By the Bootstraps (Starlight Ridge #1)

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, a great prophet proclaimed that in order to save a horse, one must ride a cowboy. I haven’t been known to heed advice easily or often, but as a lover of horses and cowboys, it’s advice I’ve decided to take seriously.

Too seriously, some might say.

“I still can’t believe you’re doing this, Luna.” Gabby’s frazzled voice fills the few empty crevices of my overstuffed car. “Maybe you should turn around.”

“The time to change my mind was approximately twelve hours ago. Though a case could be made for a month ago.” I accidentally stumbled across the small town of Celestial, Texas, during one of my many disassociation internet spirals, and it felt like fate.

My name is Luna Starr, for goodness’ sake.

Moving to a town named Celestial, selling nearly all my possessions, and buying a house sight unseen seemed like a reasonable, if not inspired, idea.

“I’m almost here. There’s no turning back now. ”

Despite being surrounded by open fields that stretch far beyond what the eye can see, my navigation is saying I’m only thirty minutes away from my new home.

The sun sits in the west of the cloudless, bright blue sky.

Its relenting rays pound against the Texas terrain, the triple-digit temperature putting my car’s air-conditioning to the test.

“You’re a pain in my ass, but fine.” Gabby snaps my attention back to her.

I can practically see her beautiful face twisting into a frown.

“I need you to understand that just because you abandoned me physically doesn’t mean you get to leave me emotionally.

I require at least two to fifteen phone calls daily, and if you ever leave my text messages on read, let it be known that I will be booking the first flight to Texas so I can scream at you in person. Got it?”

“Gabby, please be for real.” I take my eyes away from the empty road in front of me and glance at the number ticking away on my phone. “We’ve been talking for the last three hours and forty-six minutes. There’s no version of reality where I don’t call you multiple times a day, every day.”

“You say that now—” She cuts herself off, but the unspoken fear hangs heavy in the silence.

“It’s never going to happen.” The conviction in my voice drowns out the guilt I’ve been too selfish to let myself feel. “You’re my family, and unfortunately for you, that means you’re stuck with me for the long haul. Whether you like it or not.”

Family is something I’m in serious need of as of late. This is not a declaration I can afford to take lightly.

“Good.” She clears her throat, and just like she’s done for me over the last year, I pretend I don’t know she’s crying.

“As long as we’re clear on the ground rules, I guess I’ll let you finish your drive in peace.

I told Frankie I’d cover for her class tonight.

If I’m late, the Pilates moms will have my head. ”

“What are you waiting for?” A shiver runs down my spine at the thought of my best friend being the target of their ire.

Gabby is a middle school teacher by day, a Pilates teacher by night—and summer—and I still don’t know what’s more terrifying, angry teens or moms. “Go make those women sweat and shake!”

It sounds naughtier than I intended. This happens more often than not thanks to my former life as an avid romance reader and professional romance novel pusher.

Luckily, Gabby has been my best friend for long enough that my unintentional innuendo doesn’t faze her. Something I doubt will hold true for the good people of Celestial.

“Always do!” she says. “Send me pictures of your place once you’ve settled in.”

She’s seen the pictures the Realtor sent me approximately a million and one times. The fact that she’s even remotely interested in looking at this house anymore is a testament to her love for me.

“You know I will!”

We hang up and the narrator from the cowboy romance audiobook I’ve been listening to starts right back where I forgot she left off.

Her calm, beautiful voice pours from the speakers as the main character confronts the handsome hero who knows his way around a horse and, even though we haven’t made it to that part of the book yet, I can safely assume, the bedroom.

It’s the eighth cowboy romance I’ve read since I made the decision to move.

The words meld with the scenery. Never-ending fields meet bright blue skies, and if I look closely enough, I can almost see my happily ever after playing out right alongside the book.

Or at least I hope so. It would suck if my story ended up being a horror novel.

I shake my fears out of my head and fall back into the story.

