Page 144 of Fish out of Water
His father.
Twat that he was, it was still a loss.
“You think they’ll have horses?” Wyatt was back to looking out the window, his hand still clasped in hers.
“I’m pretty sure they do.” Clara glanced down at the gas gauge before checking the mileage left on their trip. It was going to be as tight as the constraints she had to keep on her bank account.
But until the twat finally signed the divorce papers, she was stuck with nothing since it turned out Richard was just as successful at manipulating the system as he was at manipulating women.
Including the one currently incubating his next child.
“I hope they have horses.” Wyatt’s free hand gripped the base of the open window letting in the warm Montana air. “You think they’ll let me pet one?”
“Maybe.” Clara’s stomach squeezed as the number indicating the depletion of her gas tank dipped lower. “We have to be good guests, though.”
“I know.”
They’d been over it a hundred times on the long trip. While Red Cedar Ranch might be their new home, it was someone else’s home first.
Which meant it was still better than the tiny one-bedroom they’d been sharing for the past year, pinching pennies in the hopes that Richard would finally realize he couldn’t simply walk away from his responsibilities.
Clara’s heart picked up as the number of miles remaining on her tank dipped to single digits. She’d been sure they had enough. Positive she could milk the last bit to get to Red Cedar Ranch then wait on her first paycheck instead of pulling any more money from her rapidly-dwindling account.
“How much farther?” Wyatt leaned to peek at the screen of her phone. “It says six more miles.”
“Yup.” Six miles to go on four more miles worth of gas.
But she was due a break. Hopefully this would be it.
Four miles later it became clear this was not the break fate owed her.
As the engine sputtered and died her heart sank, taking down all the hope she’d pinned on this opportunity. “Godddd—” Her teeth clenched tight as she caught sight of her son’s wide eyes.
Clara pressed her lips together, cutting off the end of one of the many words she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs into the deserted space around them.
There was nothing in sight. Nothing useful anyway.
Just the mountains in the distance and grass and fences and pavement.
Clara closed her eyes.
This was fine.
Fricking fine.
She sucked in a lungful of hot summer air, gritting her teeth against the urge to wallow in the unfairness of it all.
“Someone’s coming.”
Clara snapped her eyes open. She twisted in her seat, looking down the road as she reached across to press one hand against Wyatt’s chest. “Stay here.” She climbed out and onto the shoulderless road her car currently occupied half of.
A gleaming red pickup with extra wheels on the back end eased toward them. A black dog with flopped ears hung out the window, his tongue dangling from a mouth that almost looked to be smiling.
He must be having a better day than she was.
Clara slapped on a smile as the truck slowed to a stop. “Hello.”
The man in the driver’s seat tipped up the front of his tan cowboy hat. “Ma’am.” He leaned to peek toward where her gasless sedan sat. “Car problems?”
