Chapter 22 #3
I lie there for a moment, disoriented. I reach out, my hand searching the empty space beside me.
I’m looking for it before I even realize what I’m doing.
The gray sweatshirt. The one Blue keeps stealing.
The one that smells like Boone.
My hand hits the cool sheets. Nothing.
I sit up, blinking in the gloom. The bed is just a bed. There’s no pile of masculine fabric on the corner. There’s no scent of pine and mint.
Just the smell of Pearl’s lavender detergent and the rain outside.
The loss hits me with a force that knocks the breath out of my lungs.
It’s a sweatshirt. It’s a piece of clothing. It shouldn’t matter.
But it does.
I feel... empty.
I miss the weight of it. I miss the texture of the worn cotton against my cheek. I miss the scent that made me feel safe, even when I was angry at the man who wore it.
I wrap my arms around myself, hugging the robe tight.
I thought I came here to escape them. I thought I came here to get away from the confusion and the lust and the terrifying proximity.
But lying here in this quiet guest house, I realize the truth.
I’m not running from them. I’m running toward them. And that’s the scariest thought of all.
Because I don’t know how to be part of a pack. I don’t know how to trust anyone with my heart again. And if I try... if I let them in... and they reject me...
I pull my knees to my chest, resting my forehead on them.
I’m so screwed.
The morning light filters through the sheer curtains of the guest house, soft and gray. It matches my mood. I wake slowly, the heavy fog of sleep clinging to me, the remnants of the dream—those hands, those mouths—fading into the reality of a damp Tuesday.
Wellsy is already awake, stretched out on the foot of the bed, thumping his tail against the duvet. He’s ready for the day. I’m not.
I drag myself out of bed, the floorboards cold under my feet. I need coffee. I need something to wipe the taste of the dream and the memory of Boone’s touch from my mind.
I open the door of the guest cottage. The air is crisp, smelling of wet pine and damp earth.
The rain has stopped, leaving the world dripping and shining under a pale sun that struggles to break through the clouds.
Wellsy bounds out ahead of me, shaking his fur before sprinting toward the main house.
I follow at a slower pace, my boots squelching on the flagstone path.
The back door of the main cottage is unlocked. I push it open, stepping into the warmth of the kitchen.
And I stop dead in my tracks.
Dot is standing by the counter, her back to me. She’s wearing a thick fisherman’s sweater and reading glasses, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun. Pearl is in front of her, blocking my view, her hands on Dot’s shoulders.
They’re kissing.
It isn’t a quick peck or a chaste greeting. It’s a deep, lingering press of lips. Pearl’s hand comes up to cup Dot’s cheek, her thumb stroking the soft skin there. Dot’s hands, usually so occupied with knitting or binoculars, rest on Pearl’s waist, pulling her closer.
I freeze, my hand still on the doorknob. I feel like an intruder, but I can’t look away. It’s beautiful in a way that catches in my throat. There’s such tenderness in the way Dot leans into Pearl, such a quiet, abiding love in the way Pearl holds her.
Pearl pulls back slightly, resting her forehead against Dot’s.
Dot murmurs something that I can’t quite catch, but whatever it is makes Pearl laugh, a bright, chiming sound that seems to vibrate against the quiet morning air.
Pearl pulls back just enough to press a kiss to Dot’s forehead, her hand resting on the other woman’s cheek, before she finally turns to spot me hovering in the doorway.
There’s no embarrassment. No frantic smoothing of clothes or guilty glances. Dot simply reaches up to remove her glasses, folding them and setting them on the counter.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Pearl says, reaching for a coffee mug. “I was just making pancakes. Is that okay or do you prefer eggs? “
I stand there for a second, the dampness of my coat seeping into my skin, feeling suddenly very exposed. The intimacy I just witnessed was so profound, so devoid of the performance I usually see in relationships, that it leaves me feeling raw.
“Pancakes sound good,” I manage to say, stepping fully into the kitchen and closing the door behind me. Wellsy is already at Pearl’s feet, sitting pretty and whining for a treat.
“Perfect,” Pearl declares, fixing up her apron.
Dot waves me toward the table. “Sit. Coffee is in the pot. It’s strong enough to strip paint, just how you like it.”
I move to the table, taking a seat in the chair that Dot vacated.
The kitchen is warm, filled with the scent of brewing coffee and the bacon already sizzling in a cast iron skillet on the stove and the pancakes Pearl is making.
It feels like a completely different world from the muddy, tension-filled ranch house I fled last night.
Dot joins me a moment later, placing a steaming mug of black coffee in front of me. She sits across from me, her eyes studying my face over the rim of her own cup.
“You look a little better than you did last night,” she observes. “Less like a drowned rat and more like a human being.”
“Thanks, I think,” I say, wrapping my hands around the mug. The heat seeps into my chilled palms.
“We talked about your situation while you were sleeping in,” Pearl says from the stove, flipping a pancake with a practiced flick of her wrist. “About the fines.”
I stiffen slightly. I hadn’t expected to discuss business so soon. “It’s a mess, but I have a plan. I can move some assets around. It’ll hurt, but I can cover the eighteen thousand.”
