CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Cassie
“I think it’s a perfect idea. It inserts you into regular everyday life in a natural way. If you’re comfortable with these women.”
I watch through my computer a few days later as Dr. Payler takes her glasses off and tucks a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. She leans back in her chair and makes a note as I blow out a breath.
“I really want to try. I can’t explain how much being outside is helping. Being with horses again. I haven’t felt this connected to my core self in a long time, and it’s only been a week.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Cassie. You’re looking better than the first day we spoke. And I don’t mean in appearance.” She smiles. “You’re looking grounded.”
“Sometimes,” I say, “I flip-flop. Sometimes I feel like I’m spiraling. It’s a constant struggle.”
Dr. Payler nods with a soft smile. “That’s to be expected. And those are the moments when you need to breathe, to remember where you are and picture that other side.”
I nod. “I’m doing my best.”
“That’s all you can do. And trust your gut. If your gut says a night out is good, then it probably is. Have fun and remember to live, Cassie.”
She gives me a few more breathing exercises to practice before our next session and then we say goodbye. When we’re finished, I realize my phone is flooded with texts.
OLIVIA
No pressure, but we do need a stand-in Not Angel. It’s just not right if there isn’t three of us. Smiley Face
I suppose pub nights are no fun when you’re pregnant.
OLIVIA
Nope. Sangria Sundays are off-limits for the next five and a half months for CeCe.
GINGER
Just like Nashby to put a baby in her so he doesn’t have to do any drunken pickups for a while.
We’ve got Cole on board to drive us home and there’s a live band tonight.
A familiar pang of terror runs through me at the mention of live music, even though I’m not the one performing.
I take a deep breath and push past my fear.
The only way to get to the other side of something hard is to move through it.
I remember Haden’s words and breathe deeply again before opening my eyes.
Okay, I can stand in for tonight as long as they’ve got good nachos.
GINGER
Nachos will be mediocre but our company will be worth it.
What about men? Are there any in this town?
GINGER
If I tell you the truth, you have to promise you’ll still come.
I promise.
GINGER
The pickings are slim.
I’m not saying it’s impossible.
Good. That suits me just fine.
I laugh and tell them to pick me up from the ranch. Apparently Cole will drive us there as well as home. Mabel is staying with her mother tonight.
No men in this town means that the one I’ve been riding with will remain at the front of my mind.
I’ve arrived at the barn dutifully every morning at seven a.m. since that first ride.
The ride that unexpectedly breathed life into me, if only for a moment.
Haden was right: fresh air and being out every morning in nature is helping me.
I feel at peace on the trails of Silver Pines in a way I haven’t felt since my dad was alive and we had our own horses.
I take my time making myself a late lunch and matcha tea. I hum along to the local radio station, and for the first time in at least a year I don’t check my DMs all day. I don’t check the country gossip pages either, or message Dax back when he scolds me for not posting any positive content.
Instead, I put on my warm coat and boots, and take my lunch and my notebook out to the porch.
As I sit and eat, watching the trees blow and two blue jays hop from pine to pine, I feel inspired to write something for the first time in weeks.
And, by the time I’m heading in to get ready for my night out, I have an entire song outlined.
It’s not my normal style, the same style that’s made me gain popularity.
But I think I give a fuck about that less and less every single day I’m here.
“How do all these women go to work on Mondays?” I ask Olivia and Ginger over the music later that night at the Horse and Barrel.
“It’s a rite of passage when you live in Laurel Creek. Guaranteed to come into work hungover at least one Monday of the month,” Ginger says, holding her sweaty curls off her back as we slide into our booth.
As we sit, Olivia raises her hand at the intimidating-looking bartender that served me last fall. Asher.
“You know him?” I ask her. “He’s had his eyes on you all night.”
“She knows, babe, but she pretends not to notice.” Ginger grins, checking her phone.
“I notice,” Olivia says.
“It’s been almost two years of you two making eyes at each other,” Ginger adds.
“He looks at you like he’s your bodyguard.” I look back over at him. “Oh, and here he comes.”
We haven’t even been seated for five minutes when Asher makes his way over to us with a fresh pitcher of sangria and some water.
“You ladies want something to eat with all this sangria?” he asks as he places napkins down on the table with the tray. He wears a black long-sleeve button-up that highlights the outline of his strong physique and the tattoos that line his knuckles.
‘I was promised nachos,” I tell him as he refills my glass. I’m feeling lighter than I have done in a long time. I’m glad I came.
“Sure.” Asher nods at me and I realize how handsome he is. He might be big and scary but he also has that whole dark and brooding thing going on.
“So, out with it, Cassie,” Olivia says when Asher is out of earshot. “I want to know what was going on between you and Haden last week at breakfast.”
I take a big sip of my drink. It really is the best sangria I’ve ever had.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I tell her. Her eyebrow perks. “I’ll tell you what happened with Haden if you tell me why Mr. Scary Bartender looks like your bodyguard.”
Ginger starts to laugh. “Because once upon a time he sort of was her bodyguard.”
Olivia’s eyes narrow. “It was one night, and I don’t exactly know what happened. It was out of character for me.”
“I made her tell me when I finally gave up pretending he just stares at her for no reason.” Ginger says.
“Uh-uh,” Olivia says raising her glass to me. “You two are not flipping the script here. I know I saw something between you and Haden. Spill.”
I’ve had too much to drink to talk about this man. But fuck it. I don’t have any friends, and at this point I could really use some advice.
“In my defense, I had no idea I’d see him again so soon.”
“Oh shit!” Ginger laughs, stuffing a handful of bar nuts into her mouth.
