Chapter 32
Layla:
Sage Maloney. I swear to God, if you don’t answer your mother’s texts… that woman is about to get on a plane to Montana this evening.
She keeps messaging me, and there are only so many times I can cover your ass by telling her you are “busy working” without sounding like you have actually been abducted by those aliens you love so much.
I wince at the sight of Layla’s messages arriving. I’ve very much been guilty of avoiding my mom’s phone calls and texts. But considering the circumstances, I am genuinely busy with client work… I just have a cowboy-shaped distraction filling my evenings to now plan accordingly for.
Beau Heartford proves to be an extremely powerful form of motivation to work my ass off in order to be finished by the time he comes back in from his day around the ranch.
I’m sorry. I’ll call her tomorrow.
Promise.
I’m busy rifling through Beau’s drawers to look for one of his t-shirts to steal for after I get out of the shower, when I see the next flurry of messages arrive.
Ok.
That’s it.
Are you really gonna make me haul ass all the way down this mountain to get the truth out of you?
I’m a patient woman. But enough is enough.
Who are you knocking boots with, and why have I had to wait since the night at the Hog to be dished any details?
I swear to god, my stomach hits the floor as I jump out of my skin. Spinning around, I’ve already leaped to the assumption that Layla is standing right behind me.
My cheeks flame as I feel like I’ve been caught red-handed—quite literally, with my hand in the cookie jar. Except the only cookie involved is mine, and this kind of jar comes with a magical piercing capable of having me scream my cowboy’s name.
Fuck, I hate that I’m continuing to lie to not only my best friend, but my family, too.
Sadly, no one.
I’m sorry, I genuinely am just snowed under with these contracts.
You know me. Ever the perfectionist and full-time workaholic.
Besides, I’ve landed a gig with the big boss dog rodeo circuit.
I haven’t had a chance to fill you in, but I’ll dish up all the juicy details when you’re down here next.
Shut up. That’s incredible.
I’m so proud of you, Sarge.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I watch as Layla’s sweet words of congratulations continue to roll in. She drops any continued line of interrogation and instead simply shows up for me as a supportive best friend.
As I exhale heavily, a quiet sense of dread is already sitting heavy in my stomach in anticipation of the next time I will see my friends. Because it will most likely be in the presence of the man I need to pretend to have about as much interest in as a horseshoe.
I swipe a t-shirt and close the drawer with my hip. As I bump it closed, the whole thing rocks by accident, and I hear a clatter on the top. Shit. A box pushed away at the back topples onto its side, and the wooden top flips open.
In that moment, all those prickly feelings of guilt roar into a bonfire, with my morals and tattered boundaries providing the fuel for the flames.
Coming face to face with Beau’s wedding ring was the last thing I expected, and yet, of course, he keeps it somewhere. Even if he never wears it normally, he does when out in public, like the night at The Loaded Hog, before he took it off.
Now, I know where it lives. Hidden away, shoved out of sight, in this nondescript wooden box on top of a tall dresser in his walk-in.
As I stand there clutching the soft fabric of his shirt, my brain flies to a memory of the last time we stood in here together. I was almost on this exact spot, as we were getting ready to spend an evening soaking in the bath.
Beau leans forward, bending to kiss my collarbone, and my fingers drift up to weave through his hair in the way I’m entirely addicted to. With his mustache scratching my skin, he lets out a long breath.
“Don’t remind me, I need to get a haircut sometime soon.”
“ I like this wild boy look on you.” I pout. He suits it, and compared to old photos I’ve seen of him during his pro years when his hair was trimmed much shorter, this more rugged, tousled mess seems to be much more his speed.
“I hate having to sit through small talk. Invariably, it turns into a circus if people start wanting to get chatty and ask for photos.” He straightens up and drags his fingers through his curls, immediately making him look more disheveled and so sexy I could melt.
“Well, aren’t you lucky I learned to save money by doing my own hair. Have you got some scissors and a comb?”
Beau rummages in one of the cupboards and pulls out both items. I take his hand, dragging his grumbling ass behind me into the bathroom, and prod at him to sit on a stool in front of the mirror.
“Welcome to Sage’s Styles and Snips. Let’s get you trimmed up today, sir.” I pretend to flick a cape around his chest, then look at him in the mirror and squeak. “Oh my god, look, it’s Beau Heartford.” Letting one hand fly up to my mouth, I start fanning myself with the other. “Can I sit on your lap and get you to sign my titties?”
He shakes his head, but can’t catch the tug at the corner of his lips before his smile gives him away, and I laughingly nudge him to ditch the shirt. Once he’s all bare-chested and, of course, utterly gorgeous, I set about combing through his strands. We figure out how much he wants to trim off. It’s hardly anything, which makes me immensely happy.
After we’ve stayed in comfortable silence for a while, with only the snips of the scissors and rake of the comb through his hair echoing around the tiled bathroom, I float an idea.
“We should throw a thank you for everyone who’s been involved with helping get the ranch off the ground. I’ve been thinking of an event that could double as a solid PR exercise, and I think that’s the perfect late-summer marketing for this place. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, but it’ll allow the word to spread.”
“You know these things much better than I do.” Beau looks at me as I fuss with his hair.
God, I love having his eyes on me far too much.
“It’ll be super cute. Like one of those movie moments. I can just see it… music, good food, pretty lights, a bonfire… we’ll get her looking amazing. This ranch deserves a grand gesture.”
“A grand gesture?”
“Yes. She’s a star in her own right. Giving her a party, a proper one. That’s what she deserves—along with finally settling on a name, by the way.”
Beau grunts. “Yeah. I’m working on it.”
“No, you aren’t. You’re too busy playing with horses and cows all day long. Let me help you. We can brainstorm over dinner tomorrow.”
“Sure.” He studies me in the mirror for a moment. Those blue-gray eyes track my fingers sifting through his hair. “Didn’t pick you as one for the sappy, romantic movies. What with all that ET conspiracy stuff you fixate on.”
“I’m a sucker for a grand gesture. You know the scene in the movie where the girl thinks it’s all over, that she’s down for the count… and then…”
“ And then what?”
“ It’s silly. It’s not one thing in particular… but it’s that energy of the moment, you know? The romance of it all. The willingness to lay yourself bare for someone, to leave it all out on the field and risk it all. That’s the high stakes of one character offering up their heart to another. You know it’s pure romance when it sends chills down your spine and makes your stomach flip.”
“ Sounds more like you’re describing a horror movie.”
“ Shut up. Of course, you would think that, Mr. Virgo. But some of us are romantics at heart. The best movies have the grand gestures. That’s what I want for my life. I’m not going to be the girl who settles for mediocre.”
“ No. No, you’re not, Sage.”
Recalling the way he said those words. So low and steady, brings a cold dose of reality to slosh over me like a bucket of trough water. I said it myself, no settling for second place or mediocre.
Do husbands ever leave their wives? They always say they’re going to, but do they ever actually go through with it. What guarantee do I have that everything is going to be wrapped up in a neat little bow, supposedly, by the time fall comes around?
Occasionally, my mind wanders off, daydreaming a little too freely. I drift to a place where my brain convinces me that things might be able to happen, that the two of us might find a way to make things work. Except in every one of those cute little rose-tinted scenarios, the question always rears its head… would I settle for a man, or would I keep needing to roam freely?
Does my guarded, hardened heart dare stop to consider opening up fully to someone else the way Beau has tempted me to?
And ultimately, when I’ve circled back around to the realms of practicality and doing the next best thing for my business and career—what does life look like once I’ve left Beau Heartford behind?