Chapter 6
Lauren
Does that mean you’re mine? The question keeps bouncing around inside my head. I shouldn’t have asked him that. I shouldn’t have liked it when he nodded and gruffly stood from the stool and stomped across the kitchen and started cleaning the sink.
Now, I’m standing on the front porch of Bronco’s place and watching the reporter’s car pull up the long driveway. Reed Samson.
I spent this morning researching him. By researching him, I mean I looked over his employment profile online and read the last six months of articles he’s published.
He’s a good reporter with a keen eye for detail, but it’s also pretty obvious that he doesn’t enjoy stories that he doesn’t find hard-hitting.
He can be a bit harsh with those. Agreeing to this interview may have been a horrible idea.
As if he’s reading my mind, Bronco says quietly, “Don’t worry.”
He’s sitting on a rocking chair on his front porch. He’s whittling wood and looking as relaxed as if it’s just another day here, as if the whole future doesn’t hinge on this single interview.
What if I say something stupid? What if I botch it by doing something embarrassing?
“You’ll be fine,” Bronco says as if he’s reading my thoughts. He always seems to have that ability. If it were anyone else, I would find it annoying, but from him it’s just oddly comforting.
Reed gets out of his car. I notice instantly that it doesn’t fit in with the other vehicles around here. For one, it’s too shiny and new, too clean. The vehicles on the ranch are all covered in a fine layer of pollen and mud, driven by men who aren’t afraid to get dirty and stay dirty.
Reed joins us on the front porch in just a few quick strides. Like Bronco, he has a full, thick, bushy beard. He’s even wearing cowboy boots and blue jeans. But there are too many giveaways that he’s not a true country boy.
His hands are soft when he reaches to shake mine. His eyebrows are perfectly groomed, and he reeks of overpowering cologne to the point it’s almost migraine-inducing. It strikes me then that he’s a faux cowboy. Maybe that’s why he took this assignment.
I give him my best smile, suddenly aware that Bronco is closer to me.
He’s moved from the rocking chair. He’s now standing behind me, his big body crowding my space.
He’s protecting my back, as if we have something to fear from this city slicker playing dress-up.
Even though this wannabe isn’t a threat, there’s still no one I’d rather have my back than Bronco.
Reed takes my hand and mutters some pleasantries, but I can’t concentrate with Bronco so close to me. It’s always this way. It’s hard to focus on anything when I have this sexy cowboy beside me.
He holds my hand for a bit too long, but then his gaze drifts to Bronco, and he pales slightly. He drops my hand quickly and swallows.
Bronco holds out his hand in introduction and welcomes Reed to the Valor Ranch, although his tone doesn’t sound all that welcoming. He sounds a little bit menacing, a note in his voice I’ve never quite heard before.
“Are you ready for your tour?” I beam at Reed, doing my best to be a gracious host.
“Yep,” Bronco says. “We can’t wait to show you around.”
As soon as he says the words, I frown. The deal was that I would show Reed around the farm, but it’s obvious that Bronco has changed the plan. But I’m not upset. There’s no one who knows more about this farm, or who could better sell it, than Bronco.
The moment we’re in the barn, Cord and Flint show up.
It’s not long before Flint has started joking and putting everyone at ease.
From there, the rest of the morning just flows.
The guys introduce Reed to the animals, answering all of his ranching questions, and even tell him he can come back next week for a horse ride.
When he’s gone, I turn to the three men and breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you! You guys were wonderful, really. Especially you, Flint.”
“Happy to help.” He gives me a nod before he and Cord move to the south pasture where they mentioned they have fences to mend. The picturesque farm scenes in paintings never show the sheer amount of work that goes into keeping a place like this running.
“You gave them too much credit,” Bronco grumps. “You’re the one who kept charming him.”
I wave my hand, brushing away the words that make me feel warm inside. There’s something about a compliment from Bronco. It’s almost as good as chocolate. It definitely makes me just as happy. “I have to get back to the center. Thanks again for going along with this crazy idea.”
I want to reach for him. I want to kiss him on the cheek again or rather, the face. I’d also like to kiss him all over. But that would make this situation even more awkward so like the coward I am, I turn to my car and make a quick getaway.
