So what?
She can’t stay here indefinitely. This was always a temporary job. We both knew that. She wanted some space to heal, and the ranch has definitely been that for her. I just never really thought about what she’d be going back to; the people she’d be leaving us for.
“So, Beth’s a widow, huh?”
I grunt something like an acknowledgement.
“Did you know?”
I open the beer. A little froths over the rim, courtesy of my rough handling. I ignore the spill on the counter and take a drink.
“I knew.”
Caleb lets out a low whistle. I don’t look at him. I don’t need to; I know what he’s thinking, ‘cause it’s exactly what I’d be thinking in his shoes.
“I didn’t plan on it.”
He makes a noise, maybe of understanding. I don’t know. I drag a hand through my hair. “It just happened. One thing led to another. I knew she’d been through a lot, but…” I taper off, because the truth of her marriage is not mine to reveal, no matter how much I wanted to, down at the stables just now.
“You’ve both been through a lot,” Caleb says, with more consideration than I probably deserve. “But it’s not like you to get mixed up with someone who works on the ranch. Or someone who’s just buried their husband.”
Guilt tightens my chest, because he’s right.
“So, I guess you really like her, huh?”
My instinct is to deny that. To downplay it. Because I’ve spent a lifetime keeping relationships casual and simple, easy to walk away from. But I can’t lie to Caleb, and don’t want to lie about Beth. The truth is, this thing grew way out of our hands a while ago. I don’t know how we’ll wrestle it under control again. But either way, she’s leaving when Reagan comes back.
“It’s temporary. We both know that.”
He lets out another whistle. “You sure?”
I glance at him sharply. “Yeah, I’m sure. We’ve said it enough times. Beth’s got no interest in sticking around here. Her whole life is in New York.”
The words come out calm enough, but inside, each one lands like a thud against my gut.
“Hmmm.” Caleb sounds irritatingly unconvinced.
“Leave it,” I warn.
Silence resumes, as we drink our beers. But it’s an irritating silence, rubbing over my skin like sandpaper, so I finish my beer and then look directly at him and say, “What?”
“You really wanna hear it?”
He’s my best friend, but sometimes, Caleb crosses over into being irritatingly cocky, reminding me a bit of Beau. Times like this.
“I think you like her more than you’re admitting to yourself. I think maybe you even love her.”
A sensation of being in freefall rushes through me. I stare at him as if from a long way away, shaking my head once as I dismiss the whole idea. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
“You’re basing this on, what? The fact you saw us kissing for a few seconds, from a decent distance?”
“I’m basing it on how, now that I think of it, you two seem to be ‘round each other an awful lot. I don’t know how come I didn’t notice before this.”
“Because we didn’t want you to. We didn’t want anyone to notice. Beth’s been through a lot, and she wants privacy to deal with everything. She particularly doesn’t want us all looking at her feeling sorry for her.”
“Even when her husband’s just died?”