Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
ALLIE
After the shower, Austin reappears too clean-shaven, too handsome. Pine sap and smoke fill the room with wisps of shower mist. He’s more groomed than yesterday.
He leans against the kitchen counter quietly eyeing me, hands folded over his chest, mouth open to speak.
I interrupt, “I want to thank you for everything.” I still can’t apologize for last night, though I know I should. But I’m too afraid of where the conversation could go. “But I need to get back into town… while the weather’s decent.”
He looks down, staring at the floorboards for a long moment. When his mahogany eyes meet mine, concern swirls behind them. “Alright, but only if you promise me something.”
I freeze, then let out a haughty puff of air. “Only if I promise you something?” I knit my forehead. “It’s not like you can keep me here against my will.” My voice comes out wavery, and I instantly regret it.
He gives me a pitying look, like he’s trying to figure out what could make me think such a thing. I brace for the words, I’m certain will follow.
“Words came out wrong. Sorry,” he amends.
My eyes hold his gaze this time. really take in the too-handsome man. His face is just as unreadable, but somehow softer in the light of day. “I meant,” he says, resting his palms on the kitchen counter. “You don’t need to thank me. Just consider something.”
I exhale slow, knowing I shouldn’t. But I can’t help myself. “Okay.” It comes out timid and small as a mouse.
“Take care of yourself.”
Four words devastate me. My eyes blur, darting to the half-empty mug. I open my mouth to speak, but my voice fails me. Instead, I nod.
“Give me an hour for chores and to dig out the truck, and then, we’ll head into town.”
“No, sleigh ride?” I ask, hopefully, wiping the back of my hand quickly over my cheeks.
He looks away, creases in his forehead furrowing. “Horses day off.”
“Have you already gone down to the stable this morning?” I ask.
He nods, studying me quietly.
“But darn it,” he says, too quickly. Austin’s no actor. “I forgot the carrots. Maybe want to make a trip with me back down there for treats… and to say goodbye after your clothes are dry?”
My shoulders relax, and a giggle escapes my lips. You’re a terrible liar, I want to say.
Instead, I admit, “Yes, I’d like that… and I’ll clean up the kitchen and take a quick shower.”
“Don’t have to clean,” he grumbles.
“Didn’t have to make breakfast… or lasagna.” I’m thanking without thanking him for everything.
“My pleasure.”
I pause, holding my breath.
He waits.
“You really are one of a kind, Austin Fitz.”
“Same, Allie M.,” he grunts before sauntering toward the door. “Clean towels in the closet next to the laundry room.” Then, he stomps back out into the white dazzle of mid-day.
“Twenty horses! I had no idea!” I marvel as we ease down the long driveway, crunching through snow. He nods. “Would take more if I could.”
“All for sleigh rides?” I ask, eyeing his rugged profile. He focuses on the road, lined on either side by fences and pastures.
“Nope, it’s a horse sanctuary first and foremost. Run it with a group of veterans on six hundred acres of land.”
“So, you’re a veteran?” I ask, finally understanding the straight posture and decisive bearing.
“Marine.”
“Marine cowboy.”
He chuckles once. The most laughter I’ve gotten out of him. It feels bittersweet as he scans through the satellite radio channels, country station after country station, settling on George Strait’s lonely lines.
“So, I volunteered for a good cause and didn’t even know it?” I tease, an unwelcome rawness tinging my voice.
He nods, quirking his mouth but still not speaking.
Though soft lyrics texture the silence, I still need to fill it, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
“In high school, I volunteered at an animal shelter. Worked with dogs and cats, nothing as big as a horse. But once an iguana came in, needing to be adopted. Another time, an Angora bunny and a Bantam rooster.”
He chuckles, face softening slightly.
“You look good when you smile.” I say too quickly, then fight the urge to slap my hand over my mouth. I add, “You should do it more.”
“Same for you,” he says. The words drop heavy between us, like the air in the truck cab.
My eyes follow the snowy blur of white, admiring the distant mountains that loom. Not ready for the first sign of something I recognize. The first sign that tells me I’ll never see this man again.
Shouldn’t matter. But the tug behind my ribs says otherwise.
“Tell me more about you in high school,” he prompts. I could almost believe he really cares, the way he focuses on me.
I shrug. “Nothing to write home about. A mediocre student. Not college material or anything. More like ‘you’d make a great secretary’ material.”
“That what you are?”
“Actually, I mostly work remote. Voice work. Audiobooks, commercial narration. As long as I’ve got my mic and Wi-Fi, I’m good.”
He nods once. “Makes sense. You’ve got a voice people would listen to.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, cheeks glowing.
After a heavy pause, I explain, “I met Trevor in high school. He took me to prom…” My voice cracks at the end. The first night ruined by too much drinking.
Austin clears his throat, side-eyeing me. “You okay? Need a change of subject?”
“No,” my chin quivers. I need him to understand. “Just never thought of things the way I’m seeing them now.” I swipe at the hot streams flooding my cheeks, shame climbing me like a thorny vine.
“How do you mean?” he drawls so quiet, I have to lean closer to make out the words. He turns down the radio a tick, as if saying I’m ready to listen, if you want to talk.
“I just wonder sometimes how differently my life might’ve been if I hadn’t met him.” Guilt floods me. “See how awful I am?”
“Not awful,” Austin says firmly. “Asking honest questions.”
“I mean,” I say, hanging my head. “I’ve convinced myself for years that everything’s okay.
That I can put up with the occasional drama …
because he’s always been there. In every memory I have, teenager and beyond.
But a moment ago, when I thought about prom, I realized something.
” I breathe through my mouth fighting a sob.
Trevor would give me a reprieve. He’d go off on how much he hates crying women. But Austin waits, letting the silence build until it’s deafening.
“That every memory I have with him—almost every single one—is filled with pain. Criticisms, insults. Some verbal, some emotional, some worse.” My fingers dance over my wrist again. “Even something as simple as a date ended with me bracing for impact.”
Austin doesn’t try to fix anything or make me feel better. He doesn’t struggle to answer my question or say something wise. And he doesn’t reach out to touch me—hold my hand—though, God, I wish he would.
Instead, he waits. Quiet. Steady. There.
The windshield wipers thud as snow flurries greet us at the bottom of the hill. Familiar signs emerge, and my throat tightens. Kathy Mattea sings of loss and pain and a lifetime of regret.
Maybe that’s me. My future.
My hands curl in the cowboy’s cozy flannel, not ready to give it back.
Then, he says—like he might talk about the weather or fall crops—“I could take you on one, if you’d like?”