Sunday, April 2nd
Cat
I’m grumpy.
I knew the second I got on that plane yesterday that it would be an emotional arrival on the ranch. But I way underestimated what a rollercoaster it would be.
It was a lot. A total freefall of adrenaline spikes, doubt, longing, anger, disappointment… It’s only been one day. One! And already I’m emotionally exhausted.
The house is quiet when I finally crawl out of bed just before ten. I assume everyone’s off doing whatever ranch life requires while also somehow preparing for the wedding. I catch the scent of coffee and smile gratefully when I arrive in the kitchen to a full, steaming pot.
I pour myself a cup, then rummage through the fridge for creamer or milk when I hear the sharp clack of bootheels on tile.
“There’s caramel creamer all the way in the back of the second shelf.” Miranda’s voice floats through the space.
My jaw clenches. First of all, why does she have to be right here when there are literally three thousand other acres she could be on? And second, how does she even know that I have a weak spot for caramel coffee anything?
I grab the bottle, then close the fridge door behind me. “Thanks,” I mutter, not making eye contact.
Something spiky bites my insides. She had sex with Ronan only two days ago.
She got to see him in all his masculine glory, got to feel his soft skin on hers, ran her hands over his lean muscles, and probably moaned his name.
I’m not usually a violent person, but I won’t deny that the idea of decking her isn’t all that off-putting.
Miranda moves around the kitchen with annoying ease, pulling a cup from the cabinet with one hand while fishing for a spoon with the other.
“So, I heard about your encounter with our resident wildcat. Well, former resident wildcat,” she says, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“The ranger picked up the carcass this morning.”
I don’t respond, instead watching the creamer slowly drip into my coffee. Out of my periphery, Miranda takes a sip from her cup, eyes closed. Is she drinking that black? That’s… impressive.
She smacks her lips with a serene smile. “That was a male, too. The ranger estimated him to be about a hundred and eighty pounds, maybe eight feet long. Rony wouldn’t have stood a chance if that thing had decided to ambush him.”
I reach for the drawer to grab a spoon, then stir my coffee.
“Need sugar?” she asks, nudging a small ceramic bowl toward me.
The caramel creamer is sweet enough. I ignore the bowl. And her.
“Oh, Tori and I talked about maybe going on a trail ride later today,” Miranda continues, casual. Now she’s coming for my friends, too? “You’re welcome to join us.”
That does it.
My eyes snap to hers, face set in a frown. “You fucked Ran. Two days ago,” I say, and march out of the kitchen.
“Oh perfect, just the two people I was looking for,” Saoirse says, standing on the threshold, a smile on her lips that looks just a little too enthusiastic to be natural.
Ugh, she probably heard what I just said. Facial combustion in three, two, one.
“I need you two to run a few errands for me. The wedding cake needs to be picked up, as well as the flowers. And since you’ll already be in Missoula, I have a list of things I’d like you to grab from the supermarket.”
Missoula? Four hours’ round-trip in a truck, with my ex-boyfriend’s… ex, friend with benefits, side chick? Kinda wish that mountain lion had taken me out.
“Uh, I think my parents nee—”
“Everyone’s occupied with work or wedding setup.
The boys are all dispersed across the ranch.
Tori went into town with Erin and Riley, and your parents went on a hike with your siblings,” Saoirse says over my poor attempt at coming up with an excuse for why I can’t possibly be gone in excess of four hours.
“I’d really appreciate the help.” Her gaze swings between me and Miranda.
My shoulders sag. Who am I to turn down Saoirse Soult? “Okay.”
She smiles brightly. “Wonderful. You’ll need to get on the road ASAP. The bakery closes at two today and is closed on Mondays.” Saoirse hands Miranda a list, then takes our coffee cups. “I’ll load these into to-go mugs for you.”
Miranda nods, smiling. “Okay, I’ll just change really quick. I’ll be back to pick you up in ten minutes, Cat.”
Ah yes, my greatest wish coming true…
***
I might end up with a crick in my neck, but not having to see Miranda even out of the corner of my eyes is worth it. The beautiful landscape flying past the passenger window is an added bonus.
We’ve been on the road for over thirty minutes now, the awkward silence sitting between us like a third passenger. I can’t tell if Miranda is as uncomfortable in my presence as I am in hers, but if she is, she’s a hell of a lot better at hiding it.
She’s been trying to make small talk and receiving one-syllable responses or plain silence from me. I’m not here to bond over our mutual attraction to the same guy. Kinda funny, now that I think about it: we both want him, and neither of us has him. Ha.
