Chapter 6
6
Caroline
The Dusty Barrel’s neon sign buzzed like a beacon in the heart of Whittier Falls, casting a warm glow over the wooden facade. I pushed open the door, the familiar scent of sawdust and spilt beer welcoming me back to a place that hadn’t changed much since my high school days. A blend of anticipation and unease curled in my stomach as my gaze swept across the sea of cowboy hats and denim, searching for Sutton.
“Caroline Cressley, back in the saddle?” a voice called out from the bar with a chuckle. I mustered a smile, recognizing the bartender from years gone by, but didn’t stop. This wasn’t a nostalgia trip; it was recon. My mission? To learn from a friend who knew how to navigate life’s more social terrains better than I ever did.
The thumping bass of a country-rock hybrid reverberated through the soles of my boots as I wove through clusters of townsfolk. They were caught up in their own worlds—laughing, swapping stories, living lives that had rolled on without me while I’d been off chasing my medical degree.
I sidestepped a tipsy couple stumbling off the dance floor, their laughter trailing behind them like the tail of a comet. The Dusty Barrel was alive with energy, a stark contrast to the quiet, orderly halls of the office where I spent most of my days—and nights, if I’m honest. It reminded me of what I’d given up to legacy and responsibility.
It’s not that I wanted to be in a crowd of rowdy drunk ranchers every night. But it was telling that instead of being put off by the overstimulation, I was filled with a sense of longing.
I spotted Sutton toward the back of the room, the embodiment of everything I wasn’t—confident, easygoing, rooted. She sat at a corner table, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders, a mug of something frothy cradled between her hands. She looked up, her gray eyes catching mine, and I felt a flicker of relief.
“Hey!” I called out, raising my hand to wave as I dodged a rowdy group of guys vying for the next round of pool. One of them nearly clipped me with his cue stick, too busy boasting about some long shot he’d made to notice the near-collision.
“Watch it, Doc,” he drawled, catching sight of me at the last second, his grin wide and unapologetic.
“Sorry, just passing through,” I muttered, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.
“Hey, Caroline!” Sutton beckoned, her voice a lifeline in the cacophony. I navigated around the dance floor, where couples spun and swayed, lost in the rhythm of a song about love and wide-open spaces. It struck me then, how this place was like a microcosm of Whittier Falls—people from all walks of life, with common goals. Maybe socializing wasn’t as scary as I feared it would be. Maybe I was finally ready to be part of life again.
I finally reached Sutton’s table, my breath a bit uneven—not from the short trek, but from the unfamiliar thrill of being here, in this moment, ready to step outside the neat lines I’d always drawn around my life. It was time to learn a thing or two about the world beyond prescriptions and patient charts. Time to start living a little more like the characters in the romance novel waiting for me on my nightstand.
Sutton’s smile was like the sun breaking through storm clouds, and her hug wrapped around me with the kind of warmth that could thaw the chill from the coldest winter day. “Thanks for meeting me here. I needed a drink after the long day I’ve had.”
“I was happy to. I figured I might as well start this education sooner than later and the Barrel might be the best place for a crash course.”
“No kidding,” she said with a snort as a drunk couple passed by us, their hands gliding all over each other.
I slid into the worn wooden booth, the leather seats squeaking a familiar tune beneath my jeans. The air was thick with the scent of bar food and beer. A kaleidoscope of voices rose and fell in a symphony of ranch stories, each tale punctuated by hearty guffaws or the sharp twang of a fiddle from the live band tucked away in the corner.
I leaned back, letting my gaze drift over the scattered remnants of peanut shells on the floor, the flickering neon signs advertising local brews, and the couples two-stepping with an ease I envied. There was something about the Dusty Barrel that felt like coming home, even if I’d never really been one to frequent bars. It was as if the walls themselves were whispering old secrets and shared memories, inviting me to let go of the rigid self-control I clung to like a lifeline.
“Feels good to be back, doesn’t it?” Sutton’s voice cut through my thoughts, her gray eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Surprisingly, yes.” I smiled, realizing that for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t thinking about patient appointments or diagnostic tests. Well, until that moment. “It’s louder than I remember, though.”
“That’s the sound of life, Car,” Sutton teased, lifting her glass in a mock toast. “The question is, are you ready to jump in and join it?”
“Maybe,” I said, the word feeling like a promise I wasn’t quite sure I could keep. But as I sat there, amidst the laughter and the clinking glasses, with Sutton’s unwavering support beside me, I thought that maybe—just maybe—I might be ready to try.