Thankfully, the retirement community was quiet while I was gone, so it’s easy to catch up on all of the messages and help requests from the residents. It’s mid-afternoon by the time I knock on Aunt Elaine’s office door.
The doorplate isn’t like the standard brass ones featured in other offices. No, this one is hand-painted with lemon trees on it. The cheerful design always makes me smile.
“Come in,” Aunt Elaine calls in her lilting voice.
The wooden floorboards creak beneath my red kitten heels as I enter the room. Most of the boards are covered with colorful rugs in whimsical designs except for one corner of the office that’s almost entirely taken up by a huge dog bed.
Her Golden Retriever, Daisy who has a nearly white muzzle and a bright pink collar, sleeps peacefully in the corner, snoring loudly as drool falls from her mouth. She’s probably dreaming of chasing squirrels again.
Elaine looks up at me grimly from her lime green office chair. She always looks grim these days, and it’s my fault. “Is everything OK?”
I settle in one of the fuchsia chairs across from her desk. For as long as I can remember, she’s always been so colorful, and today is no exception. She has a bright purple shawl wrapped around her shoulders and gold bangle bracelets halfway up her arm. “Bronco agreed to my fundraising idea.”
She reaches for the takeout cup of iced coffee with the Sprinkles logo on it then sets it back on the desk, right over the handmade coaster from my senior year art project.
I’m pretty sure this desk is older than I am, passed down between generations that were dedicated to caring for the seniors in the community. “This isn’t your fault.”
Except that it is.
“I thought I was doing a good thing,” I whisper. I’m not sure which one of us I’m trying to convince. My idea was supposed to help her not be lonely anymore. She deserves her own life, a chance to find love.
“Oh, honey,” she sighs softly the way she does when she thinks I’m misunderstanding her.
She’s been alone for almost her entire life. She inherited the Wildflower Retirement Community when her dad died, and she was just in her early twenties.
Despite her grief, she threw herself fully into caring for the senior residents of Courage County and the surrounding areas. She never once complained or acted like the job was anything less than a calling that she felt deeply passionate about.
“It’s not your fault,” she repeats again as though that should settle it in my mind.
All it does is make me feel more miserable.
Why didn’t I do more research? How did I not know about deep fakes that are so convincing they can make it look like an entirely different person is talking to you on a video call?
It’s scary to think about what the scammer could have done.
Maybe we should be grateful that all he cared about was getting access to her computer and phone to transfer the money from her accounts.
Once he had that, he completely ghosted her.
We’ve talked to the authorities, but everyone says the same thing.
The funds are nearly impossible to trace.
“It’s little wonder people aren’t honest or good anymore,” I mutter, more to myself than Elaine. She has enough on her plate. She doesn’t need me complaining.
The look she sends me is filled with motherly affection, or at least, what I imagine motherly affection would look like.
She stands from the chair and rounds her desk stacked high with paperwork.
Yes, actual paperwork like this is the nineties.
She’s never fully gotten on board with computer systems. Sure, we have them.
But not Elaine. She still does most of her work by hand.
She drops to her knees beside my chair and puts her hands on my shoulders.
“Now, you look at me. I know things are hard. There’s always been injustice in this world.
There always will be. But people like you and me?
We are joy and light. When things are dark, we shine even brighter.
This isn’t a test about what we should do.
It’s a test about who we are. And you are sunshine, beautiful golden sunshine.
Don’t let this world dim you or make you forget just how special you are. ”
I sniff, not feeling very much like sunshine right now. But even the sun has days when it has to hide behind the clouds. “I’m scared.”
“I know you are, but look at how brave you’re being. You didn’t even know if it would work, and you started this fundraiser. You’re trying, and that’s all you can ask of yourself. So, you hold this pretty head high and remember who you are.”
I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. She smells of vanilla and belonging and tired hearts that find home. “I’m going to fix this, I swear.”
“Don’t you worry about anything,” she tells me when she’s on her feet again. It’s then I notice the bag by her desk.
“Where are you going?”