Chapter 12
TILLY
“How is the trailer? Should I come help you unpack? I could bring food. I’ve got banana bread in the oven right now,” Mom rambles on the phone.
I take one of my toiletry bags out of my suitcase and toss it onto the bed while a pair of heels fall to the floor.
They hit a pair of boots and some dirt-stained sneakers.
It’s hot in the trailer, and my shirt is sticking to my damp back.
Even with the windows open, the heat is trapped, confirming that I’m going to have to learn to deal with it for the foreseeable future.
“Unpacking a suitcase isn’t really a two-person job, Mom.”
“Okay, well, at least let me bring you some food. The fridge is empty, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s settled, then.”
I don’t bother fighting her on it. With my sudden absence in the bedroom I had just started making mine again, she’s on edge. I should still be there, and I would be if Ash hadn’t intervened. Now, I’m the one dealing with Mom’s sadness. It’s the only emotion I seem to bring out of her these days.
“You can’t just drive up like you would somewhere else. You’ll have to ask someone for directions,” I warn, unfolding a sweatshirt and draping it over the others on the bed.
“That’s fine. I’ll ask a handsome cowboy for help.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I don’t remember them being all that good-looking last time I was here.”
She balks into the line. “That’s because you weren’t paying much attention to them.”
“Whatever. You can come gawk at them all you want, but don’t be surprised when you get the ick. They reek like cigarettes and sweaty balls.”
I can imagine her rolling her eyes, trying not to tell me off for being judgmental. “Alright, sweetie. I’ll be on my way as soon as I’m finished up here.”
“Drive safe.”
Hanging up, I take a deep inhale. The phone falls to the mattress, bouncing out of sight as I continue pulling my clothes out, wasting away the minutes.
Everything I brought with me is thin, made for hot weather in mind.
I sold all of my winter jackets and boots after the snow melted, not wanting to have to pay to check another two suitcases for my flight here.
The divorce cost me enough without adding unnecessarily expensive baggage to it.
This job isn’t going to fill my wallet to the point of bulging, but it’s all I’ve got, and I’m not about to start freeloading off my parents.
Regardless of how many times they tell me to do just that, it’s not me. I won’t let it be.
Hopefully, I’ll have figured my shit out by winter. It’s colder here than out East, and I’m not about to risk hypothermia to prove shit to myself. The people on this ranch wouldn’t ever let me live it down if I turned blue on a saddle.
Rowe wouldn’t.
My temperature heats at the thought of him. Not in the sexy way. It’s more of a simmering fire that’s been trapped for years, waiting for a fresh burst of oxygen. Being so close to him again has messed with me.
He should have gotten ugly. I wanted desperately for him to have shrunk in size and been attacked with pube-like facial hair.
Anything but what actually happened. It’s a cruel joke to have him be as good-looking as he is.
Not only is he at least triple the size he used to be, but he’s ten times as handsome.
With the facial structure of a man and eyes that have a tint of blue in the grey now, he’s dangerous in every definition of the term.
One glance at him and I should have turned the other way and got the hell out of this province.
I was so sure that my teenage fascination with him died when I moved and married Ethan, but one damn day here, and I’m contemplating if I had only buried it just deep enough not to feel. It’s unfair and fucking ridiculous.
I don’t want anything to do with Rowe anymore.
My head understands that, but there’s a disconnect somewhere that has me contemplating slipping out of this trailer right now to hunt him down.
I’ve got too many questions for him. After all these years, my curiosity is getting the better of me, and I’m working overtime to try and ignore it the way I once succeeded at.
Abandoning my suitcase on the single bed, I leave the tiny bedroom.
The rest of the trailer is one open space, with a kitchenette, a round table with two chairs against the window, and a living space just big enough for a loveseat and rocking chair in the corner.
There’s no TV or blinds on the windows. Just a bare console table and sheer curtains flapping in the summer breeze.
I wasn’t expecting a lot from this place.
These trailers weren’t built for comfort, just livability.
The people who stay in them don’t have a lot of time for TV dramas and relaxing.
Days are long on a ranch like this. You wake up before the sun rises and head to bed long after it’s set. That’s just the way it is.
