Chapter 48
Chapter forty-eight
Everett
Istayed in London for a week. Ruth seemed stronger, brighter, every day. Her friends came over for dinner one night, and I got to meet her parents, too. That was… interesting. They don’t entirely hate me, though, so I’ll take what I can get.
Leaving sucked, but we booked tickets for Ruth to come back to Austin, and for me to come back to London. Now, it’s just a matter of counting down the days.
My cabin doesn’t feel like home anymore.
Not without Ruth’s laughter bouncing off the walls.
Without her boots at the end of my bed and her jacket slung over the back of the sofa.
But her vanilla perfume lingers, and I slam the door when I walk in, desperate to trap the scent in.
To be surrounded by it, even when I can’t be surrounded by her.
I kick off my own boots by the door and drop my duffel bag. Unpacking it can wait. I don’t really have the mental energy for laundry right now. And I want to keep my flannel shirts smelling of vanilla for as long as I can.
By the following morning, I can’t put off laundry any more.
I dig through the duffel and toss in the underwear, pyjamas, and tees.
I sniff the two flannel shirts and decide they pass the smell test. They can wait a while longer.
My favourite jeans complete the load, and I set it to wash before taking a shower and dressing in my least favourite boxer briefs—the ones with the hole right by the waistband—and a tank top that’s just a little too short.
Why I haven’t tossed either item, I don’t know, but I don’t have a whole lot else to choose from for a day on the ranch, so I guess I’d better suck it up.
It’s hotter than hell itself outside, and it’s still barely seven.
I check on the animals and move some cattle around before the sun reaches its peak.
With fence lines checked, and after a quick repair to one of the barn doors, I’m halfway out to the Skillett Creek site, alone in a two-seater ATV, when something compels me to stop.
I jump out of the vehicle and shove the keys in my too-tight pocket.
I’m close to the ridge, where Ruth and I shared our second kiss.
Where we engaged in some heavy petting. Where my heart told me in no uncertain terms that I was to hang onto this woman.
The memory steals my breath.
I fucking miss her.
I miss the sweet coffee on her breath when she leans in close. The warmth of her skin when she presses her cheek to mine. The way she fits perfectly against my body when I hold her, like a puzzle piece slotted into place.
Like mine. Ruth Bevan is my puzzle piece.
I cried when Grandaddy Smith passed. I cried at his funeral, and once or twice—maybe three times—in the days that came after.
I held it together last week, needing to be strong for Ruth.
For both of us. But out here on the ridge, a couple hundred yards from the same damn side-by-side that had me falling unstoppably, a roar tears itself from my chest.
“Fuck!”
A few minutes pass by, unseen through the blur of tears. I sit on the ground and pound my fist into the dirt, forcing air in and out of my lung through shaky breaths. When my vision finally clears, I scrub at my eyes with the back of my other hand and climb back into the driver’s seat.
When I get to Skillett Creek, I realise a lot has changed in the week I’ve been away.
The cabins are no longer just wooden frames but actual buildings, with windows being installed as I park up.
Brooks and Solly are building one of a handful of bridges that will cross the creek that forms the boundary between the Tanner and Fisher properties.
Jody is walking with a woman, head bowed to hear her talk.
She barely reaches his shoulder. He spots me when he glances up.
“Tanner! Nice of you to show up,” he teases. I know his words are in jest, but I’m not really in the mood for jokes right now. I grunt in greeting and he gets the message. “This is Thea. My cousin.”
“Oh,” I say, racking my brain. “The events manager?”
“The very same.” Thea steps forward with an outstretched hand. “You must be Everett. It’s good to meet you. I was just going over some of the plans with Jody, the facilities and whatnot.”
“All good, I hope?”
“Well, it looks great,” Thea says with a toothy grin.
“You’ve got all the things you need. Plenty of extra stuff that’ll entice people, too.
It’ll pass the inspections with flying colours.
” That, at least, brings a smile to my face.
At least something is going well. Moving forward the way it should.
I study Thea’s profile as she turns away.
She looks like a paler version of Jody, who inherited his father’s height and features, and his mother’s Latin skin tone.
Ms Angie’s mother was born in Mexico, and her family crossed the border into the US when she was young.
She met and married Ms Angie’s father, Ms Angie was born, and the rest is history.
Jody, Brooks, and I used to listen to her stories with rapt attention when we were kids.
I pitch in with some of the building work, marking out the plot where our front office will be. That’ll be where people check in for their stay at the ranch, or for events. The plans seem to grow every time I talk to Mom or Ms Angie about it, and the buzz around town is electric in its excitement.
Several local businesses want to be involved.
Savannah wants to have some floral arrangements on the front desk, and her name at the top of the list for any wedding enquiries.
Garth Tell wants us to stock the cabins with mini-bars full of Tell’s Moonshine and craft beer.
Two empty storefronts on Main Street have had their first enquiries in three months.
I’m proud of Mom. This idea could’ve gone horribly wrong, but she did it right. She did her research, and it’s coming together nicely. With Ruth’s help, we were able to sign contracts, get our business tax license, and file the LLC paperwork to make Skillett Creek official.
There’s just one thing missing right now.
It’s a little after noon when much of the work wraps up.
It’s too hot to be out working in the midday sun, but we got a lot done in the early hours.
I know some more men will be out later in the day, once it cools off a little, to do some more before the sun goes down.
I consider stopping at the main house for lunch, but I’m still not in the greatest mood, so I take the ATV home instead, parking it at the side of the cabin next to my truck.
The laundry load I tossed in the washer earlier is done, so I move it to the dryer before I change into a pair of grey sweats. I’ve barely opened the fridge before a knock at the door has me slamming it closed and trudging down the hallway.
I expect to find Brooks or Jody—or both—when I throw the door open, but instead, Bethany stands there, biting her pink-painted lip. She must sense my confusion, because she steps forward and pastes a smile on her face.
“Hi Ev,” she says. “I didn’t like how we left things last time. We have so much history. We were good together, you know?”
“Bethany, I—” I’m cut off by a bird, presumably a paid actor, which swoops down from a tree and has Bethany shrieking. She all but launches herself through the door, standing in its frame with one hand on her chest in fright.
“I know you see it too,” she says once she’s caught her breath. I’m not sure how many more ways I can tell her I’m not interested.
“There’s nothing to see,” I say plainly. “You and me, we were—”
This time, it’s an engine that cuts me off, and four tyres rolling to a stop on the gravel outside my house. Two doors open on Brooks’ behemoth of a truck and Bethany’s hand somehow finds its way to my arm as I lean against the doorjamb, blocking her access to my home.
Everything trickles to a stop. My vision narrows, focusing on the truck and the pair of feet hitting the ground on either side of it. We’re still in real time, but it feels like slow motion as Brooks’ face appears over the top of the truck door, darkening as he recognises the woman in front of me.
And then the other person appears.
Tall red boots. Grey denim shorts, stylishly frayed. A sleeveless blouse that almost perfectly matches the red of the boots.
And Ruth, looking stricken as Bethany’s pink nails tighten their grip on my arm just slightly.