Page 45 of Cabins Cows Critics
“Hayden is writing, otherwise he’d be here. He had an idea for the psycho killer in his book and wanted to get it down before tonight and your date.”
“Oh…ummm, okay, thanks,” I reply, unable to stop smiling.
“It’s nice seeing him like this,” she goes on to say, and I rest against the wall of the barn, picturing Hayden sitting by the small window of the cabin, a cup of warm hot chocolate by his side, typing frantically away.
“He’s a nice guy.”
“He is,” she says. “Try not to break his heart.”
“I don’t think his heart is the one at risk here.”
Chapter eighteen
Hayden
SWEET AS CHERRY PIE
Afterhelpingwranglethecows this morning, I ducked back to the cabin to check my work emails and found my boss had sent out a brief to all staff about a missing millionaire, some heir to a giant company that hasn’t been seen in over a decade. The site I write for is all about reviews, so they want us to pull old pieces and write new work that connects to any of the sighting claims being made to try to drive views. Coby, one of the writers for the travel reviews, replied, claiming he had a lead on a legit sighting in a small town in Massachusetts a few years ago, though I think the sightings in Bora Bora hold more merit. I scrolled through the posts my boss linked, looking for any connections with my restaurant, bar, and cafe reviews, then one particular post caught my eye, an article read that this missing heir is wanted for questioning relating to a string of unsolved murders, and claims his family sent him away to a non-extradition country. And just like that, I had an amazing idea for my novel.
I typed out a quick character bio, then adjusted my outline to work in the specifics. By the time Wendy was out of the shower, having fallen ass-first into a cowpat, I was another chapter deep with no signs of slowing.
“We have the cuddle session in twenty minutes,” she explained as she pulled on her boots.
“I know, but I can’t stop yet. I’ll come over as soon as I get this part done,” I told her, with no idea how long “this part” would actually take.
***
“Are you still going?” Wendy asks, coming through the door with a thermos in hand.
“I…what?”
“Have you been writing this whole time?”
“Yeah, why? What time is it?”
“Half twelve, they’re getting set up for our pie-making class up at the house. Here, I grabbed you this,” she says, passing me the thermos.
“Thanks,” I reply, and the delicious scent of hot chocolate fills my nose.
“It’s almond milk,” she says when she spots me hesitating to take a sip. I’ve almost run out of dairy tablets, being on the ranch. There are so many yummy dairy products to be had. I take a sip, the warm chocolaty goodness coating my throat and warming me to my core.
“Connor missed you at the cove,” she says, stripping off her coat and shirt, no care in the world for me being right there. Even if I weren’t gay, I don’t think she’d care. Wendy has always been this larger-than-life personality, never afraid of anything,except maybe her dysfunctional family, though they even scare me.
“I really did plan to come.”
“I told Connor you were writing.”
“It was the best session I’ve had at the computer in forever. I got in four chapters and then wrote half of my review article, too.”
“Is that a lot?” she asks, pulling on a dark blue band shirt for Julius Rising that we got at a concert last year. It’s got a cat wearing a space helmet floating through outer space on it with the band name diagonally behind it in block letters. I have the same shirt in black.
“Seeing as the most I’ve written of my novel in a single session in the past five years was a single chapter and that took hours to get down, yeah, it’s a lot. Since coming here, I’ve had three great sessions, now, and I’m almost a third of the way through the story. At this rate I could be done by New Years.”
“That’s great. So do you need me to leave so you can do more?”
“No,” I reply, closing the screen of the laptop and standing, stretching out the ache in my back, careful not to spill the thermos of hot chocolate as I bring my hands up over my head. “I’m done for now.”
“So when do I get to read it?” she asks, reaching out for the thermos.
