25
T he hot summer July sun burns. One hundred degrees.
But what’s even hotter?
Me and Ford.
Adjusting my skirt, I exit the Warrior Heart Home, quickly followed by Ford. One last kiss and we part ways. Buttoning up the pearl-snaps on his collared shirt, he glances over his shoulder and gives me a wink.
I blush. There’s no escaping his charm.
As he hustles to the garage, my eyes linger on him. So damn handsome. My hardworking, blue-collared man. With that hat turned back, and those forearms of steel, keeping my cool has never been so hard.
Look at what we keep doing. All because I wasn’t strong enough to walk away.
I decided to give in. To the madness. To his kisses. We may be friends with benefits, but it feels like more. He won’t push me, and I’m grateful for that, but I have to tell him. Soon.
The ranch is abuzz with activity. Ruby is hosting a flower arranging class in the pasture, while Charlie leads a group into the lodge.
I wrap up my chores for the day—checking the chicken coop and pulling weeds alongside the cowboy cabins.
When I’m finished, as I make my way back to the lodge, my phone rings.
Slipping it out of my back pocket, I stare down at it.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
I swallow and think of the black SUV I saw on Main Street. I should have told Ford, but why borrow trouble if it’s nothing? I chew a nail and examine my phone.
I wouldn’t put him past Gavin to be calling from a blocked number. Except for a few texts exchanged, I’ve successfully avoided him since he showed up at the ranch. I hate that he still has the power to control me. The only thing that gives me slight satisfaction is knowing I’ll be free in a little over a month.
I answer it.
“Hello?”
“Reese? Reese Austin?” A breezy female voice sounds on the other end of the line.
“This is she.”
“Oh, wow. Let me just say I am ecstatic to speak with you right now.”
I frown. “Who is this?”
“Of course. I’m sorry. This is Geneva Ritchie.”
My eyes go wide. “Holy shit. It’s an honor.” Geneva Ritchie is one of the biggest names in indie music—a two-time Grammy award winner. She writes her own music, chooses her own clothes. No asshole manager screaming at her, no one cutting off her bank account. Dream career, right there.
“No way. The honor is all mine. Look, Reese, I’m not sure if you’ve gotten my message. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the last six months.”
Damn Gavin.
“I know the offer isn’t much, but right now the idea is still in its incubation period, which means I’ve had to get creative with funding.”
Gripping the phone tightly to my ear, I move to stand in the shade of an oak tree. “I’m sorry, but I need to stop you there. I haven’t heard anything about an offer.” I shake my head. “If you’ve tried to go through someone else, there’s a good chance I didn’t get it. So it’s best to tell me.”
Geneva inhales like she’s gearing up for a spiel.
“I’m looking to start up an indie record label run by women and that only represents women—a safe space for female artists. A space where we control our art and public image, not someone else defining us. But to do this, I need backing. I know calling you up for money is awkward. But it’s also an opportunity.”
It sounds beautiful.
“I’m searching for a few partners, co-founders. Right now, it’s me, Alabama Forrester, and Daisy Boots.” Her voice perks up. “And, hopefully, you.”
“Why me?”
“I love your music.”
I laugh slightly, surprised by how my heart warms. “You do?” Between Geneva and Ford, that’s all the fan club I need.
She laughs. “Hell yeah, Reese. It’s sappy pop-country, but sometimes that’s what I need on the night I have a bottle of white wine and want to dance around in my underwear.”
I smile. “I’m flattered.”
“Obviously, this is all new and you don’t have to agree over the phone. I can send you a contract and our business plan to review. Take your time.”
I bite my lip. It feels like the sound in my brain is cranked up to full-throttle. “Do backers get a say in what the label does?”
“Of course.” Curious, she asks, “Do tell, Reese.”
“What if…what if we offered courses. Like music production and business classes for young girls looking to get into the industry?”
A long silence stretches between us, then she says, “I fucking love that.”
I smile.
Soon, I’ll have enough money to do what I want. And if I can save one girl from making the same mistakes I did, it will be worth it.
“Put everything together,” I tell her. “I’ll send it to my lawyer to review.”
“Absolutely.”
After we hang up, I stand there, breath held, phone clutched to my heart. Did that really happen? I look up at the sky. The black hole is smaller than it’s ever been.
Ford.
I have to tell him.
Everything.
High on my conversation with Geneva, I rush across the ranch, searching for Ford. I spot Ruby heft a saddle and trek toward the pasture. Two horses are tied to the fence.
“How was your class?” I ask.
“Fantastic,” she says, gesturing to the baby’s breath in her hair. “We made flower crowns and cowboy bouquets.”
“Sounds fun.” I tilt my head. She’s pale and breathing heavily. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she chirps. “This is my horse, Winslow,” she says, approaching the massive buttercream horse.
I hang back. “He’s beautiful.”
She smiles kindly, dropping the saddle to the ground. “You can pet him.”
“I don’t want to get too close,” I say, touching my wrists. All summer I’ve been careful. “My bracelets.”
“He’s a kitten. Really.”
I edge closer, but not because of the horse. “Ruby, are you sure you’re okay?”
Flinching, she rubs her chest. A motion I’ve seen before.
Oh no.
Her eyes flutter and she grabs for something to catch herself on, but there’s only air.
Frantic, my gaze scans her surroundings. She could hit the fence. Fall beneath the horses. Hurt herself.
I rush toward her, fast. My bangles jingle.
Winslow rears up.
And I scream.