“Guess that trail ride’s gonna have to wait,” Miranda mutters, reaching for the to-go mug nestled in the cupholder and taking a slow, unbothered sip. “Let me know if you need me to stop by a restroom or anything.”
I’d rather pee my pants than prolong this trip.
As if she can hear my thoughts, Miranda exhales a resigned sigh. “Okay, Cat, do I need to pull over so you can smack me, or would you rather I just tell you why Rony slept with me?”
There’s open exasperation in her voice now.
“Either’s fine,” she says. “We can hash it out, or you can ask me whatever you want. This one-sided conversation is starting to annoy the crap out of me.”
If my neck could creak, it would. I slowly turn to face her. Even though her eyes stay fixed on the empty one-lane highway ahead, her raised eyebrows tell me she’s waiting for me to say something.
I press my lips together hard enough to feel the sharp sting of teeth on skin. I don’t know that anything she says will change how I feel. She wants Ronan. She’s made that clear again and again. And she obviously doesn’t care who gets stepped on in the process.
But still, her phrasing hooks me.
Would you rather I just tell you why Rony slept with me?
Honestly? Yeah. I would.
I turn to her, arms folded across my chest.
She glances at me. “Alright, so… no smackdown?”
“No smackdown,” I say. “As tempting as that is.”
The laughter that bursts from Miranda’s lips makes the corners of my lips tug into a smile. At least she’s got a decent sense of humor.
“Not a fighter, huh?” she teases.
“Don’t underestimate me.”
Miranda raises one hand in mock surrender, giggling. “I’d never.”
She takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly.
“I love Ronan,” she starts.
My spine stiffens.
“I’ve loved Ronan since we were kids. I was twelve when we met, and let’s just say we became really close really fast.”
“Yeah, I know that,” I say, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
She doesn’t seem to take offense. Instead, she glances at me with a soft smile. “But Ronan doesn’t love me. He never has.” There’s something raw in her voice, something that stings my chest in spite of everything.
I shake my head. “You’re wrong. He does love you. When you called from Tennessee, he dropped everything to get to you. He just up and left.”
“That’s different. That’s Rony being Rony,” she says. “Yeah, he loves me. But not like that. He doesn’t love me like he loves you, Cat.” She pauses, eyes back on the road. “He’s never loved a girl the way he loves you. And, Cat, that’s still true. Right now. This second. Rony loves you.”
Her words slam into me like a ramrod. And maybe it’s the fact that it’s her saying it—when she has every reason not to—that makes me believe it.
“And Friday? When we, you know—”
“Yeah,” I mutter. I guess I appreciate her not saying it out loud again.
“Rony and I were talking, and he…” She sighs. “He’s so sad, Cat. He’s all twisted up inside. His thoughts, his dreams. They scare him. And…” She trails off. “You guys need to talk. It’s not my place to tell you everything.”
“I’m intimidated by you,” I blurt.
Her mouth opens, then closes. “I… That’s not my intention.”
“I just don’t understand your relationship with him.
You say he loves me like he’s never loved anyone, but you know things about him he never tells me.
You had sex with him. He dropped everything to see you in Tennessee.
He always answers your calls and steps away to talk to you.
He trusts you in this way I don’t understand.
How do you get him to talk about his fears, his dreams, any of it?
He doesn’t talk to me about those things.
He never has. He just tells me he’s fine.
Even when he’s very obviously not fine.”
The words spill out fast, full of frustration.
“That doesn’t make me special, Cat,” she says quietly. “It doesn’t mean he and I are anything more than friends. The only reason I know those darker parts of him is because I don’t let him get away with his bullshit. I don’t let him placate me.”
“I don’t let him get away with his bullshit, either,” I snap.
Miranda chuckles softly. I frown, bristling. But her expression sobers.
“I’m sorry, Cat, but… yeah, you do. You all do. How do you think he was able to hide the abuse for so long?”
I’m glad her question’s rhetorical, because I couldn’t answer even if I wanted to.
“He’s good at giving you just enough to make you stop asking. Just enough to sound plausible. Just enough to seem okay. And that’s not anyone’s fault. We’re human. It’s easier to believe the bruises were from a fall—or whatever bullshit excuse he made up—than to keep pushing.”
She looks over at me. “But think about it, Cat. The one time he did open up to you—when he told you he didn’t want kids because he was afraid of repeating the cycle—what were you doing that made him say it?”
It hits me all at once, like a field of stadium lights blinking on.