by Claire Cain
“So being different from someone rules them out?”
She tilted her head in a familiar way that shot me back to my teen years when she’d question me on my black-and-white approach to things. Just like now, which meant she had a point she was about to make, and when she did, it would likely hurt.
“I’ve always looked for someone like me. From here and interested in staying here. Someone to live a life that’s quiet—maybe simple—but meaningful because I believe loving your family and contributing to your community isn’t a waste.” My cheeks burned a little at this admission, like saying out loud that I had such small ambitions was something to be embarrassed about.
Was it? Was that why I had this pit in my stomach when I thought about Calla, specifically?
“Oh, honey. There is nothing wrong with that life. It’s very much my life.” She held my gaze for a moment, then continued. “But there is also nothing wrong with doing it another way.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
I swallowed, then slugged back the cold tea to avoid responding.
“Your father and I were opposites. Did you know that?”
I straightened, a hot bolt of longing and grief shooting through me at just the mention of Dad in this moment. “I don’t think so. I thought you guys were perfect together.”
That was my memory of them. I was just old enough to start rolling my eyes or pretending to be disgusted when they kissed, but mostly, I’d loved seeing them together. I could tell from across the room or across the field by the house that they loved each other. Even when they fought, they made up and made sure us kids knew it.
“Oh, I think we were. But he was so serious. And I was silly. He even told me I was a silly girl when we were kids. Little did he like to admit that this girl could ride a horse better than him and knew more about horses and cows. I think that hooked him, when he finally realized it. But the point is, on paper, we might not’ve worked. But when we were together, it was like all those differences just made it sweeter. Sometimes harder—don’t get me wrong. But beautiful.”
Her soft smile had my throat tightening.
“I miss him.” It seemed crazy. It’d been nearly thirty years since he’d passed, and I still missed him so damned much.
“Me too. And it’s one reason I’ve never figured out what to do with myself. But I’ll tell you, it’s also the reason I am on that app.” She shut her eyes like it pained her to say but blinked them back open. “I know it may freak you and your brothers out, but I miss having someone. I miss that kind of love. And I want it again before I’m too old to enjoy it.”
I huffed. “You’re not too old. And you’re beautiful. But anyone who plans to date you is going to have to—”
She dropped her chin, her blue eyes pinning me. “Get through me. Trust me, if I find someone I like enough, he’ll meet you boys. But until that time, you will absolutely not be screening my dates, and that’s final.”
I shifted in my seat, effectively chastened. “Okay. Message received.”
She nodded with finality, then reached out and set her warm, soft hand on my arm. “My point in telling you all of this is that if you think Calla is someone special, you’d be a fool not to try with her. Forget the distance, forget the popstar thing for now. Just… ease into it. See if what you see in her is something real, or just that gorgeous face and sexy voice.”
“Mom.”
She raised her hands as if to plead her innocence. “I’m just saying. Don’t let that stubborn part of you that thinks things can only be right one way cause you to miss out.”
I frowned, a rock in my gut doubling in size. “I’ll try not to, but it’s not just that.”
Studying the dregs of the brown tea at the bottom of the cup kept me from seeing her reaction, but she turned my head toward hers with a hand on my cheek.
“My sweet boy. Don’t be afraid to try with this one.”
This time, I did let out a long exhale. “I’ll try.”
She made a face she’d been making all my life—a frowny smile. It was this certain Mom expression that said she loved me, she knew me, and she wanted me to tell her whatever was on my mind. “What is it? There’s something else?”
I cleared my throat, then did it again because it hadn’t worked quite right the first time. “I think I feel guilty. About being older than Dad.”
The second my words hit, her eyes swam, and she pressed two fingers to her lips. “Oh, Wy. I’m sorry.”
I sniffed back the emotion creeping in. “Not your fault.”
She reached for my hand, and I gave it to her. “Maybe not. But it never occurred to me you might be struggling with that. Have you talked to anyone about it?”
“Aside from you?”
“Think about it, please. But also hear me when I say that your dad would want you boys to live your lives to the fullest. To take every chance, enjoy every opportunity, and love with your whole hearts. He might’ve been serious at times, but he loved me—us—so well.” She smiled, the brightness discordant next to her reddened eyes and quivering chin. “I hate that you didn’t get to see more of that. But if you can trust me, please know that you living a full life is a legacy that will honor his.”
My jaw ached from the way I’d clenched my teeth to keep the tears at bay. If I let loose, I didn’t know how long it might take for me to recover. I’d be crying for my dad—for the years he didn’t get to have, and the years we didn’t have with him. I’d cry for me, and the years I’d now realized I’d wasted in this muddy hole of a thought process I hadn’t recognized.
She squeezed my hand once more, then released it so she could scuttle over to the bathroom and grab a tissue. After dabbing under her eyes, we shared a subdued smile.
“He would be so proud of you, honey—of all you boys. You’ve each got your struggles, but you’re all good men. Promise me you’ll let yourself off the hook.”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.” And then, bless her to the end of time, she changed the subject.
I listened as she talked about the people who’d contacted her on the RuralMatch app. By the time I left, I could feel it coming. I knew what I wanted to do and just had to figure out how to do it.