While I’ve been away from this one for over a decade now, I haven’t avoided ranches in their entirety. Back East, I made a name for myself doing what I love. Sure, I didn’t have a permanent trailer parked on someone’s endless land, but I was content going from place to place.
This is already so different from that. I may as well be branded with a PS.
The fridge is of the mini variety and, until I got here, had been turned off entirely. When I crack open the door and stick my hand inside, I find it still warm. I kick it shut with my toes and spin, blowing the hair out of my face that’s slipped from my braid.
Ten minutes later, the groan of a diesel engine comes in through the open windows. I drag my feet to the one in the kitchen and bring my face close to the screen. There’s a black truck parking in front of my trailer, four big tires crunching over the low-cut grass.
My mom’s face is pressed to the window mere seconds before the door is opening. The driver of the truck is quick to hop out and round the hood. He’s young, early twenties, maybe, with a bashful smile and a pep in his step that hasn’t been stubbed out yet.
The hat on his head is slightly too big, drooping a bit in the front when he reaches my mom and says something to her that has her eyes rolling.
He shuts her door and walks beside her up to the trailer.
I abandon my post at the window and go to the front door, giving it a pull at the same time the cowboy reaches for the handle.
“Woah,” he says, that wide grin not dropping an inch. “Tilly, I presume?”
I lean to the side to look at my mom. She’s choking on a laugh, hesitating a step behind this guy. Blinking once, I look back at the cowboy, fingers twisting around the doorknob.
“Who are you?”
“Tanner,” he answers quickly, reaching for his hat and lowering it to his chest. “It’s nice to meet you, gorgeous.”
The mop of auburn hair on his head would almost be endearing if he weren’t suddenly smirking, like he knows the punchline to a joke that he hasn’t shared with anyone yet.
I cock my head, sweeping my eyes up his body.
He’s taller than me by a few inches, but his boots help with that.
His shirt is tucked inside of his jeans, but it isn’t the same kind that Rowe wears.
This guy is new here, or new enough not to be wearing the Painted Sky–branded apparel that most of the other guys do. Who knows, maybe he just refuses to wear what everyone else does and opted for a dirty white tee instead. It doesn’t matter to me which it is.
“Stop looking at me like that, Tanner. You’re blocking the way for my mom to get inside,” I say, keeping my tone level instead of more . . . mean.
His smirk drops when he stumbles to the side, making room for Mom to pass. She pats him on the arm a few times before joining me in the doorway. Her voice hits me a beat later, quietly.
“Be nice to him. He brought me here, after all.”
Once she’s inside, I huff a breath and force a small smile at Tanner. “Thank you for driving her up.”
“You’re welcome. Do you want me to swing back and pick her up in a few hours?” he asks, almost cautiously.
A quick learner.
“No, I’ll bring her back myself.”
I can tell he’s confused, but I don’t waste my time explaining to him that I’ve got a horse tied up on the other side of the trailer. It’s not like I’ve got hay or a water bucket to keep it here with me tonight. She’ll have to be brought back eventually.
He nods after a minute, letting it go. His hat goes back onto his head as he moves away from the door. “You’re all good, then?”
“Yes, Tanner. I’m just fine. You can go back to work.”
“Right. Alright. You have a good day, then. If you need anything else—”
I give his shoulder a brief shove, giving his movements momentum. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, great. See you, then.”
Waving my fingers, I watch him pick up the pace. He spins at the last minute and nearly clocks himself with the side of the truck. I watch him until he disappears inside of it and starts the engine back up.
“Your father tried telling me not to worry about you here, but I think I needed to see you just now to convince myself,” Mom says, her voice cutting through the trailer.
I let the screen door slam shut and turn to her, snorting. “You forgot how deep my hatred of men runs?”
“No. More like your ability to tell one off. You’ve never cared much about upsetting a man.”
“That wasn’t even me telling him off. He was nice.”
“Just unwanted?” she asks, smiling as she wanders into the kitchen and sets a reusable bag onto the counter. “He offered to drive me up. I didn’t even have to ask.”
I join her, trying to look into the bag. “So he had manners. Good for him. I doubt Jed Carrigan keeps men on his payroll that don’t have them. He likes being the only asshole on the ranch.”
