Chapter 50
I’m halfway through filling the water trough when I catch an unfamiliar sound.
I take a moment to place it before realizing someone is turning up the long drive that leads from the main road to the ranch.
It’s not the rattling growl of Knox’s old diesel, or the low rumble of one of the other farm trucks. This sound is smooth and expensive.
I straighten slowly, squinting toward the long stretch of dirt road that winds its way from the main road to the house.
Dust kicks up in a thin plume behind a vehicle that looks so out of place against the landscape, it might as well have fallen from the sky.
The sleek yellow sports car—polished to the sheen of a mirror—is so low to the ground it would bottom out in the smallest of Montana snowstorms.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I huff.
The engine purrs to a stop near the front of the house, the shine of it almost offensive against the old, faded siding. For a moment, I don’t move. My stomach has already started to tighten, because I know only one person who would drive a car that obnoxious.
The driver’s door opens, and six months of hiding shatters in an instant when Mason steps out.
He’s dressed exactly the way he always is—dark jeans, boots that have never seen real dirt, and sunglasses that cost more than my monthly pay as a ranch hand.
His hair is a little longer than it used to be, swept back carelessly, but I’d recognize him anywhere.
He closes the door slowly as his gaze roams over the ranch. When he spots me, his face flashes through a series of expressions in under a second—confusion, disbelief, and relief. “Holy hell!” he exclaims on a breath.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and walk toward him, each step heavier than the last. I haven’t seen him since I left Nashville. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
“You’re alive.” He is full of disbelief, like the statement shocks even himself.
Hell, a few months ago, it would’ve shocked me, too.
“Last I checked.”
He rips his sunglasses off and sucker-punches me in the gut. I double over as the wind gets violently knocked out of me, near certain I’m going to vomit. “How could you do that?” he snarls.
“Do what?” I choke, hunched over my knees and gasping for air.
“Disappear off the face of the Earth like that.”
Forcing myself upright again, I manage, “I sent a text. I told you I was leaving.”
“You sent a text that sounded like a damn one-lined suicide letter!” he exclaims. “I’ve literally been waiting to get a call for months that you OD’d in some shitty motel room or parked your Bronco at the bottom of a ravine.”
I swallow, his concern hitting me square in the chest. Shaking my head, I sigh. “It wasn’t a suicide note.”
“It fucking read like one, Easton.” His voice cracks on my name in a way I haven’t heard from him before. “You said you couldn’t live this life without her.”
“I meant that life.”
“Then maybe you should’ve been more specific.”
Silence stretches between us for a moment before he gestures toward my stomach and begrudgingly asks, “You okay?”
“Please,” I rasp, straightening fully and forcing a breath that doesn’t feel like broken glass in my lungs. “You couldn’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag.”
His mouth twitches, despite himself. He steps forward like he’s going to hit me again, but he catches the back of my neck, pulling me into a hard, one-armed hug. I return it, gripping his shoulder just as tight, the unspoken truth passing between us in the firm clap of his hand against my back.
He shoves me away a second later, clearing his throat before murmuring, “Asshole.”
“What are you doing here?” I finally inquire. “And how did you find me?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “After the cops tried for a few months and said they couldn’t turn up any leads, I hired a private investigator.”
“You what?”
“After three months with no contact? Yeah, East. I was panicking.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I did,” he cuts in. “Because I thought my best friend was dead.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“I wasn’t hiding from you,” I mutter.
“Could’ve fooled me.” He gestures vaguely around us. “Turns out, you’re not as good at hiding as you think you are. Some cattle supplier mentioned a guy matching your description working out here. It only took a few more calls.”
“And you just… drove up.”
“Flew into Bozeman. Rented this.” He tips his head toward the ridiculous yellow Lamborghini. His gaze sweeps over the house, the barn, and the open fields. “This is where you’ve been.”
“Yeah.”
“Working?”
“Yeah.”
“Sober?”
“Yeah.”
“You look it.” He nods his approval. His gaze roams the property again before landing back on me. “Wait… Like… actually working?”
I arch an eyebrow. “You see a tour bus parked anywhere?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I don’t understand you.”
“You don’t have to understand this.”
I invite him onto the porch of the main house, and we no more than take a seat before he blurts, “The studio wants us to come back.”
My head shakes involuntarily, accompanied by a heavy sigh rising from my lungs.
“Sponsors hung on to the postponed tour because your back catalog still sells. The label thinks the mystery of where you’ve gone only made people want you more,” he continues unprompted. “They want to relaunch and release Rosie’s album.”
“Is that the only reason you’re here?” I grumble.
“No, I’m here for my friend,” Mason shoots back defensively.
“Feels like it…”
“This life,” Mason says slowly with his eyes on the ranch, “it’s not small. It’s not insignificant. But it’s not you.” His gaze falls back on me. “You could walk back in tomorrow and pick up where you left off.”
“I don’t want to. Hell, I don’t need to.”
“Easton.”
“I’m serious.”
He exhales hard, frustration bleeding into his posture. “Do you know how rare this is? Most artists disappear and the world moves on. You? They’ve been waiting.”
“I didn’t ask them to.”
“No, you didn’t.” His eyes narrow slightly. “What happened?”
I glance around at the land, seeing it with a different set of eyes than Mason.
“I started living again,” I say.
He follows my gaze. “Because of this place?”
“Yes.”
“And?” he pushes.
I hesitate for a moment before responding, “And someone in it.”
His eyebrows lift slightly. “There’s someone.”
“Yeah.”
He glances back at the house. “Does she know?”
“Know what?”
“Who you are.”
“You mean a drunk and a widower? Yeah… she knows who I am.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No, East. I mean who you are.”
“You mean who I used to be,” I correct him. “But no… she doesn’t.”
“And what happens when it catches up to you?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
The rhythmic clop of hooves carries from the pasture, and my chest tightens. Teagan.
“That her?” Mason asks, watching her gallop across the pasture.
“Yeah.”
“Then I should probably go.” He slips his sunglasses on and traverses the porch steps before walking back to his ridiculous rental car. “And you should probably tell her.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“Call me,” he says over his shoulder, pulling open the car door. “Or don’t. But don’t fall off the map again.”
“I won’t.”
“It’s good to see you,” he adds as he climbs into the car.
“You, too.”
He shuts the door, and the engine purrs to life. The car reverses carefully, then turns down the long drive, dust rising behind it as it retreats toward the main road.
I stand there for longer than I should, staring after it and the life I ran from. The life that suddenly feels like it’s chasing after me.
Teagan’s horse slows as she approaches, the afternoon sun catching in her hair. She swings down from the saddle easily, boots hitting the ground with practiced grace. “Who was that?” she asks, her eyes glancing toward the disappearing vehicle.
“Just an old ranch friend,” I lie, hating myself. “Happened to be in the area.”
“Fancy car for a rancher.” Her eyes narrow slightly, glancing toward the dust cloud still settling along the road. She loops her arms around my waist, and I stare up at me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I answer quickly, forcing myself to hold her gaze. “Everything’s fine.”
She nods slowly, though I can tell she’s not entirely convinced.