Chapter 4
Asher
I'm hauling a busted fence post out of the ground when my phone buzzes in my back pocket. It's early evening, and the last streaks of sun are dragging shadows across the pasture. Sweat drips down my back, and my hands are covered in dirt, but I pull off one glove anyway to check the screen.
Unknown number.
I start to ignore it, like I do most numbers I don't recognize, but then I remember my mom calling this morning, telling me she met a lovely girl at the dance hall and gave her my number. I tap the message open.
Unknown: Hey Bear. This is Kassi. I met your mom last night at the dance hall. She gave me your number. I hope that's okay.
Staring at the screen, my heart slows down and speeds up at the same time. Kassi. There's no last name, but I don't need one. I know who she is. The second I read it, I knew.
She doesn't know who I am.
Mom gave her my number, thinking she was doing me a favor. Called me Bear, like she always does. Kassi must not have put it together. Which means I've got an opportunity most men don't get.
A clean slate.
Or a test.
I lean on the fence post and stare across the pasture toward the barn.
Phantom's out there grazing, tail swishing like he's got no concerns in the world.
That horse probably thinks we're friends now.
He showed up again this morning, nuzzled my pockets until I gave him the last half of my granola bar.
I look back down at the phone.
She's texting me. Voluntarily.
After all the hard stares and clipped conversations and that absolute storm of a showdown here at the ranch, she's texting me not knowing who I am.
I should tell her.
I almost do.
My thumb hovers over the screen, and a dozen versions of a confession run through my head. But none of them feels right.
Because the second I tell her the truth, this fragile little moment we're having shatters.
And for once, I don't want to be the guy who shatters something good.
Still, it feels wrong. Keeping quiet. I hate secrets. I hate the way they twist things up and make everything harder later. But there's a selfish part of me that wants just one honest connection that isn't immediately laced with land disputes and family pride.
And I can't help but wonder if I'm projecting all my frustration about the developers onto her. Maybe she's just trying to get by. Or she doesn't even realize the damage she's part of.
I tell myself it's just a conversation. Just a few texts. Nothing permanent. But deep down, I know it's more than that.
Instead, I thumb out a reply.
Me: Hey Kassi. Nice to meet you. You caught me off guard there. I wasn't expecting any introductions from my mom.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. Then, I save her number in my phone.
Her response comes quickly.
Kassi: She said you were single and too stubborn for your own good. Figured I'd say hi. I'm new to town and not great at this sort of thing.
I huff out a laugh. That sounds like my mother. And it sounds like Kassi, too. Honest. A little unsure. A whole lot braver than she probably gives herself credit for.
I type back.
Me: I'm not great at it either. But hi back.
There's a pause. Long enough, I figure maybe she regrets it. Then another ping.
Kassi: You always this charming? Or just when strangers text you out of nowhere?
I grin. She's got bite. That's something I've always liked about her, even when she was showing up at my ranch in those fancy shoes with that city-girl attitude, talking about modernizing everything.
Even when she made me want to argue with her to keep her talking.
Me: Sometimes. Depends on the stranger.
Kassi: I consider myself lucky then.
I lean against the post, my task forgotten. The sun dips a little lower, and the sky's turning into that kind of bruised blue that makes you want to slow down and breathe it all in.
I should tell her who I am.
But I don't.
Because as much as I don't trust her employer, and as much as I hate what she represents with that clipboard and those fake promises, I can't help the way something inside me eases when she texts again.
Kassi: So, what kind of name is Bear?
I rub the back of my neck.
Me: Old nickname. My mom calls me that because I used to hibernate every Saturday morning as a kid. Then when I grew fast as a teen and bulked up for football, they started using the name and it just stuck.
I shift gears and walk toward the stables, stopping to toss fresh hay into the trough. Phantom lifts his head and trots over, nuzzling my shoulder before burying his nose into the pile. I give him a pat and grab a water bucket to fill. As the hose kicks to life, my phone buzzes again.
Kassi: That's cute.
Me: Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.
Her reply comes with a laughing emoji. I never thought I'd be the kind of guy who smiles at a cartoon bubble on a phone screen, but here we are.
Pocketing the phone, my hands are working, muscle memory taking over, but my mind is still on her.
Kassi.
The first time I saw her, she pulled up to the ranch the day we moved in, waving the developer’s first offer like it was a welcome basket.
