9. Lincoln
lincoln
. . .
The sound of my phone alarm pulled me from the best dream I’d ever had. A dream I couldn’t wait to tell Josie.
It’d been five days—or technically six, now—since that little tornado had blown into my bar and my life.
Five days of countless smiles and laughter and sex.
Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled so much. Before Josie, I hadn’t had much of a reason to. My life was as dull as it was predictable. I woke up every morning and drove to Frank’s ranch to help him with the handful of cattle still lingering on his land before cleaning up and heading to the bar to prepare for opening.
Even if we weren’t blood related, he was the only family I had. Frank had taken me in when I’d lost everything I loved, allowing me to turn my life around when no one else had. He’d told me he knew what it was like to have your future disappear overnight and didn’t want me to end up like him.
Though he’d lived a good life, it’d been lonely. He’d come close to marrying once, but that had changed when his rodeo career came to a screeching halt. The fame he’d been right on the cusp of had disappeared, along with his fiancée.
He never opened himself up to another woman again.
Being alone had never bothered me, but recently, I’d wondered what having someone by my side would be like.
Someone like Josie.
“Good morn—” I began to say, reaching out to her side of the bed.
It was cold.
Empty.
“Josie?” I called her name, but there was nothing. It was eerily silent in my home. The sky was overcast, letting in a grey gloom even though it was nine in the morning—a jarring contrast to the brilliant blue skies of yesterday.
I padded over to my door, noticing it was unlocked. I peeked my head outside, noting her car was gone. Maybe she’d just run into town. I’d taken Josie to the small coffee shop off Main Street the first morning she’d been here, and she’d demanded we go back every morning since.
But on my way back to the bedroom, I noticed a single sheet of paper on the kitchen counter. My heart thundered in my chest as I fought the overwhelming sense of dread threatening to take over.
Balling my hands into fists, I stepped closer and read the hastily written scrawl.
I’m sorry.
- J