Page 21 of When We Were Us
I shake my head and look away. When I look back at him, he’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his head bowed. The way his shoulders are rolled in, and the grip of his fingers curled into fists—his knuckles white, like he’s holding back every ounce of himself that he can—has me lowering my voice when I speak. I don’t want to fight, and I know I hurt him when I left, but it’s been nearly twenty years. His anger is overwhelming after all this time.
Crossing my arms over my stomach, I pull the cardigan around me. “Hank, whether you believe it or not, Iamsorry about how I left. I truly am. I should have handled things differently. God knows, I wasn't perfect.”
I stare at the top of his ball cap. His head is still bowed, not meeting my eyes.
“I can’t change what happened in the past, but I never meant to come back here and stir up old shit.” My voice falters and I clear my throat. “So, let's just make a deal right now to stay away from each other, and once this place is sold, you’ll never have to see me again.”
He’s quiet for a long time before he meets my eyes from where he’s standing a foot below me on the walkway.
For the first time, he isn’t looking at me with contempt. This is sorrow and anguish and betrayal. He looks like he has a million things on the tip of his tongue. But he doesn’t say any of them. He just huffs out a mirthless breath from his nose, shakes his head, and walks away, leaving the grass clippings and the lawnmower where they are and me staring after him.
CHAPTER NINE
hank
Shrill,incessant ringing fills the cool, dark cabin. I roll over onto my back with a groan and I crack one bleary eye open. The pounding in my head is a skull-splitting reminder of last night's whiskey.
I’m not a big drinker and typically save it for an occasional drink or two on the weekends. But after yesterday’s blowout with Wren, I’d come home after working all day in the sun and downed half of a fifth of whiskey. Then, I spent two hours puking it all back up before crawling into bed and crashing just before midnight.
Fucking hell.
Squinting to see the time on the clock across the dark room, I fumble my hand around on the nightstand, in search of my phone.
Three-fifty-five.
The caller ID readout shows JACK DOVER.
“Jack?” A wave of nausea hits me hard and fast as I sit up and throw back the blankets, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. There is no way there is any alcohol left in me after all the puking, but Isit there, giving myself a minute for the room to stop spinning.
If the ranch's best and longest-running cowboy is calling before sunup, he’s got a good reason.
“Sorry to bother you, boss, but we've got a group of about fifty loose. Gonna need some help.”
Shit.
“Where?” I scrub my hand over my face and push to stand, already headed for the shower. I brace myself for more nausea, but thankfully, it’s passed. I trip over a shoe and kick it out of the way.
Tucker lifts his head and sniffs the air, staring at me from across the cabin, and then lays his head back down with a soft humph.
“East pasture.”
“All right. On my way.” I reach into the shower, turning on the water, and head back out to grab a fresh towel.
“I’ll head over and start looking for downed fences. Beau’s at the stable now. You want him to saddle Apollo?”
“No, that’s ok. I got it. Let Beau know I’m on my way.”
Tucker jumps off the bed and whines at the door to go out. I cross the distance and crack it open so he can slip through. I then pad back to the bathroom in my boxer shorts, with the phone cradled between my shoulder and ear.
He pauses. “You sure?”
“Yep. Thanks, Jack.”
“Sure thing. See you out there, boss.”
I flip my phone shut and set it on the sink, strip off my underwear, and climb into the shower.
Thirty minutes later,I’m dressed in clean cargo pants and a navy-blue T-shirt. I roll into my usual parking spot by the barn. I’d driven past the east pasture on my way over. Even though it’s still dark, sure enough, I could see at least fifty head and a handful of calves that somehow escaped the fencing and are where they shouldn't be.