“It was one night. But there’s nothing going on now. He’s stubborn, kind of bossy, and I’m convinced that man isn’t even sure if he likes me most of the time.”
“You know what else he is?” Olivia winks at me with a laugh of her own. “Hot.”
“That too,” I confess. “Ugh … It happened when I was here last fall. He didn’t know I was Ivy’s sister. I only told him my first name. I think that really pissed him off when I came back. It puts him in a tough place with Wade.”
“He isn’t the type to get pissed off easily,” Ginger notes. “What else happened?”
I grin sheepishly. “Well, I also told him I’d be right back afterwards and snuck out the back door of this place.”
Ginger doubles over. “You fucked and ducked?”
I laugh in return. “I panicked. The sex … it was … really hot.”
“Well, he definitely wouldn’t want Wade to think he used you. That ranch has been everything to him since he started here. He was a couple grades below us at school but I remember the talk about him then. His coach was positive he was destined for the pros.”
“And then he lost it all when he was injured,” Olivia adds.
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Olivia raises an eyebrow as she sips. “Didn’t tell you he was that good, did he?”
“No,” I answer, remembering everything he did say: about his mom leaving, the pressure his dad put on him, that football was never his passion.
But he did it because he knew it. Just like me.
My passion has never been singing. I’m good at it so I do it, even though it’s just the vessel to get my words out into the world.
“From what Cole says,” Ginger continues as a server returns and places a hefty plate of nachos in front of us, “working with horses was what Haden wanted to do in the first place.”
I think about what Haden told me about taking night classes through in Equine Management at a community college a couple years ago. And the live demonstrations he’s attended at Churchill Downs with Ivy while they’ve been training Angel’s Wings.
“Wait … holy SHIT!” Ginger gasps now, choking on a handful of nachos. “Is he your song? ‘Your Truck’?!”
I nod slowly as she slaps a hand on the tabletop.
“No way! I love that song. But he didn’t ditch you. Maybe what he’s really mad about is that?”
That thought never dawned on me, and a pang of guilt floods my chest.
“We never made any promises. Haden has had his fair share of women, he told me so himself. I just assumed I was another notch,” I say defensively.
“You’re dwelling an awful lot for ‘nothing going on,’” Ginger notes, telling me she understands what that’s like before steering the conversation in a different direction. “So what will you do for the rest of your time here?”
I shrug and swirl my sangria in my glass. “I don’t know. My therapist says I need to find ways to relate positively to music again.”
Ginger knocks back her drink and flashes me a grin. “I have the best idea!”
I look at her expectantly.
“My school has had the worst funding cuts over the last year, and I know our music department was looking for special guests to come in and talk to the kids. They’re doing a segment called ‘For the Love of Music.’” She spreads her hands out like the title is up in lights.
“I bet they’d love to hear your story, about how you fell in love with writing. If you’re interested?”
I wait for the familiar feeling of anxiety to creep in. But the idea of relating to kids and rediscovering why I fell in love with music in the first place? That might not be a bad idea.
“I think I could get behind that,” I say to Ginger.
Ginger’s beautiful smile lights up her face as she tucks a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear. “Perfect! I’ll talk to our music department. They’re not starting the program for two weeks, but I’ll let you know what they say.”
“Speaking of music,” Olivia says, pointing to the dance floor as one of my favorite Lainey Wilson songs starts to play. We all slide out of the booth, singing the lyrics as we hit the dance floor.
And we don’t stop. We spend the next half hour dancing as we finish off our pitcher of sangria.
By that time my feet are aching, and the girls have escaped to the ladies’ room, and I’m feeling just confident enough to text the modest, hotshot cowboy I’ve been spending my mornings with.
I smile as I find his self-appointed name in my phone for the first time and take a deep breath.
You almost made it to the NFL?
COWBOY
Who told you that?
Birdies.
COWBOY
Birdies are generally full of shit.
And cowboys are inherently modest.
COWBOY
Are you the Princess of Bluegrass?
I look around the bustling bar, mostly filled with women.
Right now, I’m the princess of the Horse and Barrel.
COWBOY
Stay away from any princes with shiny black pickup trucks. They’re the worst.
I smile and take my bottom lip between my teeth.
Got it.
I decide to toy with him just a little.
Motorcycles only. Check.
“She must be talking to her sister, smiling like that,” Ginger breathes out when she and Olivia arrive back at the table.
“Don’t you two have anything better to do than stick your noses in my business?
” I flash them a teasing grin. I like these girls.
Ivy has basically been my only friend since I entered the music industry at such a young age, and these two are just easy to be with.
I only wish CeCe could’ve come, but apparently the second trimester resurgence of morning sickness doesn’t fit well with the sights and smells of the local bar.
As we dance, I feel the music begin to thrum through my blood and, by the time we take another break, I’m feeling tipsy and free.
Just as we start to catch our breath, Cole comes sauntering through the door to pick us up.
Only, to my surprise, he’s not alone. Walking in behind him in those damn Wranglers, heavy Kentucky cowboy boots and a flannel jacket is none other than Haden Westbrook.
Ginger snickers. “Well well well, Cassie, looks like your ride’s here.”
Son of a bitch.
The only thoughts I can string together are: a) that man looks way too good for how much I have had to drink; and b) why is he here?
He pulls his jacket off and hangs it on the rack at the door.
Our eyes lock across the room. My stomach drops as his gaze rakes over me.
His black t-shirt hugs the strong muscled form of his upper arms, and images of him hovering over me flash through my mind, heating me from my toes up.
A thousand drunk butterflies swirl in my stomach as his eyes stay on me as he stalks toward our table.
Just before the men reach us, Olivia leans into me.
“What was that about nothing going on again?”