Chapter 21
The next morning, work begins on the bridge.
Trucks pull in just after dawn, bringing men and women from town bundled in flannels and denim, faces ruddy from the cold. There’s laughter, the scrape of shovels, and the rumble of tractors. Sam tells me this is just how things work around here—when someone needs help, the town shows up.
By noon, the bridge is cleared, reinforced, and fully repaired. The road is open again. We can come and go as we please.
Sam brushes the snow from his gloves and turns to me, his smile easy. “Want to go into town?”
I shake my head. “No. Let’s go check on the filly.”
He grins like I gave the perfect answer.
Later, we emerge from our bedroom wrapped in the quiet, golden haze of another lovemaking session. My body still sings with the echo of his hands, his voice, his name in my mouth. I’ve never craved anyone like this. Never felt this kind of hunger that only grows the more it’s fed.
Phern’s in the living room, perched on the edge of the couch with her laptop. She doesn’t look up when we walk in.
“Sam,” she says flatly, “your label called while you were busy.” Her nose crinkles in subtle judgment. “Said it was important.”
He sighs. “Guess I’d better call them back.”
He kisses the top of my head before stepping out. I sink into the opposite end of the couch, still smiling, still glowing.
Phern glances at me. “He’s happy.”
“I’m happy, too,” I say quietly, hoping she hears everything layered beneath that.
She doesn’t respond.
At first, it doesn’t register as strange.
But then it starts.
At dinner, she ignores me when I ask her to pass the salt, even though I’m sitting right next to her. Her elbow finds my side a little too sharply while we wash the dishes—an “accident,” she doesn’t apologize for.
Something’s shifted.
I can feel it in the space between her words. In the tightness in her shoulders. In the way she no longer looks me in the eye when she talks.
And that warm, glowing certainty I felt hours ago? It cools. Just a little. Because something is off.
And I don’t know why.
Sam and I are lying in bed later that night, the fire casting slow shadows across the walls, the sheets tangled around our legs. Sam’s arm is draped across my waist, his fingers trailing soft circles against my skin.
But my mind won’t quiet.
Not with the echo of Phern’s cold shoulder still lingering like a bruise I can’t see .
“Can I ask you something?” I murmur, staring at the ceiling.
His fingers pause. “Course.”
I hesitate, trying to find the right words. Ones that don’t sound like insecurity. Or worse, like I’m trying to cause drama.
“Did I upset your sister?”
Sam shifts beside me, propping himself up on one elbow. “What do you mean?”
I turn to face him. “It’s just… she’s been different. Almost distant. Tonight at dinner, she barely looked at me. Earlier, she jabbed me with her elbow when we were doing dishes. Little things like that.”
He frowns, brows pulling together. “That doesn’t sound like Phern.”
“I know.” I sit up slightly, wrapping the sheet around me. “That’s why I’m asking. I don’t know if she’s mad that I’m still here, or if it’s something else. I just—I don’t want to be in the middle of anything.”
Sam sighs and runs a hand over his face. “She’s always been protective. Especially after Gwen and I split.” He looks at me, eyes softening. “But she’s not mean, Charlie. If she’s acting like that, it’s not about you.”
“Feels like it is.”
He reaches out, his palm cupping the back of my neck. “You want me to talk to her?”
I shake my head slowly. “No. I just wanted to be honest with you. I don’t want what we have to make things harder for you.”
His thumb brushes along my jaw. “What we have is ours, Charlie. No one’s gonna shake that. Not even Phern.”
The conviction in his voice is steady, sure. But still that cold flicker lingers in my chest. Because something has changed. And I don’t think it’s just Phern being protective.
“Speaking of making things harder on us,” Sam says, voice low, “the label wants me to fly out to Nashville. They want a demo of the song I played you.”
He pauses, like he’s waiting to see how that lands before adding, “I’ve got a few other ideas brewing, and they’re willing to overlook the missed concerts if I can give them a record.”