Pearl turns, a spatula in her hand. “You absolutely could do that. You’re a successful lawyer, Saramaria. I’m sure you have plenty of money sitting in accounts that were meant for a down payment on a condo in Denver.”
“I do,” I say, though the thought of draining the account I’d been saving for my own independence makes my stomach turn.
“But why do that?” Dot asks, her tone reasonable, calm. “Why drain your savings when this town is full of people who owe you? Or who owe Anthony? Or who just want to help?”
“Help?” I ask, confused. “It’s eighteen thousand dollars, Dot. That’s not a bake sale kind of number.”
“We aren’t talking about a bake sale,” Pearl says, sliding a stack of golden pancakes onto a plate and bringing it to the table. “We’re talking about a party. A big one.”
She sets the plate down in front of me along with a bottle of maple syrup.
“The Salt Lick. Tonight. Line dancing. Drinks. Food.”
I stare at her. “A fundraiser?”
“Call it a ‘Save the Ranch’ hoedown if you want,” Dot says, taking a pancake for herself.
“But think about it. The rodeo circuit is suspended. Jack Dalton is in the wind. The weather has been garbage for a week. Everyone in Muddy Creek is climbing the walls. They’re bored, they’re angry, and they’re desperate for something to do. ”
Pearl sits down next to Dot. “Josie and Gus have been running The Salt Lick since Baby closed it down. They’re doing a good job, but they need a draw. A reason for people to come out and spend money. You give them a reason, and they will spend.”
I take a bite of pancake. It’s fluffy and sweet, melting on my tongue. “You think people will pay enough to cover the fines and the repairs?”
“I think if we charge a cover at the door, run a raffle, maybe do a silent auction for some of the local businesses... yeah,” Dot says. “We can raise that much. Probably more.”
“It sounds... ambitious,” I say. “And what about the noise? The alcohol? With Baby gone, the liquor license is still hers. Is she on board with this?”
“I already called her,” Pearl says. “She said if it keeps the ranch from being sold to some developer, we can use the place. She’s even donating a keg.”
“And the sheriff?” I ask. “Wade Colter isn’t exactly known for letting wild parties slide, especially with the recent tension in town.”
Dot lets out a short, dry laugh. “Wade Colter does what I tell him to do.” She takes a sip of her coffee.
“He’s a good boy. He’s focused on the rodeo crowd, keeping the peace out at the arena and the stockyards.
He doesn’t care about a little noise at the Salt Lick as long as it doesn’t end in a brawl.
And I happen to know he owes me a favor since I helped him identify that counterfeit tackle ring last summer.
I’ll give him a call. He’ll make sure the deputies stay away unless there’s actual bloodshed. ”
I sit back, my mind reeling. It’s insane. It’s a lot of moving parts. It’s relying on the generosity of a town that has largely viewed me as an outsider.
“I can’t ask you to do this,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s too much. You’re already letting me stay here. I can’t turn your book club into an event-planning committee for my benefit.”
“Nonsense,” Pearl says, waving a hand dismissively. “We like a project. Keeps us young.”
“It’s not just that,” I say, setting my fork down. “I have the money. I can pay the fine myself. It’s my responsibility. Anthony left me this mess, and I should be the one to fix it.”
Dot looks at me. Her gaze is piercing, seeing past the lawyer facade, past the stubborn pride, right down to the scared girl underneath.
“Saramaria,” she says. “You have the money. But you don’t have the community. And you need the community more than you need the cash.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off.
“We like having you around,” she says, her voice softer than I’ve ever heard it.
“The book club... it’s been the same faces for a long time.
We love Willa, and Josie is a firecracker, but you?
You’re different. You fit. You have a spine of steel, even when you’re terrified.
We want to keep you around for longer than just a few chapters. ”
Pearl reaches over and pats my hand. “She’s right. We aren’t doing this for Anthony. We sure as hell aren’t doing it for those three stooges you live with. We’re doing this because you’re one of us now. And we take care of our own.”
I look at them. At Pearl, with her sequins and her wild hair. At Dot, with her binoculars and her sharp tongue. Two women who have built a life together, who have seen the town through decades of change, who have survived loss and scandal and who still have so much love to give.
My throat tightens. A lump forms that I can’t swallow past.
I thought I was alone. I thought I had to fight everyone to keep my head above water.
“I...” I start, but my voice cracks. I clear my throat, trying to regain some composure. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll help us plan,” Pearl says, grinning. “I’m thinking we should have a contest. Best boots. Worst dancer. Something fun.”
“And I need to call Wade,” Dot says, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I’ll tell him to expect a crowd. He can post a deputy at the door if it makes him feel important.”
I nod, unable to speak past the emotion clogging my throat. I pick up my fork and take another bite of pancake, but it tastes different now. It tastes like acceptance. It tastes like home.
I came here to escape. I came here because I was confused and scared and angry at Boone for making me feel things I didn’t want to feel.
But looking at these two women, I realize something. Maybe I don’t have to figure it all out today. Maybe I don’t have to solve the ranch problem alone.
Maybe I can let people help me.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Let’s do it.”
Pearl claps her hands together, the sound ringing through the kitchen. “Excellent! Now, drink your coffee. We have a party to plan, and you’re going to need your energy if you’re going to keep up with us.”