Cowboy Crush. Liz Talley
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Cal looked over at her. “Them, too.”
Something ugly moved inside her. She didn’t like the idea of faceless women in shiny halter tops and boots kissing his boo-boos better. Which was strange because she had no stake in Cal. He was a guy who’d done her a solid a few days ago, a guy she’d hired for a job, and pretty much the one person in Texas she could count on. Who he screwed or didn’t screw shouldn’t bother her.
But it did.
She peered out into the Texas night through a window that needed serious cleaning as she scrubbed the dishes. The dishwasher was already full of the cookware and silverware. Thankfully it had worked, as had the dried-up chunk of dish-washing detergent she’d pried out of the Cascade box under the sink. Cal remained silent, taking the plates she handed to him, drying and stacking them in a pile on the counter.
The whole scene felt strange and yet oddly comforting.
So much inside her twisted like a tornado. Everything had proved easier said than done. Her secret hope of finding a perfect place to land had been washed down the drain. Not that she had actually truly entertained the idea of moving to the middle of Nowhere, Texas. Probably had internalized all those stories Bud had told her about life in Texas and created a fairy-tale ideal or something. Like the faraway castle every little girl dreamed of. Or maybe it was she hated the thought of giving any of Bud’s selfish, whiny children part of the proceeds. Or maybe she had merely hoped things would be easier than they were. That she would have driven up to the Triple J, fallen in love with her new home and found a million dollars buried in the backyard. She had wanted to feel something for this place.
But she hadn’t. Not really.
Instead it felt like a big pain in the ass and now her life was on pause.
But perhaps being stuck on pause wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe she needed to take time to think about what her future held. For many years she’d been on autopilot, taking care of Bud’s affairs, balancing work and merely existing. Not much passion in her life and not much time to study the stars, wash a dish and listen to the absolute quiet of the night.
She’d just pulled the drain plug when a pair of headlights swept over the barn.
“Cal,” she whispered. “Look.”
He leaned over, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Shit.”
“What do we do?”
“We run their asses out of here is what we do,” he said, tossing the towel and heading toward the screened door.
“Wait, what if they have a gun or something?”
“They’re local punks. I used to be one. I know how to deal with them,” he said, pushing out the door. She saw the headlights cut off. The truck had parked right by the pens.
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