Chapter Thirty-Four
Now that Cassidy is back, she will not shut up – she has so much to tell me that I’ve barely stopped writing since yesterday.
She ran away from Ethan’s proposal, leaving him heartbroken in front of the whole of Bedlam Creek.
And then, just as she was about to leave town for ever, she discovered that River had gone missing.
His truck was found in Blue Egg Meadow. No warning, no note, no instructions for the ranch, which was very unlike the River Oakley they had always known.
When I tell River that he’s gone missing in the book, that everyone in Bedlam is wondering where he is, his mouth drops open. ‘This is so fucking weird.’
‘You’re telling me! It’s melting my mind.’
‘Shit.’ He runs a hand over the back of his neck. ‘They must be absolutely panicking about the auction. I promised my staff, the locals, that I’d be there to buy the land up, no matter the cost.’ He goes quiet for a moment and tugs at his earlobe. ‘Does, uh, anyone seem to miss me?’
I laugh. ‘A few old flames from around town are holding a vigil for your safe return, trading tales of how you broke their hearts, but that if they could only see you one more time, they would forgive your indiscretions.’
River’s mouth lifts into a mischievous half-smile. ‘Yeah?’
A sharp dart of jealousy pierces me at the thought of River’s ex-lovers wanting him back home.
‘Cassidy misses you,’ I tell him, looking up from my keyboard to meet his eyes. ‘She really misses you actually.’
River cocks his head in disbelief. ‘Cassidy misses me? I don’t buy it. Must be one of the hazier details you’re getting. I reckon she’s very happy to have me out of the picture. If I’m missing, presumed dead, then she owns a hell of a lot more than forty per cent of Oakley Ranch.’
‘No,’ I shake my head. ‘Cassidy doesn’t think that way. It’s not in her nature to be so Machiavellian.’
River rubs the heel of his hand to his forehead, clearly unconvinced.
‘My connection feels so clear right now,’ I continue.
‘So crisp, just like it was on the very first day Bedlam Creek popped into my mind. Cassidy has been putting up River Oakley Is Missing posters all over town. She’s been to the sheriff.
She’s organising a search party this evening.
Why would she do that if she wasn’t genuinely concerned about your well-being?
I actually think she’s surprised by how worried she is.
’ I shrug. ‘That’s what’s coming through at least.’
River stares thoughtfully into the distance for a moment, an indecipherable look on his face. ‘I should leave you in peace,’ he says, seeming to snap out of whatever daydream he was having and piling the library books back into the tote bag to return. ‘Good luck with the writing. You can do this.’
‘Thanks! Say hi to Aled for me, won’t you? Oh, and have fun with Squish.’ I giggle at the fact that Mrs Casablancas has managed to completely railroad big bad River Oakley into walking her naughty dog for her twice a day so that she and Desmond can sow wild oats in peace.
When River gives my shoulder a shake of encouragement, it takes everything in my power not to grab his hand and kiss the soft skin by his wrist. The moment Cassidy returned, I assumed she and my characters would totally distract me from the now near constant thinking about what it would be like to kiss River again.
More than kiss him. But no such luck. While Cassidy is loud and I seem able to get her story down on the page at a clip, all of those River thoughts remain floating about my head.
Every single second that I’m not typing, the questions pop up, dancing about, doing jazz hands, yelling at me to find out their answers.
And then when I start considering those answers, I get hot.
And, well, horny. Spontaneous horn is not a common occurrence for me and it’s taking every ounce of skill I learned playing a Cook County murderess at a summer theatre camp production of Chicago to not let the illicit thoughts I’m having about River show on my face.
And even more willpower to not just lick his cheek like Squish does.
As soon as the door closes behind River, I drag my eyes back to my manuscript, chest tightening a little with guilt.
Because what I haven’t told River is that in his absence, Cassidy has taken over the daily running of the ranch.
And not only that, but she’s absolutely killing it, as I always suspected she would.
It looked for a while like the ranch hands would band together to get rid of her – because while she’s the second biggest shareholder in the business after River, she had never worked a ranch before.
The boys had a meeting in the bar one night, trying to figure out what River would want them to do.
But when they saw how strong and smart Cassidy was and that she was just as willing as River to get her hands dirty alongside them, they realised that she was the best chance they had of keeping things afloat.
After that they begrudgingly started to open up.
