Page 45 of Dirty Cowboy

Then, without looking up, she asks, “Are you hungry? We’ll grab something quick at Valley’s Delights.”

It’s not a question.

Before I can reply, she’s already heading for the door, folder tucked under her arm. I quickly ask Albert for a raincheck for breakfast, and head outside. I grab my bike and follow her down the dirt road. The moment we approach the bakery, the rich aroma of fresh bread wraps around me, thick and indulgent. Yeasty warmth mixed with the faintest hint of cinnamon fills my nose.

My stomach growls. Loudly. It’s amazing how easily the smell of freshly baked goods can awaken my appetite.

The front window is plastered with Harvest Fest flyers and brightly colored pastry paintings, like a festive preview of the sweetness waiting inside. The second we step through the door, the bell jingles overhead, and conversations hit pause.

Heads turn and all eyes land on me. The energy shifts. I can practicallyfeelthe gossip machine humming to life, revving its engines.

Then, just as quickly, interest fades. The townsfolk return to their meals, their chatter picking back up, and I let out a long-held breath.

“They have good reception here if you need WiFi,” Misty says, heading straight for the counter. “I’ll get croissants and coffee. Black?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She nods and places our order while I fish my phone out of my back pocket. My stomach tightens when I see the empty screen with no messages, and no missed calls.

I swallow down the familiar irritation bubbling up inside me. How hard is it to send a single damn morning update on dad? They know I’m not there, they know I’m worried, but do they even think to fill me in?

They promised to text me every day.

I open the group chat with Tristan and Julian, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, debating whether to ask. Again. I’m always the one reaching out first. Always the one chasing updates like I’m begging for scraps of information they get freely. If I don’t ask, will they even tell me if something happens? I decide to call instead.

I try Julian first. No answer.

Then Tristan. Straight to voicemail.

My hands shake as I dial my mom’s number, pressing the phone to my ear. It rings four times before she picks up on the fifth.

“Emma, darling,” she says, her voice too bright, too forced. “How’s Lords Valley?”

I hesitate. “It’s good.” A beat passes. “Is everything okay at home? I can’t reach Julian or Tristan, and?—”

“Oh, everything’s fine, honey. I’m just getting an early start on lunch today.”

A noise filters through the receiver, muffled but distinct. Tristan says something about a doctor calling back after surgery.

A sharp spike of panic stabs through me.

“Was that Tristan? What surgery? Mom, what’s going on?” My voice wavers, betraying the calm I’m desperately trying to hold onto.

“Oh, it’s nothing, honey.” She exhales too quickly. “Now that Dad’s less mobile, we’re switching his mattress to something more comfortable.”

Lies.

Her voice wobbles at the edges, like she’s barely keeping it together.

“What do you mean,less mobile?” My grip tightens on the phone. “When I left, he was taking walks outside.”

“It’s just the time of year. It’s raining here, the sun barely comes out. The cold months aren’t good for his bones.”

I swallow hard, my throat burning. “It’s warm and sunny here, Mom. You’d love it. It’s so quiet and peaceful. You and Dad should come visit.”

“Maybe when Dad’s immune system is stronger.” Her voice softens. “How’s Eric?”

Of course.Of course,she asks about Eric.

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