She was nice and much too sweet to be working for sharks like them.
I instantly hated everything she was trying to do, but I felt protective of her, too, because I have a feeling the developers are using her as a pawn in their plan without her even knowing.
Now she's texting me.
Maybe she thinks I'm just a quiet guy named Bear. Some cowboy she might have coffee with. Maybe she thinks she can forget what side of the fence we're both standing on.
I know better.
But I don't stop texting.
Me: What do you do, Kassi?
I ask, like I don't already know.
Kassi: Consulting. Mostly infrastructure development. I help towns attract funding and investors for revitalization projects.
Me: That's a mouthful.
I duck into the tack room to grab a lead rope and coil it lazily over my arm, just for something to do. My phone buzzes again.
Kassi: Yeah. It sounds fancier than it is. Mostly, I juggle spreadsheets and pray I don't burn dinner for my daughter and me.
I’ve heard talk of her daughter in town, but never gave it much thought.
But now I picture her in the kitchen, with the kid doing homework at the table, and Kassi trying to cook and work at the same time.
I remember how tired she looked last week when she left the ranch.
Not weak. Just worn out in a way I know too well.
Me: Single mom?
Kassi: Yeah, part of the reason we moved to Walker Lake was that this job would support both of us.
I can understand doing right by your kid. My parents always put us kids first, and I've never been so grateful.
Me: How old is your daughter?
Kassi: Seven going on thirty.
Me: She sounds like a handful. You got any time for yourself?
She replies with a picture of a glass of wine and a single lit candle next to a stack of paperwork.
Kassi: This is about as glamorous as it gets.
I laugh and type back.
Me: You're living the dream.
I walk the barn making sure everything is put away for the night, my boots thud against the dry earth, and a hawk circles above. The day's work still hums in my shoulders, but my mind's not on ranch chores. It's on her.
Kassi: You know it.
Another pause. Then.
Kassi: What about you? What do you do when you're not charming strangers?
Me: Ranch work. Early mornings. Long days. Broken things to fix and animals to feed. Not a lot of mystery there.
Kassi: That sounds exhausting. And kind of wonderful.
Me: It is.
I glance up at the sky again. That last stretch of gold light is just about gone.
Me: You like horses?
Kassi: I do. My daughter's obsessed. We've been watching barrel racing videos all week.
Before I think twice, I type back.
Me: I might know a horse who needs a new friend.
I watch the dots on the screen bounce for a second.
Kassi: That sounds suspiciously like an invitation.
Me: Maybe it is.
She doesn't answer right away.
My phone buzzes again just as I finish stacking the tools in the back of the truck.
Kassi: You seem familiar.
My stomach tightens. I stare at those three words as if they might rearrange themselves. But they don't.
Me: Do I?
Kassi: Yeah. Have we met?
Right now, I should tell her. Go ahead and confess, then brace for the fallout. But I'm not ready to stop talking to her with no walls between us.
Me: Maybe in another life.
She sends back a smiley face. That's it. And I let myself breathe again.
I don't know how long this little illusion can survive.
And when she discovers who I really am… the truth scares me more than I want to admit.
But right now, she's texting me. For the first time in a while, I'm not thinking about broken fences or developer threats or whether this town is about to get swallowed whole.
I'm thinking about her.
Finn's truck rumbles up the driveway and kicks up a trail of dust. A minute later, he hops out and saunters over, catching sight of the phone still in my hand.
"Well damn, Asher. You're smiling at your phone like a teenager. You sexting or shopping for bulls?"
I roll my eyes and shove the phone into my back pocket. "Neither. Go bother Zach."
Finn leans against the tailgate of my truck, arms crossed, grinning. "Don't think I've ever seen you grin at a screen. Who is she?"
"No one," I say too fast. Then softer, "Just someone new."
He lifts an eyebrow but lets it go. "Alright, cowboy. Keep your secrets. Just don't let her be a spy for the developers, or I'll be really pissed if I have to take a pitchfork to her boss."
I snort. "Noted."
Finn heads toward the barn, and I stay behind, watching the sunset and pulling out my phone again. One more message from Kassi blinks up at me.
Kassi: Thanks for texting back. Tonight made my day a little better.
I smile, thumb hovering over the screen. Then I type back.
Me: Mine too, Kassi.
And I mean every word.