I sit up straighter, pulling the sheet around me. “Wow. That’s a big deal.”
“Yeah.” He leans back against the headboard, fingers laced across his stomach, staring at the ceiling. “It should feel good. I should be excited.”
“How do you feel about it?”
He hesitates, then exhales hard through his nose. “Torn.”
His voice is rough with the weight of it.
“Part of me is scared that when I get in the studio it’ll all go away. That the words’ll dry up, the melody’ll vanish, and I’ll realize that song only came out of me because of you. Because of this.”
I swallow, throat tightening.
“And the other half?” I whisper.
He turns his head toward me, his gaze solemn.
“The other half’s scared this’ll be my best record yet. That it’ll take off. And the label will want a tour. And I’ll be right back in that place where I’m burning myself down one city at a time.” His hand finds mine beneath the sheet. “I don’t want to lose this. You. The ranch. Peace.”
There it is. The truth at the center of him. The man with a voice the world wants and a heart that only sings here. With me .
I lift our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You don’t have to decide anything tonight.”
“I know,” he says, but the tension still hums in his shoulders.
“You don’t have to go back to who you were, Sam. You get to choose who you are now. Who you want to be.”
He looks at me like I just handed him a map out of the dark. And maybe I did. Because maybe this time he won’t have to choose between the music and his life. Maybe this time, they can finally belong to the same future.
“I love you, darlin’,” he says, pulling me close.
“I love you, too.”
Sam’s already gone from the bed when I wake up. The sheets are still warm where he was, and for a moment, I just lie there, soaking in the silence and the faint scent of him on the pillow.
When I dress and make my way into the kitchen, I find him standing at the island, notebook open, guitar leaning against the counter, and a coffee mug half-drained beside him.
“How would you feel if I flew out to Nashville today?” he asks without preamble.
I blink, surprised. “That soon?”
He nods, excitement flickering in his eyes. “Inspiration hit this morning. Hard. I couldn’t stop writing. I think I can knock out this record in a day or two.”
I glance at the open notebook, his messy scrawl racing across the page like it couldn’t get out of his head fast enough .
“I say go for it,” I tell him, walking toward him. “If that’s what you want.”
His shoulders drop with a breath, like I gave him permission he didn’t realize he needed. “It is.”
I grin. “A day or two, though? That’s all I get to miss you?”
He leans in and kisses my forehead. “Then I’m all yours.”
“Deal.”
I follow him back to the bedroom, watching as he tosses clothes into a worn duffel bag with practiced ease like he’s done it a hundred times before.
“I should probably try to get an ID and phone at some point,” I say, watching him zip up the bag.
He pauses, glancing at me. “Maybe Phern can help? Might be a good way to smooth things over if something really is off.”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. You’re right.”
He pulls his phone out. “I’ll text her and let her know.”
“Thanks.”
But part of me wonders if she’ll want to help. Still, I’ll try. Because I want this to work. Not just with Sam, but with this place. This life we’re shaping.
He crosses the room, presses a far too short kiss to my mouth then rests his forehead against mine.
“I’ll be back before you can miss me.”
“Too late,” I whisper, and I mean it.
I follow him outside, arms wrapped tight around myself against the chill and watch as he drives off. His truck kicks up gravel, sunlight catching in his rearview mirror like a final wink. The last thing I see is his smile.
I hold on to that smile like a lifeline.
Until I turn around and come face-to-face with Phern .
“Sam just left,” I say carefully, voice softer than I mean for it to be.
Her arms cross tight over her chest. “I know.”
There’s a beat of silence so thick it could choke me.
“Phern, did I do something to upset you?”
She lets out a sharp laugh, cold and sharp as glass.
“God,” she mutters. “You’re unbelievable .”
She turns on her heel and storms into the living room. But I follow. Because I have to.
“Please talk to me.”
