Chapter 9 Claire
Claire
Summer Isn’t the Only Thing Heating Up in Wild Creek
Last night’s fundraiser to restore the town park may have been for the children, but the real show was strictly adults-only. Our local former rodeo queen, Claire Hayes, found herself in the arms of none other than Beau McLeod, our handsome Circle M cowboy—and her rival.
Yes, the same Claire and Beau whose families have been known for screaming matches over their fence line for the last fifty years.
One can’t help but wonder, could Wild Creek’s top ranching families finally merge once and for all?
The pair sure looked pretty close to it last night, if you know what I mean.
I don’t make wagers, but if I did? I’d bet the park isn’t the only thing getting a full restoration this summer.
Like always, if it’s worth whispering, it’s worth writing down.
- WCW
I let out a sound of disgust and tossed the newspaper on the rolling tray next to Mama’s bed. The nurse had slipped it under the serving tray when she brought in Mama’s lunch, looking all coy.
I first saw it the morning after the fundraiser two days ago. Even though I had told Beau it would be there, seeing it written in black ink for all to see made it all the more real.
We danced. We nearly kissed. It wasn’t in my imagination. It had actually happened. And I was an idiot for allowing it.
It had been all I could think about all weekend. Even now, when I should’ve been focusing on Mama, who got admitted to the hospital this morning for low oxygen levels, my mind kept drifting to the way he held me. The low rumble of his voice when he told me I looked beautiful.
“You gotta admit, whoever’s behind that is a damn good writer,” Delilah said next to me, eyeing the paper. “Makes Wild Creek seem way more scandalous than it is.”
“It’s childish,” I mumbled. “But it doesn’t matter, we need to focus.”
Since Mama was in the hospital, I was forced to send Delilah in my place to the Cavendish presentation this afternoon.
She offered to stay here with her, but I knew my mother wouldn’t want to wake up and see anyone other than me; she didn’t like people knowing just how sick she was. Even her other children.
Delilah had officially joined me as my partner in the proposal.
Not that I had given her much of a choice after my Hail Mary pitch to use her.
But just like Gran had said, she wasn’t upset at all when I had told her about it last week.
She was thrilled to have a reason to go against a McLeod again—especially something that went beyond the pranks we pulled as kids.
“Have you heard from him?” Delilah murmured while looking at reports on PTSD and the benefits of equine therapy.
“Of course not.” And I wasn’t sure if I was more relieved or hurt by it. I fiddled with the pen in my hand, chewing on my lip. “Don’t imagine he has my number,” I added, quieter than before.
She pursed her lips, reading me like she read everyone. “Want me to give it to him today? Anna isn’t the only one who can play matchmaker.”
The thought of putting myself out there like that felt humiliating. I knew when I wasn’t wanted. “Absolutely not.” If Beau wanted it, he could’ve walked the fifty yards to my house and asked me for it himself. He clearly wasn’t interested, and I had more pride than to force it.
“Suit yourself,” Delilah said, getting back to work, but my mind wandered.
Radiant. He said I was radiant. He said he had been looking all night. He said I was all he could focus on. I wrenched my jaw, sighing. Leave it to Beau McLeod to be all talk. To play the mind games he said he didn’t need.
But it hadn’t felt like he was blowing smoke then. Not with the way he held me or the way he looked at me. Not with how mad he was when Colt interrupted with a call or how disappointed he looked when I bolted like a coward.
I found out what that phone call was about the next morning when I got the same one.
That disgusting kiss-ass Preston Hollis thinking that I, a sixth-generation rancher, would sell out to his money-hoarding family was borderline hysterical.
I had told him where he could shove it, hung up on him, and then spent the rest of the day randomly giggling to myself about it.
Emmett thought I was having some kind of meltdown.
I forced myself to focus and started going over the pitch with Delilah before she had to leave. We had completely pivoted in the last week, redoing the entire proposal to align with the equine therapy center idea and spinning it as a focused satellite location, like Oliver said.
We’d have lodging for the veterans and any interested civilians, Delilah as a therapist on site for focus groups, and, of course, the horses. The more I had thought about the concept over the last week, the more frustrated I got that I hadn’t come up with the idea sooner—it was genius.
A couple of hours later, Delilah left for the presentation.
