Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
SADIE
I look like an idiot, grinning down at my phone like it’s the first time a boy has ever texted me.
If you’d told me a week ago I’d be here—standing outside a barn, wearing dirty hand-me-down cowboy boots, grinning at my phone like a fool—I would’ve assumed you were clinically insane, or that I’d officially lost my mind and was in psychosis.
Because none of this feels real. And yet somehow, it’s the realest thing I have right now.
I’m trying not to get too comfortable. Not to let my guard down.
Especially not with him.
Wesley is the epitome of emotional whiplash—hot one second, ice-cold the next. Still, there’s something in the way he looks at me sometimes—like he’s trying not to. Like he doesn’t want to want to.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel it too.
A flutter low in my stomach ignites when he looks at me like that. Like he sees me.
He’s attractive. Obviously. I’m not blind. He has that dark and rough-around-the-edges thing going for him. Broad shoulders that stretch the fabric of his shirt, and a quiet confidence that forces people to pay attention.
But when he smiles—like, really smiles—it’s disarming. Like all the sharp edges smooth out for a second and you catch a glimpse of something rare.
I hate how much I notice.
I hate that part of me wants him to notice too.
I look up in time to see his truck disappear down the dirt road, dust filtering through the golden afternoon light.
A dull ache takes root in my chest, and I hate it. I shake my head, forcing myself to breathe it out.
This is ridiculous.
I’m here to work, keep my head down, and get through the summer. That’s it.
My phone vibrates in my hand. I glance down at the screen and roll my eyes at the contact name he gave himself.
Vapid Dick <3
It’s just a joke. Don’t overthink it. Let me know if you need anything.
My cheeks burn, despite everything in me telling me I’m reading into one little text far more than I should. I shove my phone into my back pocket before I do something stupid, like text him back.
Sliding my headphones in, I pull on my gloves and flex my fingers until they fit snug.
The air inside the barn is thick with hay and cedar dust. I breathe it in, grounding myself in the ache of my muscles and the rhythm of work—clearing out the soiled bedding, spreading clean shavings, doing everything I can to take his advice and not overthink this.
No distractions. No fantasies.
Just work.
They say time flies when you’re having fun, but it moves even faster when you’re working from sunrise to sunset.
I don’t mind it.
Keeping busy means I’m not stuck in my head, overanalyzing everything. Like how nobody’s called or texted to check on me.
Emmett invited me on a trail ride with a smaller group—a break, supposedly—but it didn’t really feel like one. Not when I had to force a smile through the sting of blisters and the ache in every muscle.
Still, it was nice to step away from the barn for a little while—from the foul stench of horse manure—and breathe in the fresh, clean mountain air.
On Friday, I had lunch at the lodge and talked with Lydia. I like her more than I expected to. She’s not what you’d assume at first glance—she’s loud, unfiltered, and unapologetically herself.
She’s the polar opposite of the girls I saw sneaking out of the bunkhouse this morning—trying too hard to be something they’re not.
I would know.
Her dark, wavy hair brushes the waistband of her jeans, the rich color bringing out the warm glow of her skin. A gold hoop pierces the right side of her strong nose, and her arms are inked in delicate fine-line tattoos. She radiates confidence and truly doesn’t care what anyone thinks.
I wish I could be like that.
She holds her own with the guys, too. They came in for lunch as I was leaving, and she handled Wesley’s grumpiness with nothing but sweet smiles and easy jokes.
The other guys on the crew tease her constantly, but she always has a comeback and makes them laugh loud enough to echo through the vaulted ceilings in the lodge.
But my favorite is when she and Emmett really get into it. Their personalities are so similar, it’s like they were made to challenge each other—but neither of them ever backs down.
Sometimes they get so heated, it feels like there’s something more there. Then again, maybe I’m projecting. I’m definitely not the best at reading that kind of thing.
Every text I’ve sent to Kolson since I got here has been left on read, and after Tori brought up the photos, I’d be an idiot to keep waiting around and holding onto hope that one day he’d notice me.
I might be inexperienced, but I’m not stupid.
It hurts to admit whatever we were is over, but I don’t have the energy—or the mental bandwidth—for the mind games anymore.
I take a sip of my water, fold my napkin over what’s left of my sandwich, and push the plate away. I’m too nervous to eat. Wesley texted late last night for me to meet him and Emmett at the bar so we could all drive together.
Lydia walks over, slowly reaching for my plate. “If you don’t like sandwiches, why do you order one every day?”