And I’m sure his son is giving him a run for his money.
“You’re going to make them hesitate to offer you any help if you ever find yourself in need of it,” she advises.
“Well then, it’s a good thing I don’t plan on getting into a position like that.”
Mom hums lowly and unpacks the food she’s brought.
Soon, the counter is full of items I didn’t ask her to bring.
There’s cling-wrapped banana bread, a bag of ambrosia apples, a giant jug of chocolate milk that I doubt will fit in the fridge, and a multi-pack of condiments. I arch a brow at everything.
“You should have asked how full my fridge was before bringing all of this,” I say, letting my voice soften.
“Don’t doubt my organizing abilities, my sweet girl.”
I step back and make room for her in front of the fridge. “Alright. Have at it, then.”
“Cut us a couple slices of bread while I get to work. I’ve got a square of butter in the bag.”
“There’s no microwave to warm it up,” I state while unwrapping the bread.
The square of butter is thick, and my chest constricts. It feels like she remembers everything about me still, and I don’t know what to do with that. I’ve always slathered everything in butter. Even when my dad would warn me that my arteries would be plugged with it by the time I turned thirty.
I search the drawers for a knife and grab the first one I find. It’s dull enough that I have to saw through the soft bread before setting both slices on the cling wrap.
“You don’t have plates?” she asks, glancing up from her place on the floor. The fridge is open, and she’s scowling at the temperature settings. “Maybe I’ll get your dad to pick up a new fridge and bring it over.”
I swallow the sudden emotion in my throat and shake my head, abandoning the knife on the chipped countertop.
“You’re not getting me anything else. The fridge is fine.
It’s just old and hasn’t been running in who knows how long.
We’ll give it an hour, and if it doesn’t cool by then, I’ll buy a new one myself. ”
Mom sighs, her gaze lingering on my face as I take the slab of butter and rub it across the bread. It’s hard enough that it crumbles more than spreads, and I ignore the annoyance that sparks in me.
“You’ve been gone for too long.”
I turn my head to stare at her despite telling myself not to. “What does that have to do with this?”
“You’ve forgotten what it’s like to have your parents in your life,” she states, her eyes refusing to look away from me. “I’ve been too far away to offer you much help over the last few years, but you’re not across the country anymore, Tilly. You need to learn how to accept it again.”
“I’m not a teenager anymore. Maybe I just don’t want to have to rely on anyone for anything. I’m a grown woman now.”
“And there’s a rule about grown women not ever accepting things from people? Because if there is, I must have missed that life lesson.”
Abandoning the bread, I twist and jam my knee into the cabinet beside me. Mom looks too at ease right now. Despite what feels a lot like an argument transpiring between us, she finally looks away and continues organizing the fridge. Her expression is cool, calm.
I tap my fingers to the countertop and stare at her now. “You’re too relaxed about this. We’re arguing.”
“Do you think you’re the only one who’s grown as a person while you’ve been gone? This isn’t an argument. It’s a healthy discussion between a mother and daughter.”
My features tug inward. “Have you been going to therapy or something?”
“You’re making it sound like I was some raging mother when you were growing up,” she teases.
“That’s not . . . I don’t mean it like that. You just seem different.”
“Yes, Tilly, you’re not the only one who’s found therapy helpful. I’ve gone quite a few times over the years. I had some things I needed to get under control, and talking with someone about them has helped me quite a bit.”
I grow tense, already knowing the answer to the question I ask. “What things?”
She hesitates, pausing her fridge stocking. I can see her immediate answer flicker through her eyes before disappearing. She chews on another one, avoiding my eyes while she thinks. I’m still building up my defenses in preparation for her reply when she answers.
“I wasn’t expecting to only see my daughter twice in ten years. It was your father’s idea for me to see someone. We’ve gone together a few times too.”
My throat squeezes too tightly for me to speak, so I don’t. I busy myself with searching for two plates that I know don’t exist instead, and she doesn’t press the subject again. I’m grateful for that.
At least with this left untouched, it’s easier to pretend that I didn’t leave a trail of pain behind me when I left. Or that now I’m having to repair it before getting to where I want to be. For a bit longer, I can pretend everything is fine.
Lucky me.