And now with River gone, it seems like Cassidy is considering using her inheritance to attend the land auction and buy the land behind Oakley Ranch for herself.
I know River should know this. Oakley Ranch is his business, his life’s work and he’s made his own plans for that land.
But I also know that if I tell him about this, he’ll spend the rest of his time here worrying without being able to do a single thing about it.
And the truth is, right now it’s more important for me to finish this book than to be completely honest with River.
If I tell him Cassidy’s plans, his reaction might risk derailing my progress.
And if I don’t make progress then the chances of him getting back home at all decrease rapidly.
For the first time in a long time, I’ve decided to trust my gut.
For the next few hours I sit at my desk, earplugs in, and write.
It’s odd, knowing that the events in Bedlam are real, or close to real, at least through Cassidy’s eyes, but this hasn’t hindered me in the way I thought it might.
It’s made me feel relaxed, almost like I’m watching a TV show that I get to transcribe.
Yes, I might be channelling something that’s actually happening in a parallel universe, but the way I channel it, what I choose to include, the language I use, the perspective I put events through – that’s all me. And I’m good at it.
I can’t quite believe that for all these years I’ve somehow been miraculously, bonkersly, wonderfully connecting with a very real Cassidy Oakley across time and space, sharing the tales of her world and her heart.
How can that be true? And how can I, of all people, have been the fortunate one getting to do it?
My fingers fly across the keyboard, pure curiosity propelling me forward throughout each chapter I write. Sentence by sentence, I let the story unfold onto the page and thank my lucky stars that I’m writing once more.
I fucking missed it.
*
By the time River arrives back in the early evening, Squish trotting close behind him, my stomach is grumbling, my arms are stiff, my fingers are all cramped and gnarly, but I’ve gotten down thousands more words than I expected I would.
I wave hello at River and gasp in horror when I notice there’s a small gash on his jaw, surrounded by a rapidly deepening bruise.
The knee of his jeans is torn, a nasty graze blazing red beneath.
I rush over to him, all thoughts of grumbling stomachs and achy fingers vanished. ‘Shit! River!’
‘I’m fine,’ he says, dumping what looks to be a tote bag stuffed with more library books onto the sofa.
‘You’re bleeding!’ I cry, grabbing his hand and leading him straight to the bathroom, Squish trotting after us curiously. ‘What happened?’
‘Squish broke free of the leash, hot-footed it in the direction of the road. I managed to get a hold of him but as I was trying to get him onto the green, I completely missed the massive pothole in my path.’ His face turns extra solemn. ‘I almost squished Squish.’
I look down at Squish, currently doing neat little pirouettes on the bathroom floor, tongue lolling like he’s had the adventure of his life, which, I suppose, he has. A brief bout of glorious freedom followed by the survival of a near-death experience.
‘Sit,’ I say to River, pushing him down so he’s perched on the side of the bath.
‘Good boy!’ River sings.
‘Sorry?’
He points at Squish who is doing a perfect sit in response to my asking River to sit.
‘He might have made a run for it tonight, but his behaviour is improving. Yesterday he dropped my socks after only two requests.’
That is good going. A few days ago we had to physically open his mouth to get the socks out. River had laughed at my disgust over Squish’s slobber and then casually relayed to me how much animal goo he encountered working the ranch. He only stopped when I started to dry-heave.
I take the first-aid kit out of the cabinet, set it down on the glass shelf above the sink, open it up and select a little bottle of antiseptic and some cotton wool.
River waves me away. ‘No need for all that, Gertie. I’ll just get in the shower. It’ll wash away.’
Ignoring him, I dab some antiseptic onto the cotton wool and gently sweep the cotton wool over the graze. ‘Let me just …’
‘I told you, I’m fine.’
‘You’re bleeding. I’ll only be a moment—’
‘Quit it,’ he says sharply, standing up and grabbing the cotton wool from me. He turns to the mirror, wiping indelicately at the cut, which only makes it bleed harder. ‘I can take care of it myself.’
I hold my hands up. ‘Fine. My God, anyone would think you’d never been fixed up by anyone!’
He huffs. ‘It’s just a scratch! My daddy would be on me faster than a scalded cat if he knew I was letting you fuss over me for a damn scratch. Jesus.’
I go to exit the bathroom and leave him to it. And then I turn back around.