Page 41 of Special Delivery Cowboy
"Really. I meant what I said last night, Tinsley. I'm not waiting weeks to see you again. Not letting this fade just because we're not in the same place."
She threw her arms around me, burying her face in my neck. I held her tight, breathing in the scent of her hair—vanilla and something else, something just her.
"I'll start looking for jobs in Livingston this week," she said against my skin. "And clinical hour placements. I can do this."
"Take your time. Do it right." I pulled back to look at her. "I'm not going anywhere."
We got dressed slowly—her in fresh clothes she pulled from her suitcase, me in yesterday's jeans and henley that smelled like wood smoke and her. Neither of us wanted to rush this, but the morning had its own momentum now.
Downstairs, I started coffee while she pulled out eggs and bacon. We moved around each other easy as breathing, the rhythm we'd found over two days still there. But everything felt weighted now. Every touch, every glance, heavy with the knowledge that in a few hours, we'd be saying goodbye.
"What do you want?" Tinsley asked, hand hovering over the carton of eggs.
"Whatever you're having is fine."
"That's not helpful, cowboy." But she was smiling a little. "Scrambled? Fried? Omelet?"
"Scrambled. And I'll handle the bacon."
We cooked together—me frying bacon while she scrambled eggs, both of us stealing glances when we thought the other wasn't looking. Twinkle sat at our feet, watching the bacon with intense focus, tail sweeping the floor.
"No bacon for puppies," Tinsley said sternly.
Twinkle's tail wagged harder. Tinsley sighed.
"She's got your number."
"Probably." She cracked an egg into the bowl. "She's going to be completely spoiled."
Breakfast was simple but perfect—mounds of fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon crispy, toast with butter and jam. We sat at the table by the windows, sunlight streaming in, mountains stark white against brilliant blue sky.
Beautiful. Postcard perfect.
I'd rather have the storm back.
"I should call RoyAnn," I said, pulling out my phone. "Let her know what happened."
"Now?"
"Might as well get it done."
RoyAnn answered on the second ring. "Turner Johnson, is that you? Your mother's been beside herself!"
"Yes ma'am, it's me." I said. "I'm fine—got caught in the storm up near Paradise Valley, been snowed in at a cabin. Cell service just came back."
"Oh thank heavens. Carol will be so relieved." A pause. "But what about my puppy?"
"That's actually why I'm calling, ma'am." I glanced at Twinkle, who was nibbling a small piece of bacon from my hand. "The puppy's safe and healthy. But I'd like to keep this one, if that's alright with you, as we’ve kind of bonded in the past couple days. Mom bred three females in this litter—I can deliver one of the sisters to you next week, and I won't charge you a penny for the trouble."
Silence. Then: "You want to keep her? Turner, you've never wanted one of your mother's dogs."
"I know, ma'am. But this one's special. And I've got someone to help take care of her now."
"Oh." Her voice warmed. "Oh, Turner. That's wonderful. Of course you can keep her. I'll take one of the sisters—I'm sure they're all lovely."
"Thank you, ma'am. I'll coordinate with Mom about delivery."
"You do that. And Turner? I'm happy for you."
