Chapter 26
Saramaria
The world is tilting. I’m hit by a violent, sickening lurch that makes me grip the handle above the passenger window until my knuckles turn white.
Outside, the darkness is broken by the passing of occasional street lamps as we leave the town limits, but they do little to steady the spinning in my head.
“I think that was the fifth shot,” I mumble, trying to focus on the road ahead, but the white lines are blurring together.
“That was the seventh,” Josie corrects me from the driver’s seat. She sounds entirely too sober as she navigates the truck, her grip loose on the wheel. “Dot has a heavy hand. And Willa didn’t say no once.”
I turn my head to look at the back seat. Willa’s slumped against the door, her seatbelt straining across her chest. Her mouth is slightly open, and she’s breathing in a deep, rhythmic cadence. She looks peaceful. She looks like a woman who hasn’t had a panic attack in three days.
“She needed this,” I say, the words feeling thick on my tongue. “We both did.”
“You needed it,” Josie agrees. “You were a knot of stress when you walked in. You’re much more fun now. You’re... wobbly.”
I laugh, and the sound bubbles up, unbidden and slightly hysterical. “I’m not wobbly. I’m relaxed.”
“Right. Relaxed. That’s what we’re calling it.”
The truck turns onto the dirt road that leads to the ranch. The ruts are still deep from the storm, but Josie handles them smoothly. The suspension creaks, rocking me like a cradle.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to drop you at Pearl’s?” Josie asks as the headlights sweep across the main gate.
“No,” I say. The word feels firm, even if my tongue feels fuzzy. “I need to go home. I need to see the lights. I need to know if they actually fixed the grid.”
“Suit yourself.” Josie slows down as we approach the house. “You good to get inside? Or do you need me to walk you?”
“I am perfectly capable of walking up three steps,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster while unbuckling my seatbelt.
“Okay, Queen of the Ranch,” Josie says. “Get some sleep. And drink a gallon of water before you pass out. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
“I will,” I promise.
I climb out of the truck. The cool night air hits me, a shock to my system. It smells of pine and damp earth. It smells like home.
I close the door gently so I don’t wake Willa. Josie waits until I’m on the porch before she backs up and turns around, her taillights fading into the dark.
I stand there for a moment. The house looms in front of me. It looks different in the dark. It looks... waiting.
I inhale deeply holding it for a brief moment before rereleasing it and opening the front door.
I reach for the switch beside the door. I hold my breath.
I flip it up.
Light floods the room. Not the weak, yellow glow of the kerosene lamps, or the harsh artificial light of the generators. Real light. Overhead lights. Bright and beautiful electricity.
“Hey, there are lights,” I say to the empty room. I hiccup. A loud, undignified sound.
I walk into the living room, expecting it to be empty. Expecting the mattress to still be in the middle of the floor where I left it days ago.
It’s not.
But the room isn’t empty.
Someone is curled on the sofa.
A low fire is burning in the hearth.
Rhett is lying on his side, his back to the room. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a faded navy T-shirt that hugs his shoulders. He looks big. He looks warm.
Wellsy, who was curled up near Rhett’s feet, lifts his head. He sees me and his tail thumps against the sofa cushions. He lets out a soft yip and jumps down, trotting over to greet me. He weaves through my legs, nearly tripping me.
“Hey, buddy,” I say, scratching his ears. I lean down to pet him, and the world tilts dangerously to the left. I have to grab the arm of the sofa to steady myself.
Rhett stirs. He rolls over, blinking sleepy eyes. When he sees me, his gaze sharpens instantly. He sits up, swinging his legs to the floor.
“Saramaria?” he asks. His voice is rough with sleep.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He glances at his watch. “It’s late. Past two.”
“Oh,” I say. “I didn’t realize.”
“You’re just getting in?”
“Josie dropped me off. Willa was asleep in the back seat. She passed out somewhere around the fifth shot.”
Rhett nods. He scrubs a hand over his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I heard the party was a success.”
“It was,” I say. I walk over to the fireplace mantel and lean against it. I need the support. “It was amazing. We raised... we raised so much money.”
He looks at me, his eyes taking in my flushed face, my rumpled clothes. “Where are the others? Did they already leave?”
“Boone and Knox?” I shake my head. “No, they were... they were around when I left. I think they were playing pool.”
“They probably went back to the cabins,” he says. “They were talking about heading out earlier.”
I nod. “And you? Why are you sleeping on the couch? I thought the power was back.”
“It is,” he says. “For the main house. But the line to the cabins isn’t hooked up yet. The electrician said he’ll finish it in the morning. So... I hope you don’t mind me crashing here.”