As the country tunes hummed their familiar rhythms, my eyes couldn’t help but wander back to the bar. Amidst the sea of cowboy hats and denim, a group of guys leaned against the polished wood, their laughter rising above the din. They seemed like an easygoing bunch, the sort that seemed to radiate confidence and charm. I caught the tail end of a joke, one of them tossing his head back with a chuckle, and my gaze unwittingly locked with his for a heartbeat too long.
“Looks like you’ve got an audience,” Sutton remarked, her lips curling into an amused smirk as she followed my line of sight.
I felt a tug of unease knotting my stomach, a reminder of my habitual place on the sidelines during high school dances. “Probably just wondering why I was staring,” I mumbled, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
“Or maybe they’re admiring the view,” Sutton quipped, her grin teasing as she sipped her drink.
I didn’t recognize them so I knew they hadn’t grown up here. “Do you know them?”
“Nah. Probably new ranch hands down at the Bottleneck. I heard they replaced their whole team after some shenanigans went down.”
Before I could muster a response to that, one of the guys detached himself from the pack, his boots thudding a confident rhythm across the wooden floor. As he approached, I took in the rugged lines of his jeans, the casual roll of his sleeves, and the easy smile that played on his lips.
“Evening, ladies,” he greeted, tipping an imaginary hat in our direction. “Couldn’t help but notice that smile from across the bar. It’s not every day we see something so bright it outshines the neon lights.”
My heart did a little two-step of its own, and I managed a polite nod, hoping my smile didn’t betray the flutter of nerves beneath. “Thank you, that’s very kind,” I said, the words feeling as stiff as a new pair of scrubs. “I’m Caroline, and this is Sutton.”
“Nice to meet you both,” he replied, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “I’m Jason. Mind if I join you for a spell?”
Sutton shot me a glance that was equal parts encouragement and mischief before gesturing to the empty chair beside us. “Sure, have a seat. But be warned, Caroline here will put you under the microscope if you’re not careful.”
“Is that so?” He chuckled, pushing the chair over to the side of the booth and settling in it with a casual ease. “Well, I’ll have to make sure I stay on her good side then.”
I found myself smiling, genuinely this time, as the man’s presence projected a confidence I found extremely attractive. Maybe I could borrow some of that. “No need for caution,” I assured him. “Tonight, I’m off duty.”
“Good to hear,” he said, his grin wide and inviting. “Let’s leave work talk for another time then. Tell me, Caroline, what brings you to the Dusty Barrel tonight?”
“Old times’ sake,” I said, glancing around at the worn tables and the walls that held whispers of a youth spent dreaming of the future. “And maybe a bit of new beginnings.”
“New beginnings,” he echoed. “I like the sound of that.” His gaze lingered, expectant, and I could feel the familiar flutter of nerves in my stomach. But the conversational trail seemed to fade into the thicket of my suddenly tangled thoughts.
“Uh, yeah . . . it’s, um, nice to—” My voice caught, tripping over a nonexistent hurdle. “To be back, I mean. I grew up here, but moved away for school.” I forced my eyes up from the sanctuary of my hands, only to find them lost in the complexity of his easy confidence.
“Back in the saddle of small town life, huh?” he probed with a tilt of his head, his smile never faltering.
“Something like that,” I mumbled, my gaze skittering away again as if it had found something terribly interesting in the grain of the wooden table.
Sutton’s laugh, light and melodic, broke through my flustered pause. “She means she’s been off conquering the medical world,” she interjected, her tone laced with pride. “And now she’s bringing all that big-city expertise right here to Whittier Falls.”
“Is that so?” His interest shifted, visibly piqued, but I found myself staring blankly without a clue as to how to respond. Before I could attempt to stumble through another sentence, Sutton had taken the reins of the conversation.
“Absolutely. This one’s going to patch up all the cowboys who’ve forgotten that bulls are stronger than they are,” she quipped, tossing me a conspiratorial wink.
“Sounds like a full-time job around these parts,” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair, attention momentarily diverted from my awkwardness.
“Only if they keep ignoring common sense.” Sutton laughed, and I took a moment to admire how effortlessly she danced through the rhythms of small talk—a skill I had yet to master.
I drew in a slow breath, grateful for the brief respite to gather my scattered wits. Around us, the Dusty Barrel thrummed with life, a symphony of clinking glasses and hearty laughter that felt both foreign and familiar. Another foreign concept was flirting, but I had to think of this as just another skill to learn. I was in class. I could do this.
I shook my head to drown out the sounds of my own thoughts and focused on Sutton, who was recounting a recent escapade involving an escaped goat and her bakery’s kitchen, the story painting smiles on our faces.