“I like sandwiches,” I say, glancing at the clock behind the bar, then at the door.
She clears her throat and lifts the napkin, revealing the untouched half of my sandwich. “Could’ve fooled me. We can make you something else so you’re not hungry—”
“I’m fine, really,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not hungry.” I tack on a smile I hope reads as sincere.
She narrows her eyes and frowns. “Alrighty. Whatever you say.”
I glance back at the door and take another sip of water.
“No matter how many times you check that door, they’re still gonna be late,” she smirks.
“Oh, um, I was just—”
“Uh-huh. You don’t have to be shy around me. It’s no secret those boys have everyone within a hundred miles wrapped around their fingers,” she says with a laugh. “It’s been that way our whole lives.”
“It’s really not like that,” I murmur, slipping my hand off the bar and rubbing the hem of my T-shirt between my fingers. “I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. My relationship—if you can even call it that—with the guys is strictly professional.”
“Ah, right.” She tsks. “Because of Heath’s rule.”
“What rule?”
“Oh, a couple years ago, Heath made a no-fraternizing policy between staff, guests, or any other employees. I guess one of the guys in the bunkhouse hooked up with a guest who was here with her family. Her dad caught them together and she was a minor—it was a whole mess.”
Lydia glances up at me as she refills my water glass. “So don’t worry about it. Everyone knows the rule—and I’d never publicly out you if you happened to break it.” She winks and gives the countertop a final swipe.
The lodge doors swing open, and this time, Emmett and Wesley stride in.
A wave of relief rushes through me, loosening the tightness in my chest.
Emmett must read the expression on my face because he casually saunters over and throws an arm around me.
“Relax, Sades. You didn’t think we’d leave our not-girlfriend hanging, did ya?” he says coolly, squeezing my shoulder.
They’re really not gonna let that go, are they?
I roll my eyes and shrug him off playfully.
The truth is, I was worried they might ditch me.
The little voice in my head is annoyingly good at convincing me of things like that.
But deep down, I knew they wouldn’t. There’s no logical reason they’d include me in their plans and then randomly ditch me.
Still…sometimes that little voice is hard to ignore.
“We would’ve been here sooner, but Hartford found another weak spot in the fencing, and that fucking donkey got out again,” Emmett says, digging into the bowl of assorted nuts on the counter.
Lydia unties her apron and balls it in her hands. “Well, good thing you’re here now, because I quit,” she declares, tossing it to the floor.
“No, you don’t,” Emmett says flatly. “Didn’t my dad say you could get off early today so you could leave with us?” He tosses a few cashews into his mouth.
“You’re right—I don’t.” She giggles, scooping up the apron and hanging it on the hook behind the bar. “He said I could leave earlier, but I was hanging out with Sadie.” She winks, then climbs over the bar.
It’s rare anyone around here calls me by my actual name. Other than Heath, everyone seems to come up with their own nickname, and you have to roll with it.
If I’ve learned anything from this stupid “not-girlfriend” situation, it’s that the more you fight it, the harder they push.
“Why do you always have to climb over the bar like a wild animal? And hanging out with your friend on company time? I’m definitely tattling,” Emmett says, rubbing the top of Lydia’s head.
She growls and shoves him off as he laughs.
“We should hit the road. We’re already leaving later than planned,” Wesley says, voice low. His eyes briefly meet mine, and his jaw tightens.
“You guys go ahead,” Lydia says. “Landon’s going to drive me. We won’t all fit in Em’s truck, anyway. Not with Land’s wide-ass manspread.”
“Uh, have you seen your brother? The guy’s got fucking redwoods for legs. Spreading is nonnegotiable,” Emmett says, pointing at Lydia.
She sticks her tongue out and flips him off. “Whatever. Sadie, you wanna ride with me and Land, or are you going with your guys?” she teases.
“They are not my—”
“She’s riding with us,” Wesley says, his tone leaving no room for argument. He spins me around and guides me through the dining lodge, his hand firm on the small of my back.
I hear Lydia’s giggle behind me as I’m gently pushed out the door. Wesley grabs my arm, steering me toward Emmett’s truck—but I pull away.
“Okay, okay, I can walk to the truck, Wesley. You don’t have to jerk me around,” I snap.
He immediately steps back—hands raised, eyes unreadable. The apology is silent, but I feel it.
Emmett bursts out of the lodge. “Ah! My truck—and I called shotgun! Backseat for you, sweetheart,” he shouts, pointing at me as he jogs over and jumps in.