Page 3 of Cowboy Heat
Miss Lawson glances back at the now-dark horizon. She accepts my wishes and gives me her card. “I can come back out tomorrow around nine if that’s okay. We can finish the tour then.”
“That sounds good to me.”
I read the card as she gets into her Jeep and turns on her headlights.
I never caught her first name, and the card just says K. Lawson. She’s already driving by the time I get into my car. She trails on the smaller roads until we’re on the main one that runs out of the ranch and onto one of the two streets that goes to town. Then she’s gone.
Since I’m in no rush myself, I slow to a stop outside of the gate. There’s a lone lantern bolted to one of the wooden posts that holds up the sign. It shows the hand-painted name Blue Lolita, faded and weather-worn. I get out and fiddle with the ring of keys Miss Lawson gave me.
Now that I’m alone, I relax into my limp and take my time walking up to the gate. It’s heavy and squeals as I pull it shut. The lock on it is the only thing on the whole ranch that seems new. It clicks shut, a small sound competing against the backdrop of cicadas and frogs.
I close my eyes for a moment.
It almost sounds like home.
A home.
Like—
I open my eyes, and I know she’s already there.
Next to a metal carving of a silhouette cowboy’s hat mounted on the post. She’s sitting there, on top. Knees pulled up to her chest, eyes wide.
I stare at her for what feels like hours, though I know it’s only been seconds.
Then I get back into my car.
Maybe one day I won’t see her.
Today isn’t that day.
CHAPTERTWO
Kissy
I don’t tellhim that the reason I was late getting to Blue Lolita was because just about everyone in town was calling and texting me, asking about him. I also don’t tell him why I’m really leaving in a hurry.
Blaming the night and worries about driving Blue Lolita when the sun’s down is a laughable thing to us locals. We’ve been driving, biking, and drinking through ol’ Lolita since before puberty. True locals—hate to call myself that, but I’m fourth-generation Lawson, so hard to pretend I’m anything but—know every in and out of the place. The night would never steer us wrong.
But I’m not about to tell him that. His business isn’t mine, and mine certainly isn’t his, so the little fib works, and I drive away from Lolita a little too fast and a lot too concerned.
Blaming a text and a man named Everett Guidry. He’s got something to say to me, and if I take my time getting there, then he’ll say his piece to Micah. I’m not about to be the reason Micah Clayborn has another thing to worry about at night. That’s all too much for a boy whose world has been upside down since he was a toddler.
So the farther away from the ranch I get, the more my brain starts to focus only on Guidry and Micah andLa Lumiere,and the good-looking, quiet man who is Beau Montgomery scoots on away. Maybe if I was thinking about him a bit more instead, my mind would’ve been closer to the steering wheel and not the compound on the other side of Robin’s Tree. I’m so far away from the road that when the cat darts into it, there are only three choices I can make:
Stomp the brakes.
Hit the cat.
Swerve into the ditch.
I do the first and last together and find myself screeching and yelling into the shoulder seconds before the small but sturdy dip of the ditch meets my Jeep with a mighty force.
My coffee cup, thankfully empty, flies south for the winter and beans my head on the way out. My cell phone makes a ruckus somewhere else, and it takes me a moment after the stillness to realize I’m making a weird kind of panting noise.
The headlights are still working, and they’re bouncing back light to me off a tree.
The tree I apparently hit.