“I don’t mind,” I say. I look at the sofa. It looks comfortable. It looks warm. “The world is spinning, Rhett.”
He stands up. He moves toward me, his movements slow and careful. “Are you drunk?”
I shake my head. The motion makes the room spin faster. “No. Just... tipsy. Willa and Dot gave everyone shots. Tequila. And then there was whiskey. And then Carrie made these things called picklebacks.”
He laughs. “I can imagine.”
I reach into the pocket of my jeans and pull out a thick envelope. It’s stuffed with cash and checks.
“Here,” I say, shoving it at his chest. “Take it.”
He takes it, frowning. He opens the flap and looks inside. His eyes widen.
“Saramaria...”
“Count it,” I say. “Twenty-four thousand, five hundred dollars. Plus the checks that haven’t cleared yet. The ranch is saved, Rhett. We can pay the fines. We can buy the lumber. We can fix the barns.”
I smile. It feels like a goofy, drunk smile, but I don’t care. “We did it. We actually did it.”
Rhett stares at the money. Then he looks up at me. He sets the envelope down on the mantel.
“That’s... that’s incredible,” he says. “I didn’t think we’d raise that much in one night.”
“People are generous,” I say. “Or they really like barbecue. I don’t know. I’m just glad it’s over.”
I look around the room. My eyes land on the empty space in the center of the rug. The frustration from earlier bubbles up.
“Where the fuck is my bed?” I ask. I turn to look at him. “Why is the floor bare? Did you guys decide to throw out my mattress?”
Rhett chuckles. He crosses his arms over his chest. “What?”
“My bed!” I gesture to the empty space. “I left it right there. Where the fuck is it?”
“You have a mouth on you tonight,” he says, amused. “I didn’t realize you were such a sailor when you’re intoxicated.”
“I am not a sailor,” I say, swaying slightly. “I’m a lawyer. A lawyer who wants her bed. Where is it?”
“We moved it,” he says.
“You moved it?”
“We moved it back to your room,” he says. “We wanted things back to normal. Or as normal as they can be. We figured you didn’t want to be sleeping in the middle of the living room forever.”
I blink. “My room?”
“Yeah.”
“You... you moved my bed?”
“We did,” he says. “Boone and me. This afternoon. Before the party.”
I stare at him. The alcohol in my brain makes it hard to process. “You went in my room?”
“We did,” he says simply.
I let out a breath that feels like it’s been trapped in my lungs for days. I look at the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The lights are on in there, too.
“Show me,” I say.
“Come on,” he says.
He walks toward me. He doesn’t touch me, but he stays close, a steady presence at my shoulder in case I trip.
We walk down the hall. The floorboards creak under our feet.
He stops at my door and pushes it open.
I gasp.
The room is... different.
The bed is back. The heavy oak frame stands against the wall, the mattress piled high with quilts. But that’s not all.
The boxes I had stacked in the corner are gone. The clutter is cleared. The old curtains have been taken down, replaced by simple, clean blinds. The rug has been shaken out. There are fresh flowers on the nightstand—a small mason jar filled with wildflowers and sage.
It looks clean. It looks peaceful. It looks like a room someone actually lives in.
“Rhett,” I whisper.
“Boone found the flowers,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “I just did the heavy lifting.”
I walk into the room. I run my hand over the quilt. It’s soft. It’s real.
“You did this for me?” I ask.
“We did it for the ranch,” he corrects me. “But yeah. We did it for you.”
I turn to face him. The alcohol in my blood makes me bold. It strips away the layers of defense I usually keep wrapped so tightly around my heart.
I reach up and cup his cheek. His stubble is rough under my palm. His eyes are dark, serious.
“Things won’t,” I say. My voice trembles.
He frowns slightly. “What things won’t?”
“Be normal,” I say. “They won’t ever be normal again. You can’t just move a bed and put flowers in a jar and expect... expect everything to be okay. We can’t go back to who we were.”
I think about the kiss in the rain. I think about the kiss in the truck. I think about the money in my pocket and the loan they were willing to take out.
“We’re too far gone,” I whisper.
Rhett looks at me. He doesn’t pull away. He leans into my touch.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I think we are too.”
He pulls my hand away from his face gently. He holds it for a second, his thumb stroking my knuckles.
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s get you to bed. You need to sleep.”
He walks over to the bed and turns down the covers. I stumble after him. I sit on the edge of the mattress. It feels like heaven.
I try to take off my boots, but I’m too clumsy. My fingers fumble with the laces.
“Let me,” Rhett says.