“Seems to me you’re the one who could use a doctor around,” the man said to Sutton, laughter warming his words.
“Or at least a good fence builder,” I chimed in, finding my footing once more. Sort of.
“Maybe I’ll put in my bid. I can do it all, you know,” he said, shooting a cocky smile my way.
“Oh, um, that’s great. I can’t build anything.”
“You don’t need to when I’m around.”
“But we just met.”
Sutton kicked me under the table and I coughed in reaction. This wasn’t going well. Even I could tell that. But Jason just kept smiling.
I had barely gotten my breath back when I caught another cowboy from the group heading our way. He ambled over with the kind of confidence that comes from a lifetime of never being told no. His gaze, a clear, piercing blue, locked onto mine as he approached.
“Evenin’ ladies,” he drawled, tipping his hat—a real one, this time—in my direction. “Don’t let this guy take up too much of your time,” he said with a laugh, clapping Jason on the back a bit too hard. “Would you allow me to buy you a drink? And, if I may say, your hair is about the prettiest shade of auburn I’ve ever seen.”
The compliment should’ve been nothing but sweet, but it landed like a calf trying its first unsteady steps—awkward and unexpected. It tangled up my thoughts and tripped my tongue.
“Uh, thanks,” I managed, feeling my cheeks flame like the dying embers of a campfire. “I mean, sure. A drink sounds nice.”
My voice was a stranger to me, high-pitched and unsure, so unlike the measured tones I used in the office. Why was it that I could face down medical emergencies with calm precision, yet flounder under the bright lights of social niceties?
“Great!” he said, with a smile that likely charmed the socks off most people he met. “What’ll it be?”
“Um, just a rum and diet coke. With lime, please.” I added the last part hastily, as if that twist of citrus somehow made my choice less dull.
“Coming right up.” His wink was meant to be conspiratorial, but it only deepened the blush that I could feel spreading across my freckled skin.
“Can I get you something?” he asked Sutton, almost like an afterthought.
She waved him off and took a sip of her beer, but sent a look of annoyance my way.
“I’ll come with you,” Jason said, joining his friend.
As they sauntered back to the bar, I stole a moment to breathe. The Dusty Barrel continued its lively hum around us, the clatter of glasses and bursts of laughter acting as a backdrop to my little drama. I wanted to sink into the woodwork, become part of the sturdy foundation of the place—a silent observer rather than the observed.
But that’s not what this was about.
“Whew,” I sighed to myself, pressing a cool hand to my hot cheek. “Get it together, Caroline.”
“You’ve got this. I take it you’re not really feeling either of them? ”
“I’m not even sure how I feel, I’m too overwhelmed at the idea of trying to flirt.”
“Well, don’t worry about it. Just think of it as practice. If you make a connection, great. If not, you gain some experience.”
“Fair point.” I dabbed my top lip, which had developed a dew of sweat.
The return of my wayward cowboy with the promised drink cut short my pep talk. Jason seemed to have lost interest and stayed at the bar with the rest of their group. I accepted the glass with a tentative smile, hoping the coolness of it would seep into my palms and banish the awkwardness that seemed determined to cling to me like burrs on a wool sweater.
“Thank you,” I said, as he settled across from me, all easy charm and twinkling eyes. “That was very kind of you.”
“Kindness is easy when it’s for a beautiful woman,” he replied, his tone smooth as buttered biscuits.
“I didn’t catch your name?”
“Brent. And yours is?”
“Caroline.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
“I’m named after my aunt. She died two weeks before I was born.”
Sutton coughed.
Why the hell did I say that?
I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up then—a mix of nerves and genuine amusement. I was ridiculous. If only flirting were as straightforward as stitching up a wound or diagnosing a routine cold. If only I could navigate this dance with the same surety I felt when tending to my patients.
I took a sip of the drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass, and barely managed a murmur of gratitude. My mind was a whirlwind of doubt. How did one transition smoothly from casual banter into . . . whatever came next in these encounters?
“So Brent, have you been up to Wilder Peak?” Sutton’s voice sliced through my frazzled thoughts like a lasso cutting through the dusty air. She leaned forward, her gray eyes twinkling with mischief as she addressed the cowboy who had taken a seat across from us.
His gaze flickered to Sutton, then back to me, his smile faltering just a touch. “Can’t say that I have. Is it a good hike?”
“One of the best,” Sutton declared with the authority of someone who’d scaled its heights more than once. “Right, Caroline?”