I didn’t want to be afraid of what could happen, or how things might change. And I didn’t want to live with this dread, which I now fully embraced was rooted in the guilt of something I couldn’t control. I’d lived longer than my father, who was a good man. But I couldn’t stop living my life because of that, and in doing so, it might be the very opposite of what I’d wanted. It didn’t honor him, that was for sure.
So after a week of mulling in the weird stew of my messed-up perspective, I knew what I had to do. I had to focus on how little I liked the prospect of not seeing her again instead of how incompatible we might be.
Or maybe I’d frame it like a trial run. A first foray into allowing myself to embrace something that drew me in and made me feel so much.
Question was, would she even want to try?
TWENTY-ONE
Calla
The knock on my door made me jump, which then made my hot chocolate dump out on my white shirt. This happened because one, the knock had startled me, and two, I’d made it through the day without spilling anything else on the shirt, so the laws of nature required me to mess it up now.
It was one of many reasons I opted for black at most other times. This trip had been an escape, and since black tended to heavily feature in my Mayhem wardrobe, I’d revolted against packing much of it at all.
Hauling myself to my feet, I left the now nearly empty mug of hot chocolate on the crowded counter and shuffled to the door. My heart beat heavily in my chest, though I told it to quiet down. I didn’t even know if it would be him, and I didn’t need pounding heartbeats to remind me how much Wyatt Saint appealed to me. I’d gotten a belly full of that nonsense a week ago with the waffles and charm, and I’d been working to shove off the fluttery feeling that h
ad lingered ever since. Seeing him at breakfast each day this week had done nothing to help me, even with his cooler demeanor.
“Whoa, that’s intense. Come in.” I waved Wyatt forward as the wind blew a gust of freezing air and icy snow through the doorway.
“Yeah. It’s ramping up. I came to make sure you’re all set for the night.” His eyes slipped over me, then seemed to linger on the long stain streaking my shirt from collarbone to hem.
Those eyes seeing my mess, yet again, had me turning on my heel and traveling down the length of the hallway into the even-less-tidy-than-it-had-been-last-time kitchen.
“That was nice of you. I think I have everything I need.” Wood for the fire. Food enough until I went into town tomorrow. Fully charged electronics in case the power flickered on me.
He nodded. “Shouldn’t get too bad until the second one hits Tuesday night.”
“I hadn’t heard about another one coming.” I hadn’t worried about weather since I’d been on tour, and I hadn’t done much touring since Candy died. Maybe five or ten small shows total, much to my label’s dismay.
“This one seems like a warmup compared to what’s coming Tuesday night into Wednesday. We’ll want to stock up tomorrow. I’m happy to drive you to town when I go, if you want.”
He seemed earnest enough, but also kind of cagey for some reason. “That’s nice of you. I think Warrick’s taking me to that lunch on Tuesday morning, so maybe I’ll just shop, then.”
At some point, I’d figure out something to say besides parroting That’s nice of you. His kindness and thoughtfulness made me feel squirmy and unsettled. No one did stuff like this in my life unless they were paid to, and yet here he stood.
He blinked, like he hadn’t expected that answer. “I don’t mind. Plus the store may be cleaned out by Tuesday if people go into panic mode. We’re usually better than that, but we’ve got a lot of tourists in town, so I won’t be surprised if all the toilet paper and bread is missing by late tomorrow.”
“Okay. Good idea.”
Any ounce of charm I’d once possessed withered in the awkwardness of this oddly business-like conversation. We’d had a nice time over waffles. He’d grown even more quiet than usual toward the end, and maybe I had been too. Our breakfasts this past week had been chaperoned by Warrick, who’d seemed tired but willing to fill the silences when they came. I’d waited for another flash of that heat between us, the little thrill of seeing him always warming me, but there’d been nothing. It was like my mess and constant presence had shut a door between us.
All of that proved disconcerting enough, but this was downright brutal.
Compelled to try to end it, I started, “Well—”
“So—”
We both stopped and did that uncomfortable chuckle, smile at each other, acknowledge we’d talked over each other thing. Ugh, this was one more reason I preferred having familiar faces nearby. Getting to know people could be so painfully awkward.
Although I’d thought we’d gotten past the new phase. We’d talked about some fairly intimate things—grief, especially, but other things too. And yet, here we were.
“Sorry, go ahead.” I leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed my arms.
He squinted as he looked at me, this certain expression that seemed almost shy, if I had to name it. “I was just going to ask if I could take you to dinner tomorrow.”
My brows shot up. That was unexpected. Confusion nipped at the heels of what I couldn’t deny was excitement. “Uh, like when we go to the store?”
One side of his mouth slid up. “I suppose we could group it like that. We could go early and eat around five, then hit the store. I wouldn’t want anything fresh to sit too long.”
“Wouldn’t stuff be gone by then?”
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.
“Could be.” His brow furrowed, and the edges of that beautiful mouth turned down.