She was dressed to kill in a trendy pantsuit and asked me at least ten times if I was sure I wanted her to go in my place.
She even went as far as offering to swap clothes so I could go.
Funny how she thought I wouldn’t snap my ankles in the heels she had on.
But if she was going to be my partner, my true partner, then I had to learn to trust her.
To let go of the reins from time to time.
Even if that went against every instinct I had.
Mama sent me home, knowing there was work to be done at the ranch, and I’d only been back maybe an hour or two when the peaceful quiet of the day was shattered by Hurricane Delilah tearing through my property.
I knew it had gone bad when her Jeep skidded to a stop along the dirt of my driveway, the windows rattling with Joan Jett.
I knew it had gone terribly when she hopped out with a Pixy Stick hanging out of her mouth—a replacement for a cigarette.
Delilah had only ever smoked when she was wasted or livid, but stopped cold turkey when my mom got her diagnosis and swapped it for artificially flavored sugar.
My heart flew to my throat, and I sprang to my feet, racing over to her. Ripping the paper tube of sugar out of her mouth, I asked, “What happened?”
“Every bad thing that could’ve happened, fucking happened.
” She pulled another stick out of her bra, ripped it open, and dumped blue powder in her mouth.
“First, I got lost. Then, the wifi went out. Then, after we spent fifteen minutes on that, the projector froze. Then, they told me I only had twenty minutes instead of forty-five because they had another presentation after me. By that point, I was frazzled, and you know how I get when that happens.”
I took a step back, dread weighing me down like lead. “What did you say?” Delilah was unpredictable, so there was no telling what happened.
She looked out to the pasture where the horses were grazing.
“Well, I met Richard Cavendish, the owner, and that was going okay until I called him Captain because he was wearing Sperrys, trying to crack a joke. He didn’t find it that amusing.
At all.” She looked at me then with the kind of strung-out, feral look that comes with a sugar high.
“Who the fuck wears boat shoes to a business meeting about training horses? Dude is weird.”
Another Pixy Stick down the hatch. Just like my dreams. But I guess it could have been worse. I could have gotten a call from Colt to pick her up from the police station. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
Her blue tongue darted out, wetting her lips, and she let out a heavy breath.
“I’m so sorry, bear. I really tried. I told them all the facts as fast as I could, but I’m pretty sure I mixed some stuff up and probably bombed it.
” Her eyes drifted shut in defeat, head lowered to the ground.
“I knew you should’ve gone instead of me. ”
Swallowing back a scream, I ran a hand down her arm, squeezing her hand. No matter how upset I was, it still hurt to see her so distraught over this. “It’s okay. We’ll figure something out.” I reached inside her shirt and grabbed the wad of Pixy Sticks. “Now stop this before your teeth fall out.”
She cracked a smile then—that was blue—and met my gaze. “You don’t hate me?” She was as close to looking like a battered puppy as I'd ever seen her in the twenty-plus years we’d been friends. It told me how much this meant to her, and that meant more to me than a bombed presentation ever would.
I scoffed. “Of course, I don’t hate you. Are you crazy?”
“At least fifteen different people have said so. Including you. More than once.”
I rolled my eyes, smiling, and wrapped her in a quick hug. “I don’t hate you, Delilah. Now go home before the sugar crash hits.”
She nodded solemnly and went back to her car. “Yeah, yeah, I’m outta here. I’ll call to check in later.”
We waved bye, and as she was pulling out, someone else was pulling in. A dark gray F-450 with a rumbling engine and an M with a circle around it on the door.
A long, steadying breath left me, and I placed my hands on my hips. Here we go.
Beau slid out of the truck dressed in a suit.
Or at least what was left of one. A white button-down shirt, black slacks, his hat, and polished boots.
It was criminal how his forearms looked with the sleeves rolled up.
And I didn’t even want to think about the tease of tan flesh of his chest from the first two buttons he had undone.
My dumbass heart skipped a beat at the sight.
Suddenly, the anger I felt because he hadn’t spoken to me since the fundraiser hit like a slap to the face. I crossed my arms over my chest and forced myself to sound as uninterested as possible. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t tell me you took that deal, Claire.” He stormed up to me like a bat out of hell, stopping so close, I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
I blinked. My brows pinched together so hard it almost hurt. “What deal? From Hollis?”
“Yeah. From Hollis.”