Chapter 27 Heston
HESTON
Present Day
My truck door closes with a loud slam. This is my least favorite part of the day. The sun will go down within the hour, and unless I walk around the ranch with a head lamp attached to my hat, there’s no work to be done until morning. That leaves a whole shit ton of time to stew.
I’ve been in a daze for forty-eight hours. Several times, I’ve caught myself staring off at nothing for long periods of time. Stuck in my head. Distracted. I almost ran into a barbed wire fence because of it.
I thought about heading out to Solana Bluffs to regain my sanity. But after yesterday’s failed attempt at seeing and talking to Hattie, I didn’t want to get too far away from Westridge today.
She hasn’t called, but she’ll be getting off work soon. I’ve already decided to reach out to her myself after I get inside and take a shower.
I don’t regret kissing her at the bar. In fact, it was the best kiss of my life. I just can’t get the devastating thought that she might have been spending the last two days thinking it was a big mistake out of my head.
Even if she didn’t think it was a mistake, she’s still either lying to her fiancé about another man kissing her, or she was honest and told him about it. Picturing her apologizing or him lashing out at her for it has had me feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.
Fully aware that I’m overanalyzing, I rub my jaw and look down at the ground as the gravel crunches beneath my boots. I’m halfway from my truck to the bunkhouse when I stop in my tracks and furrow my brows.
I let out a short, clear whistle.
After a few seconds of silence, I whistle again, the loudest I can this time.
Turning around, I scan the bed of my truck. Then the shade tree by the barn. The grass. The fenceline.
“I heard a loud whistle,” Gage says, stepping onto the front porch.
“I just got in from putting hay out for the night,” I say, pushing my hat to the side and scratching above my ear. “Guess Lucky didn’t jump in my truck like she always does.”
Gage chuckles at first. “She wouldn’t just not jump in your truck. Has she ever done that?”
“No,” I answer, still looking around. “I’ll go back.”
“She might be in one of the barns or something,” Gage suggests. “Want me to go check?”
“I called for her. She’d have heard it from any one of the barns and come right away.”
“Right,” he agrees, rubbing the side of his jaw. “Well, I’ll go look anyway.”
He’s headed toward the stables, but I remain in place, squinting and turning in a slow, deliberate circle. In my head, I replay the afternoon. When was the last time I saw her?
I see her all day. She’s like a shadow. I don’t usually have to look for her or remember where she’s at, she’s just . . . always there.
“Hey, you good?” Gage calls out, noticing I haven’t moved.
Something’s not right, and I don’t like it one bit.
I open my mouth to reply to Gage, but an old feeling hits me, one that I haven’t felt in a while. Sure, I still stumble over my words from time to time. But it’s been years since my neck has tensed up like this.
“Just—” I try to push back against the trapped feeling. “Ca–”
I give up and stalk toward my truck. I can feel Gage’s eyes on me, but I ignore him for the time being. With a huff, I yank open the driver’s side door.
It only takes me twenty minutes to drive through the three pastures where I set hay out before calling it a day. I’m standing in the middle of the last one, letting out another whistle that’s ear-piercing enough to make the cows jolt back.
“Lucky,” I shout.
Nothing.
Maybe she’s with Tripp. Maybe Warren came by, and she’s riding around with him? Maybe Gage already found her. But if any of those things were true, they would tell me, wouldn’t they? Lucky is never with them. They’d know I’d be looking for her.
My palm rubs roughly over the center of my chest. I lost her? I lost . . .The thoughts in my head trail off to all of the things that have slipped through my grasp.
For a little over ten years now, I’ve been practicing the art of restraint.
Control and concentration in the most subdued way possible.
It takes a lot of pushing down to achieve that.
No part of me wanted to acknowledge the inevitability of it all bubbling back up to the surface someday. All at once.
I don’t mean to start hyperventilating. The speed at which my lungs expand picks up all on its own as images of Lucky flash before my eyes.
I blink, and the vision suddenly changes to Hattie.
I turn around, my pulse goes haywire, and the vision changes once again to blurry snippets of the end of my rodeo career.
My reputation. My voice. Everything I’ve ever lost.
I stumble back, but manage to pull out my phone.
My thumb taps on Hattie’s contact without a second thought.