And it clicked for me as awareness and no small amount of thrill washed from my forehead to my toes. He’d asked me out, and I’d focused on logistics. I hadn’t said yes. And now, I was poking holes in the plan like I needed an escape. Despite the fact that I needed a romantic entanglement like I needed another failed album, the twist in my stomach and flutter in my chest told me I wanted this.
That should’ve sent me running for the hills, but here I stood on a mountain anyway, and I spoke before I could stop myself.
“We could go shopping early and just go back down if the roads aren’t too bad later? If you don’t mind driving. Or we could just eat here?” Then I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone recognizing me and popping this lovely little bubble I’d inflated around myself.
His lips pressed together, and I would’ve sworn he hid a smile. “We eat here all the time. You’ve gotta be sick of my cooking.”
“Hard to imagine such a horrid eventuality,” I said, smiling at him because he was so adorable. And hoping maybe he’d go for that.
I hadn’t been on a date with someone I was actually dating in years. Probably a decade. Definitely since Jackson Taylor, my first real boyfriend, and the only decent man I’d ever dated. That’d been just after I’d blown up and it hadn’t lasted. After that, I didn’t do any dating in public.
The thought of being out with Wyatt made my heart race. I couldn’t parse out whether it was with anticipation or anxiety, but the fact that I couldn’t tell told me I needed to put a stop to this.
He laughed quietly. “Let’s try to go out. If the weather picks up earlier than expected tomorrow, we’ll stay here. If not, I’ll take you to Basta, if that sounds good.”
“I’d love to try it sometime. I just… I’m not sure if I’m up for a dinner out.” I tried for an expression you might call an encouraging smile, but it felt sickly on my face. If we went out, and I got mobbed, or people made rude comments, he’d hate it. He was so private and lived tucked away, even from the small town. Yes, he went in, and his other dates had been there as far as I knew, but I didn’t want to watch his face fall as the reality of my life crashed in before we’d ever gotten to the appetizers.
He stepped toward me and drew one hand out of a pocket. He dipped his head and spoke in that low, unhurried way that made smoke curl in my belly. “You embarrassed to be seen with a cattle rancher, Ms. Rice?”
“Definitely not. I just don’t want my being here to get out. I’m enjoying being nameless and unremarkable.”
A wide, unfettered smile broke on his face, and my heart thumped.
“You will never be unremarkable.”
My chest rose and fell like he’d touched me. Like I wanted him to.
You do want him to.
“Well, I just—”
He did touch me then. A large, warm hand on my bare wrist. “Basta has a small back room for events. I was thinking we could eat in there. If you’re at all uncomfortable, then we’ll get it to go and eat back here.”
I swallowed, every nerve ending in my wrist burning with the heat of his touch. His hand on me made my thoughts thick and slow, but even then, I could tell I liked his consideration. I loved that he’d planned ahead. “Okay.”
“And if you change your mind at any point, we’ll eat here. You know I’m happy to cook for you.”
Whew, the man’s crystal-blue eyes skewered me from just inches away. His gaze lit mine on fire, and there was absolutely no good reason for what I said next, but it jumped right out of my mouth.
“So you’re saying you want to take me on a date?”
Someone turned up the thermostat of his expression, and he nodded.
“And you’re prepared for what that means if we’re seen? If you’re caught out in public with Miss Mayhem?”
He got that squinty look again. “I don’t know much about Mayhem, but I’m definitely ready to be out in public with Callaway Rice.”
That response made my stomach sink, though I thought I understood what he meant. Even so, my next words came out soft, almost a whisper. “We’re one a
nd the same.”
Our eyes locked again, and that electric tension sizzled through the air between us. It felt like someone stood behind me and pushed at my shoulders, some unknown source forcing my body toward him. Only my confusion and that twinge of hurt from his earlier comment made me stand rigid instead of swaying forward.
He must’ve felt no such reserve, because he dipped his head further and spoke into my ear like we’d be overheard by someone. The side of his forehead brushed against mine, and his breath tickled my ear as he said, “You bring yourself, and I’ll be ready for you.”
TWENTY-TWO
Wyatt
The last twenty-four hours had crawled by. Calla ended up bowing out of our shopping trip, mentioning that my meddling little brother had asked her to send him a list and he’d deliver the goods later in the day. I couldn’t be too frustrated with him because he was doing the same for me, so it saved me a trip.
That said, I would’ve had that time with Calla in the car each way. I could’ve seen what she chose in the store. I’d know what brands she picked for herself and what items she lingered over before buying or if she just dumped everything in a hurry and escaped when someone noticed her.
But finally, finally, the time had come. I pulled up right to the door, relieved the weather hadn’t changed from the forecasted and literal calm before the storm. She’d also confirmed her interest in eating out when I’d texted her earlier, so we’d have a break from my house. Not that I didn’t like my place, because I did. But Warrick could barge in at any point. Privacy wasn’t all that elusive, but it was unpredictable. And for some reason, I wanted to be with her in a more official way.
I wanted to create the same kind of setup I would’ve had with a date from the app. In what might be a little messed up, I wanted to test this out and see how it felt to be out with her like I’d been with other failed dates. Granted, a private room had never been part of the deal before, but that was as close as I could get to direct mimicry of my other first dates.