“Absolutely,” I chimed in, relieved for the change of subject. “The view from the top is breathtaking.” I’d only hiked it once, ten years ago, but I’m sure I remember it was.
The cowboy nodded, his interest piqued. “Sounds like something I should check out.”
“Y’all should go together,” Sutton suggested with an impish grin. “Caroline knows all the trails like the back of her hand. Plus, she’s a doctor. If you fall and sprain your ankle, there’s no one better to be on the trail with.”
Brent considered this, his eyes appraising me anew, not as a conquest but as a potential adventure buddy. It was a look I found infinitely more comfortable, and I relaxed into my chair, finding my footing in the conversation at last. I might know little about hiking, but it was a much safer topic than romance.
As they chatted about the local flora and fauna, I stole glances at Sutton, marveling at how she handled the situation. There was an art to her interaction, a subtle dance that kept the mood light and engaging. She was masterful in her deflection, never once making the cowboy feel unwanted or dismissed.
I needed to learn her moves, to understand the rhythm of this social tango. Maybe then, I could step confidently into the fray of Whittier Falls’ dating scene without tripping over my own two feet.
“Hey, if you’re really interested in hiking, the community center is organizing a group trek next weekend,” I heard myself saying, surprised by my boldness. Surprised I even remembered the flyer I’d seen earlier in the week, hanging on the wall of the post office.
“Count me in,” the cowboy replied. “Maybe you can show me some of those hidden gems on the trail, Doc.”
“Perhaps I can,” I answered, the words feeling foreign yet exhilarating on my tongue.
One of Brent’s buddies called him back over, but not before he slyly grabbed my phone and used it to call his own, giving him my number in the process.
“I’ll text you later this week. It was nice meeting you, Caroline.”
“You too.”
Sutton shot me a proud smile as he sauntered away, and I felt a swell of gratitude for her guidance. It wasn’t a slam-dunk, but we’d managed to turn the conversation around into a solid C grade, at least. I celebrated with a sip of my drink.
Glancing over the rim of my glass, I caught sight of Walker Anderson leaning casually against the bar, his laughter mingling with the low hum of country music and the clinking of bottles. A woman with sun-kissed hair was tossing her head back in amusement at something he said, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
“Been a tough night for him,” Sutton murmured next to me, drawing my attention away from the scene. “Family dinner earlier. Poor guy got an earful from everyone about his life choices—or lack thereof. ”
I stole another glance toward Walker, noting the easy smile on his face despite what Sutton had just shared. He always wore that same grin, like nothing could ever touch him, but I wondered if it was just a facade.
“Really?” I asked, swirling the ice in my drink. “He seems . . . unfazed.”
Sutton sighed, propping her chin on her hand. “That’s Walker for you. Acts like he’s got it all under control, but I think he’s just really good at hiding when things get to him.”
The mention of his brother at the diner flashed through my mind, how his eyes had flickered down, the laughter lines around them vanishing momentarily. Walker, the perennial bachelor with a heart for horses and a penchant for partying, suddenly seemed less like a caricature and more human—vulnerable, even.
“Seems like there’s more going on beneath that cowboy hat than most folks realize,” I mused aloud.
“Definitely.” Sutton nodded, her gaze still fixed on Walker. “He’s got dreams too, you know? Wants to do more with the ranch. But proving that to the family . . . Well, it’s like trying to lasso the wind. You know how stubborn Damon is. Well Gray is like his twin. Neither of them want to hear anything contrary to what they believe to be true.”
Responsibility and legacy were heavy mantles to wear in a place like Whittier Falls, where the past often held as much sway as the present. Working hard wasn’t just expected; it was woven into the very fabric of our lives, as much a part of us as the soil under our fingernails or the dust on our boots.
“Maybe he just needs someone to believe in him,” I whispered, more to myself than to Sutton, feeling an odd kinship with Walker in that moment. We were both searching for something more—something meaningful to shape with our own hands .
“Maybe,” Sutton agreed, pushing her empty glass aside.
Walker had told me we were friends the other day. And I believed him. Maybe I needed to show him he could count on me, too.
He turned then and caught me watching him. But instead of being embarrassed and looking away, I just smiled. He returned it with a lopsided one of his own. I thought about how hard it must be to wish for more, to hope for more, to want to make more for yourself, but everyone around you doubted your every move. Suddenly it occurred to me we were exactly the same in that way.
I wondered then if we could do something to help each other. I could be a good friend. I could give him the support he needed to go after what he wanted. And maybe, just maybe, I could convince Walker to help me with my own mission.