Page 57 of Cabins Cows Critics
He sighs, resting his hand on my shoulder.
“They’re looking for Connor.”
Chapter twenty-three
Connor
TWENTY-FIVE MILES TO FREEZING
I’vegotthesleeveof the flannel tied around my head covering half my face in an attempt to stave off the cold, but my lips are numb, and I know that if I’m out here much longer, I’m going to need more than a warm cup of coffee to bring me back to temp.
I’ve been walking for twenty minutes now, and the wind picks up, hitting my back like a wall of ice, but helping to push me forward at least. Every step for the last mile has been like my feet are wearing lead boots. I just have to get to Levingston, and then I should be able to hitch a ride out of town with a trucker or grab a ticket on a train leaving the next town over. I have a plan, that’s all I have. I know I ran for years with less than that, but this feels so different than before. When I ran all those years ago, I was running from a bigoted family who disowned me when they found out I was gay. Leaving felt like a triumph. Like I was running not just away from the headlines and hatred, but towarda life of my own, the way I wanted to live it. This is not that. I found the life I wanted on the Beaker Brothers Ranch, and now I am just running.
I trudge on, making my way around the next bend when I finally see the warm glow of Levingston. Kerrie’s, a truck stop diner on the edge of town, is lit up in blue neon and like a beacon of warmth through this chill. I use the boost of energy seeing it gives me to push through the weight of my boots and soaked jeans, pushing through the door five minutes later with a thud.
“Shit, man, what happened to you?” a trucker asks as he checks me out over his shoulder.
“Car trouble,” I reply, stripping off my head covering and moving over to the fireplace on the far wall. I drop my bag and collapse onto my knees on the rug.
“It’s normally best to stay with your car, but judging by the cold front coming in, you probably made the right choice heading here,” the waitress says, coming over with a steaming cup. I don’t even care what’s in it; I drink it down, the smooth chocolaty milk coating my tongue and throat in perfect heat.
“Thanks,” I say between sips, and she lifts a blanket from the chair back and layers it over my back.
“No worries, love. I’ll make you something to eat. Pumpkin soup and bread sound good?”
“Yeah, that would be great, thanks.”
I finish the cup and rub my hands together in front of the flames, finally able to feel my fingers. But my feet are still freezing, so I shove out of my boots and set them in front of me, and then strip out of my jeans. I’m wearing several layers of long johns underneath, the lower ones water resistant, so once the jeans and the top layer are off, I throw some dry gray sweatpants from my bag over top and change out my socks for dry ones, too. My toes are super pale, and the skin around the nails hasa scarily blueish tint. Thankfully, it looks like I’ve staved off frostbite, but it was close.
“Here you go, Hun. I’ll hang those for you,” the waitress says, setting a tray down on the small table beside me.
“I can do it,” I say, going to stand, but my legs are so cold and stiff it’s a struggle, and she shakes her head.
“You just sit there and get warm. Do you need me to call the doc?”
“I’ll be okay once I thaw out.”
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know,” she says, moving a chair closer to the side of the fire to hang my jeans over. She lays out my socks, too, and it’s the sweetest thing. I have to keep reminding myself that there are good people and places out there other than the ones on the Beaker Brothers Ranch. I’ll find somewhere that feels like home again. Someday, maybe.
My legs thaw, and I gain full feeling in my hands by the time I’m through the soup. I check my boots, thankfully, they’re almost warmed through, too, and I take my tray over to the counter where the truck driver is flipping through a newspaper, sipping his coffee.
“Any chance I can grab a ride out of town when you leave?” I ask him. He glances my way briefly before returning his attention to the paper.
“Thought you said you had car trouble, won’t you be needing to get that seen to?”
“There’s no digging it out of the ditch it landed in. I’ll sort it out when the weather clears. For now, I need to keep moving.”
“Got an important date, do ya?”
Fuck, my date with Hayden. He’s going to be waiting for me. I can’t even text him to apologize because I didn’t get his number. Why would I when he was staying a stone’s throw from my place on the ranch?
“Yeah, something like that,” I reply, and he nods.
“Well, I’ll be heading out in a couple of hours. I can take you as far as Boston, but then you’ll be on your own. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah, thanks, it does.”
Okay, in a few hours, I will be on my way again. I can wait that long. My stomach growls.
