Page 84 of Awaiting the Storm
It’s Carl’s.
I nearly let it go to voicemail. I almost press Decline.
But something makes me tap the screen to answer.
“Hey, Carl. What do you need?” I say, keeping my tone clipped.
“I need to see you,” he says fast, urgent. “I’m in town.”
I close my eyes and lean a hip against the counter. “Carl, if this is about us—”
“It’s not,” he cuts in. “It’s about the ranch. I swear.”
That stops me. “The ranch?”
“Yeah,” he says, quieter now. “Look, I’m not gonna get into it on the phone. You gotta see it with your own eyes.”
“See what?”
He hesitates. “I just—I need you to trust me, Matty.”
Trust him. Right. Like I haven’t heard that before.
I glance at Charli, who’s busy drying silverware and placing it into the drawer beneath the island, then back at the phone. “You’re not giving me a lot to go on here, Carl.”
“I know. I know that. But this is important. Meet me at The Buckhorn. Just for ten minutes. That’s all I’ll keep you. Please.”
The Buckhorn? That’s an unusual place to discuss ranch-related matters. It’s the most upscale restaurant in town, an overpriced steak house, with expensive suits and big money. This is not Carl’s typical scene.
“You dragging me to a steak house to have some romantic-gesture moment?” I ask dryly. “Because I swear to God, Carl, if there are flowers or—”
“There’s not,” he says quickly. “I swear. It’s not like that. You’ll see when you get here.”
I hesitate. My mind tells me to stay home, but my gut—one that knows Carl well and can sense something is up in his voice—urges me togo. So, I follow my instinct, and I head upstairs to change into something more presentable than the tank top and lounge pants I’m currently wearing.
“I’ll be there in fifteen,” I say, then hang up before I can talk myself out of it.
I quickly slip into the jeans, blouse, and boots I set out to wear for my and Caison’s ride. I pull the tie out of my hair and run my fingers through it, and then I swipe on some lip gloss. I snatch the shearling jacket from my closet and head back down.
“Where are you going?” Charli asks when she catches sight of me.
I grab my keys from the hook and stuff my phone into my pocket. “I won’t be long. Just something I need to check on.”
“Oh, I guess you finally got that text,” she calls after me. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Sissy!”
The Buckhorn glows like a lantern against the darkness of the November Wyoming night, its windows lit warm and glowing amber behind heavy stone walls. I park two spots away from Carl’s truck and spot him standing near the entrance, arms crossed, pacing in that restless way he always does when he’s trying not to blow a gasket.
As I walk up, he straightens and offers a tight smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“You got me here, Carl. Now, tell me what this is all about.”
He nods toward the door. “Come on. We’re just gonna grab a drink.”
I stand still. “Wait. You brought me all the way here for a drink?”
“It’s not what you think,” he says, taking my hand.
I immediately pull back. “Carl, I swear to God—”