I laugh at the author’s jokes, and my breath hitches just so when they kiss for the first time.

The safety and comfort of another romance novel wraps around me until I can finally relax my grip on the steering wheel and lose track of time.

Not that it matters.

When it comes to a schedule, I’m always on one.

Thanks to my immaculate road trip planning, I knew when I left my house this morning that I’d be rolling into my new town by six o’clock p.m. Maybe earlier, but not a second later, and not even the brush with Dallas traffic could change it.

It’s 5:45 when the billboard announcing I’ve arrived finally rises from the horizon.

Welcome to Celestial, Texas.

Where the only thing brighter than the stars are the people.

The knot my stomach’s been tied in loosens for the first time in months, and the relief I was convinced I’d never feel again pours through my veins like whiskey.

My head swims and my foot tingles on the gas pedal.

I almost pull over, but the winking lights over the scenic downtown streets beckon me farther.

My entire life, I’ve always known what comes next.

For as long as I can remember, I didn’t just have my next move planned, but the three—or fifty—that followed.

I was the kid in middle school who could tell you what college I’d attend and knew that by the time I was twenty-one, I’d have it all figured out.

Every little thing was accounted for, except, of course, life itself.

And no amount of planning could’ve prepared me for the unimaginable or the fact that now, at the ripe old age of thirty, I’m starting over.

I never truly understood the term fight or flight until I decided to move to Celestial.

It was like instinct and survival took hold of my nervous system and didn’t release the controls until I had signed on the dotted line for my new house.

It was the most rash, spontaneous, exhilarating thing I’ve done in my entire life.

It happened at the speed of lightning, and the adrenaline made it easy for me to bolster a confidence I wasn’t sure I felt.

After the way everything in my life had gone over the last few months—or one could argue, years—it was impossible to block out the quiet whisper in my brain telling me this town was too good to be true.

That this was one more thing to add to a seemingly never-ending list of unshakable devastation and massive mistakes.

But as I get my first look at my new neighbors, goose bumps trail up my arms and hope blossoms deep in my belly.

Bright smiles greet me as they wave hello to me as if I’m not some stranger driving through their town but instead like I’ve been here all my life.

Their unhurried strides and comfortable gaits hint at lives where they’ve never had to run from anything, least of all the grief of losing the life you thought you were meant for.

And for the first time, it really hits me.

Maybe this is the first right decision I’ve made in a long time.

Maybe this is the fresh start I need.

In your face, therapist who told me that running from my problems wouldn’t solve anything!

Unlike escaping the crisscross one-way streets hidden in the valleys of skyscrapers in downtown Denver, a residential neighborhood chases away downtown Celestial before I can even process the change of scenery.

Bikes and scooters litter the chalk art–decorated driveways.

My heart nearly explodes as I drive past an elderly couple sitting side by side on their front porch drinking what I can only hope are glasses of ice-cold sweet tea.

Families crowd the sidewalks as they take their furry friends on walks now that evening is approaching and the temperature is falling from unfathomably hot to extremely uncomfortable.

It’s like a Hallmark movie come to life, and I don’t know if I’ll fit in, but god do I want to.

I pass the high school at the edge of town, and when I hit the open road again, I feel like I’m flying. I roll down my windows and the hot evening air that rushes inside hits me like a shot of espresso.

I turn off the audiobook and scan the radio until it finally lands on a station that is more music than static.

Faith Hill’s crisp voice explodes from my speakers, and I squeal before singing along with her about a man who knows how to love her right.

Wide-open spaces surround me as I speed closer and closer to my very own slice of heaven.

Cows lift their heads with little interest as I drive by, and I search for the houses belonging to the mailboxes posted alongside the empty highway.

A quiet peacefulness swirls with effervescent excitement simmering just beneath my skin, and by the time my navigation tells me to turn left, I’m ready to explode.

I left Denver before the sun came up this morning, and after what feels like an eternity fueled by extreme coffee consumption, I’m here.

Or at least I think I am.