Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Kelsie
I stand in Carson's kitchen, my fingers tapping on the worn wooden countertop. My eyes dart to the clock on the wall for the hundredth time. Any minute now, the insurance company should call. My stomach churns. The ring of the phone makes me jump, my heart leaping into my throat.
“This is Lacy from Evergreen Insurance.”
The woman's voice is professional.
My fingers tighten around the phone as I force a cheerful tone.
“Yes, this is Kelsie. Thank you for calling back.”
As Lacy explains the situation, my eyes dart around the kitchen, desperately seeking something to focus on.
The copper pots hanging above the stove.
A half-empty mug of coffee sits on the counter, long gone cold.
Anything to distract from the growing knot of dread in my chest.
“I’m afraid there are some complications with your claim,” Lacy says, her words cutting through my desperate attempts at distraction.
My grip on the phone tightens further.
“Complications?” I repeat, hating how small my voice sounds.
“What kind of complications?”
As Lacy delves into the details – the need for further investigation – I stare at the wooden cutting board on the counter.
The knife marks etched into its surface seem to mock me, each one a reminder of how deeply life can cut.
“How long will this delay things?” I ask, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
When the call finally ends, I lower the phone, feeling as if I've aged years in those few minutes.
My mind races, thoughts tumbling over each other in a dizzying whirl. How long can I impose on Carson's hospitality?
What if I can't find a job in this small town?
The precariousness of my situation hits me, leaving me feeling raw and exposed. You'll figure this out.
But even as I try to rally my spirits, I can't shake the nagging fear that this time, I might not be able to bounce back so easily. Not now. You can't fall apart now.
A single tear escapes, trailing down my cheek like a silent betrayal of my resolve.
My hands tremble as I grip the windowsill, knuckles turning white with the effort to steady myself.
The sudden creak of a floorboard behind me alerts me.
I recognize the sound immediately – Carson's boots on the old wooden floor. My body tenses instinctively, and I turn slightly, angling my face away from the door. I wipe away the tear tracks on my cheeks.
“Kelsie?” His deep voice is soft. “Everything alright?”
I plaster on a smile and turn to face him. “Oh, hey Carson. I was just…”
But as our eyes meet, I see a flicker of concern in those piercing blue depths.
I swallow hard. “It's nothing, really. Just a small hiccup with some paperwork.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but the instinct to protect myself, to not be a burden, is too ingrained.
Carson's brow furrows, his eyes never leaving mine. “Kelsie,” he says, taking a step closer. “I may not be the smartest cowboy in these parts, but I can tell when something's weighing on you.”
His perceptiveness catches me off guard. I hesitate, my fingers absently tracing the grain of the wooden windowsill. “It's... it's the insurance claim. There's been a delay. They're saying…” I trail off, the words sticking in my throat. “They're saying they need investigate it further. That it could take weeks to sort out.” The reality of my situation hits even harder as I tell him and my eyes begin to sting with fresh tears.
I glance up at Carson, expecting to see pity or frustration. Instead, I see a flicker of something else. Carson takes a step closer. He didn't crowd me, but his proximity offers a subtle comfort I crave.
“I may not have all the answers, but I'm here. Whatever you need, however long it takes.”
I watch his hands, calloused from years of ranch work, as they rest on the countertop. Those hands speak of strength, of a man who faces challenges head-on. Yet there is a tenderness in the way his fingers curl slightly, as if ready to reach out but respecting my space.
My gaze drifts to his face, taking in the set of his jaw, the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that hint at both laughter and worry. In that moment, I see beyond the rugged cowboy exterior to the caring father, the man who understands loss and the importance of having someone to lean on.
“I don't know what to do,” I confess, my voice catching. “Everything feels so... useless.”
Carson's blue eyes meet mine, steady and reassuring. “We'll figure it out, day by day.
”
A warmth blooms in my chest. The corners of my mouth lift in a small, genuine smile.
“Thank you.”
While my future remains uncertain, I have found an unexpected anchor in this quiet, steadfast man.
“Now, what do you say about coming and hanging out with the horses? I could teach you a thing or two? I hate for you to holed up in this house all day.”