Chapter 8 #2
The view out my window Sunday morning is grey and cold-looking. I’m so anxious to have my car back, so I can, at least, range a little further than my legs will carry me. I haven’t spoken to Cash in a few days, but I know he’s busy with the ranch. I decide to send him a text anyway, just to say hi.
I hope it’s not too cold wherever the ranch is. It’s awfully grey in town.
I include a selfie of me sitting up in bed, hair in messy waves in a giant sleepshirt with a band logo on it.
Climbing out of bed to get ready for another day of boredom, I pull on a comfy sweater in bright pink with ‘Crystal Coast’ written on it.
I got it a few years ago, before things with Roger got bad.
It makes me think of my carefree self, when I thought bad things only happened to bad people.
Sliding on black leggings, pink crew socks bunched at my ankles, and tennis shoes, I feel ready for the day.
I guess the pink theory is real. For the first time in years, I want to wear pink again.
My phone dings in my room while I brush my teeth.
Grumpy Not-Cowboy
Hey, I have to run down to Roundup to pick up some supplies. I figure you might be going stir crazy by now. Wanna ride along?
Surprised it’s Duke and not Cash, but over-the-moon excited to go anywhere and do anything outside the four-block radius I’m stuck in, I answer immediately.
Yes, please.
Grumpy Not-Cowboy:
I’ll be there in 15.
One thing I can count on with Duke—succinctness. My phone vibrates in my hand again. This time I see Cowboy Cash flash across the screen.
Cowboy Cash:
Wow. And I thought the view out here was a good way to wake up.
His attached selfie is him, cowboy hat pulled low, long sleeve work shirt tight across his chest, sitting on the back of Daisy. One hand holding the reins and his strong thighs gripping the saddle. I think I lose my train of thought momentarily.
I tap my chin, formulating the perfect response.
Funny how one picture can make a girl want to go for a ride.
I grab my bag and head into the hallway to meet Duke. It takes Cash a few minutes to respond.
Cowboy Cash
You’re going to be the reason I fall off this horse, woman.
Be careful, we need you in one piece, Cowboy.
Cowboy Cash
I’ll take you riding darlin’, just gotta figure out which kind you mean.
I send him a smiley face; I have to keep the mystery. I rush down the stairs and out the front door just in time to see a big black old square body Chevy pull up to the curb. Beautifully restored, it looks brand new.
“Good morning, Grumpy Not-Cowboy. That’s what I saved you in my phone as. In case you were wondering.” I see just the slightest twitch of his cheek and a thrill of victory thrums through me. Drumming his fingers along to the radio, his posture is relaxed.
“Good morning, Caroline. I put you in as Caroline.”
I burst out laughing at his response as he shifts into first gear, pulling into the street.
Bad Moon Rising flows from the speakers, and Duke keeps time with the drum beat as he shifts gears.
We ride with the radio for company for a while until we are cruising through back roads with nothing around.
Duke is settled comfortably in his seat, arm resting on the open window, lightly holding the wheel, the other resting on the shifter.
There’s something so incredibly sexy about a man and a manual transmission.
The song on the radio changes to Fat Bottomed Girls, which reignites the finger drumming and a cute half-smile shows on Duke’s face.
He looks over at me like he just remembered I’m there and sees me staring back. He gives me a long, lazy once-over.
“You know, when I invited you to come along, I didn’t realize I was bringing a bubblegum ball,” he says, lifting his eyebrow.
Smiling, showing as many teeth as I can manage, I tell him, “I’m just a girl, Grumpy.”
I can see his shoulders shaking with a restrained laugh, his mouth tight like he’s trying not to enjoy himself and it makes me crack up.
“Mmhmm. Bored in my small town yet?” he asks me inquisitively.
“A little. I’ll have my car back on Monday. Thanks for calling Mick, by the way.” I’m genuinely grateful and hope he can hear it in my voice. “He was really great, and Kayla took care of me with the tires and an oil change.”
“Good. I’ve known Kayla since she was a kid. Her wife works as a part-time bartender at the bar.”
“Sadie? She mentioned her.”
“That’s her.” We lapse back into quiet, the wind and the radio noisy enough for both of us.
We spend the remaining drive enjoying the fields and animals we pass.
I point out every single one I see in a chorus of ‘cows,’ ‘sheep,’ ‘ooh a donkey,’ ‘horsies!’ and anything else I see, much to Duke’s chagrin.
He tells me random facts, things like “that’s the wildlife preserve, they have wolves” and “this is where I wrecked my first car, an old Chevy Nova.”
For a man who doesn’t say much, he makes the time together easy, safe.
I consider, not for the first time, not only the obvious differences between the two men I have discovered this last week, but I think I may have a crush on them both. I’m unsure what to do with this information.