Chapter 5 A Brunette and Some Blondies #2
Mom clucks her tongue as she tucks a sheet of tinfoil over the paper plate of leftover blondies. “Have some faith in your sister, Tate. She’s just going over for a quick visit. Right, Elizabeth May?”
I’m named after my grandmother, who passed away before I was born. They called her Eliza, but Mom liked the nickname Billie for me. When she’s mad, though, or she wants me to know she means business, she calls me by my given name: Elizabeth May.
I paste on a smile. “Right.”
I don’t wanna keep it quick. But I’ll take what I can get.
On the drive over to Lucky River Ranch, I roll down my windows and wonder if this is a selfish move I’m making in the guise of altruism. My boredom and existential angst are not Ryder’s problem. But I can’t stay home another night. Alone. Bored.
And, yeah, horny.
I just…can’t.
Even driving makes me feel better. More like myself. This is my first day behind the wheel of my old silver 4Runner since my accident, and I suck in lungful after lungful of crisp autumn air, the sun slanting through the windows and warming my skin as I sing along to the radio.
Mom wasn’t restless like this at my age. I can’t imagine her ever being even the least bit angsty. She’s so…steady. Sure of her place in the world.
Why can’t I be content with what I have too? Do I want to be content? Or do I like this part of myself, the inner child that yearns for more?
Taking the turn onto Ryder’s ranch, I slide my sunglasses onto my head. I don’t come to Lucky River Ranch that often these days, but I’ve lived all my life in Hart County, so I’ve visited this part plenty over the years. I’m always struck by how lush and pretty the Luck’s property is.
Ancient-looking oaks create a dappled canopy overhead. A rainbow of leaves, mostly red and yellow and orange, float lazily through the air and catch on my windshield. The brush is still verdant, and it covers the ground in a carpet of varying shades of green.
I slow as the road rises onto the edge of a limestone canyon.
The view up here—my God, it’s pretty. The Hill Country stretches for miles and miles to my right, an undulating landscape of gentle slopes and stretches of pasture.
The Colorado River is a shimmering ribbon of blue that winds its way through ridges and valleys, its surface glinting beneath a wide-open sky.
Hitting the brake, I take a second. Take a deep lungful of fresh air that’s scented with the sweetness of falling leaves and woodsmoke.
The way it fills my chest and clears out my head makes me almost dizzy with delight. I’ve been exhausted all day, but suddenly I’m wide awake, the heaviness in my eyelids and legs disappearing without a trace.
I feel alive.
For the first time today, I feel like I might not die of boredom or frustration. This is the opposite of feeling suffocated. I’m free to do what I want, be who I want, with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face.
I need more of this. Is it ridiculous to allow myself to believe I need the outdoors to feel alive? Not everyone gets to spend their days working in the sunshine. It’s not always clear skies out here anyway.
But damn, I sure do feel a hell of a lot better than I did this morning back in the office.
I blame my buoyant mood for the thoughts that flicker through my head the way the sunlight flickers through the thinning trees.
What would life be like on Lucky River Ranch?
It’s just far enough from home to feel like a fresh start, but close enough to Mom and Dad and my brothers and our horses to visit whenever I wanted.
Aaaaannd I need to quit daydreaming while I’m ahead. That thought alone, the one about shacking up with Ryder on his family’s property, lets me know I need to pump the proverbial brakes here. Crushing on Ryder has been fun for the most part. I don’t think anyone takes it seriously.
I don’t think anyone takes me seriously either. That’s beside the point, though.
But this crush could get real serious, real fast if I’m not careful.
Glancing at the foil-covered plate on my passenger seat, I contemplate turning back around. But it’s silly, right, to be afraid of spending time with a dear family friend? One I’ve known forever?
Or is it silly to scramble for an excuse—any excuse—to spend time with a guy who will never, ever want me back?
I look up, and my eyes catch on a smudge of something in the distance. Peering through my windshield, I watch as a tractor comes into view, kicking up a cloud of dust in a large field that appears to be planted with hay.
The tractor is enormous, a shade of John Deere green I’d recognize anywhere. It’s dragging a mower that makes quick work of cutting the hay.
Watching the tractor make a perfect, hundred-and-eighty degree turn at the end of a neatly cut row of hay, I’m gripped by the sudden certainty that Ryder is driving that machine.
Only he would still be working at—I glance at the clock on the dash—quarter past six. Cowboys start their days so early that it’s practically bedtime for them at this hour.
Not for Ryder. As the last remaining single dude out of all his siblings, he doesn’t have anyone to go home to. He’s always been a hard worker. Although sometimes I worry that he puts in such long hours because he’s avoiding something. His past, maybe? His feelings?
Whatever the case, the man loves driving a tractor. As luck would have it, I make a pretty damn great passenger princess.
I grin like an idiot and hit the gas. My heart pops around my ribcage as I approach the field on a dirt road that slowly becomes hardly more than a pair of shallow grooves in the pale earth.
Putting my car in park, I kill the engine. The low rumble of the tractor greets me as I grab the plate, push open my door, and hop out.
The green, grassy smell of freshly cut hay fills my head. Hint of diesel too.
I can’t stop smiling.
The tractor turns again, giving me a perfect view of the driver. My stomach takes a tumble when I see the familiar profile of Ryder’s face: square jaw, straight nose, full mouth. His overgrown hair curls out from underneath a backward baseball hat.
Christ, what is it about a backward hat that gets me every damn time?
The light catches on the gold chain he’s wearing around his neck, making it glint through the tractor’s windows. I can just make out the white tee he’s wearing. It hugs his shoulders and biceps in a way that makes my middle feel hollowed out.
The only possible thing that could make him hotter is if he were singing. Smiling. Sparkling, the way he did at the hospital.
I’m on it.
Throwing up my arm in greeting, I head his way.