me. I used the back of my hand to wipe some of the sweat off my face before turning toward the kitchen and coming face-to-face with Gus.

He had a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, which was open, and he was frozen as he stared at me. His eyes tracked up and down my form.

The intensity with which he was looking at me made me want to run and hide.

But I didn’t run and hide from anything.

Or anyone.

Instead, I walked over to the coffee pot, which was full to the brim, and grabbed a coffee cup out of the cabinet right above it. I’d become partial to a mug from a place called Moon Lake. It was a deep forest green and had a chip in the handle. I’d been drinking out of it every morning I’d been here.

“Coffee?” I asked Gus without turning around.

“What are you wearing?” Gus grumbled.

“Running clothes,” I said in a tone that I hoped communicated that I thought that was the stupidest question in the history of the world. What the hell did it look like I was wearing?

“You ran through the ranch like that?”

“Yes,” I said, not bothering to tell him about the sweatshirt. It didn’t matter—what I was or wasn’t wearing was none of his business. I knew which Gus was coming out to play right now. It was the same one who’d punched Brooks in the face when he saw him kissing Emmy. Of all the Guses, this one was my least favorite. All of them were pretty bad, but that one lit a fire under me that I was desperate to burn him with.

“You’re practically naked,” he said angrily.

“God forbid someone see my stomach.” I rolled my eyes. “I am nowhere near naked, and guess what, Gussy? If I wanted to run through the ranch in my birthday suit, that would be my prerogative—not yours.”

“This is my ranch, Theodora.”

“No, this is your dad’s ranch, August.” His jaw ticked. I thought back to the conversation he and I had had a fewnights ago. It was obvious to me that the man needed to learn to delegate. “And if you keep running it the way you do now, you’re going to be burned-out by the time you’re forty, and then it’s never going to be yours anyway because your dad isn’t going to leave his life’s work to someone who can’t take care of it.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he spat.

“At least I know how to ask for help,” I said, even though I didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that this was the pot calling the kettle black.

“I. Don’t. Need. Help,” he said, punctuating every word.

“Then why am I here?” I asked, fighting the urge to step closer to him.

“Because apparently I was a murderer or someone who kicked puppies in a past life, and the universe was interested in dishing out some karma.”

I leaned against the counter, took a sip of my coffee, and watched his eyes survey me again. Even though he was angry, his perusal was not.

It was…heated. Intentional. Appreciative.

He set his fork down and walked over to me until we were almost touching. My breathing hitched, and I saw his nostrils flare.

It reminded me of something I tried to forget—something Gus had obviously forgotten. I wished I could forget it, too—since it obviously hadn’t meant anything.

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