She whirls around, eyes flashing. “Why? So you can come up with another lie? Another excuse to tell my brother while you play perfect little houseguest in his bed?”
My heart drops. “That’s not fair?—”
“No,” she snaps, her hand slicing the air. “What’s not fair is watching you cozy up to him like you belong here. Like you didn’t come out here with an agenda.”
“I didn’t,” I blurt. “Phern, I swear to you?—”
She steps closer, voice low and shaking. “Then explain why some guy named Kurt was on our goddamn property yesterday.”
I blink, stunned. “What?”
She laughs bitterly. “Yeah. Your co-worker. He showed up while you and Sam were otherwise engaged. Said the station’s just waiting for your word to run the story.
” Her voice sharpens to a blade. “Is that why Sam texted me, all sweet, asking if I’d help you get a cell phone?
Because you wanted to send in your scoop from the comfort of our home? ”
“No! I—I didn’t know Kurt was coming. I’m not doing the story anymore?—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Phern, please?— ”
“No,” she says, stepping into my space, fury trembling in every word. “You had a chance to come clean. And you didn’t. That tells me everything I need to know.”
“You don’t know everything!” I snap back. “I was fired from the station, and I have no idea why Kurt was here. Just because you’re afraid of being hurt doesn’t mean everyone is out to get you or Sam!”
The air between us crackles with something ugly.
“I want you gone before Sam gets home.”
My stomach hollows. “I’m not leaving until I talk to Sam.”
Her jaw clenches. “You don’t get a say in this. I’ll take you to town. Will can drive you to Sheridan from there. After that, I don’t give a shit what you do.”
I open my mouth. But no words come. Because I can feel everything breaking. And this time? I don’t know if I can fix it. But I have to try.
“Phern, I swear I’m not doing a story on Sam.”
Her laugh is hollow. “How perfect for you that you have the inside scoop that he’s recording a new album. I’m sure that will make a lovely headline.”
“I—”
“Get your shit and get out of my house.”
My heart feels like it’s fracturing into a million jagged pieces, sharp and splintered and impossible to hold together. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can only stand there, drowning in disbelief.
“Go!” Phern screams. “Before I call the police!”
That breaks me.
Tears spill hot down my cheeks as I stumble from the living room toward our bedroom— his bedroom. My chest heaves as I reach the doorway and stop, eyes sweeping over the space that was feeling like safety .
But nothing in here is mine.
Not the boots by the door. Not the shirt I slept in. Not even the drawers he cleared for me. This isn’t my room. It never was.
A sob escapes, sharp and raw, and I press a trembling hand over my mouth. I turn and leave it all behind. The clothes, the memories, the feeling of belonging that now feels like a lie.
Back in the living room, Phern’s standing rigid by the door, arms folded like she’s afraid letting them drop might soften her.
“I’m ready,” I manage, voice barely above a whisper.
She says nothing.
We walk outside, the silence between us louder than any argument. The cold bites at my skin as we climb into her car. The engine starts, but the heat never reaches me.
Every time I try to speak, she cuts me off with a glare that says I’m not worth the effort.
So I stop trying.
The road curves through the familiar snow-lined path to town, but nothing looks the same. Because everything’s changed.
We come to a slow stop on Main Street. The lights from Knot and Spur glow warm and golden in the early morning haze, but I feel frozen to my core.
Phern doesn’t put the car in park. She just idles the engine.
“Will’s meeting you at Knot and Spur,” she says flatly.
“Phern…” My voice cracks. “Please. You have to believe me. I’m not doing a story on Sam. You’re making a mistake.”
She stares straight ahead, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“I’ll tell Sam you changed your mind. Make it easier for him to hate you when your story comes out.” Then, with a voice as cold as the Wyoming wind, she says, “Goodbye, Charlotte.”
That’s it. That’s the final nail. I open the door with shaking hands and step into the street. Phern drives away before the door is even shut all the way.
And just like that, I’m alone again.