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Hardly any of Beau’s dreams had ever come true, but he had never felt this good about a relationship before. He clung to that with all he had, and the dream stayed with him even after he woke.
By evening, Beau was only dreaming of a hot meal and a soft bed. Anything that could go wrong that day, had gone wrong. The truck that brought their fertilizer and small animal feed had broken down, and Beau had sent several cowboys to help get their items off the truck as it sat on the side of the highway.
That put them behind on getting the cattle checked for insect bites, hoof injuries, and any number of other health problems. They had less than a month until Market Day, and Beau’s whole job depended on having their cattle ready to sell for top dollar.
Not only that, but Mother Nature had decided to bake the Panhandle, and he hadn’t been this hot since mid-July. And God was playing some horrible trick on him by making his throat itch and burn all day long.
He absolutely could not get sick, so he’d texted his mother for her home remedies, and he fully planned to drink a gallon of tea with honey when he got home.
When he finally got back to the cabin for the night, he expected to see Charlotte—whom he hadn’t seen all day—in the living room. Maybe on her phone, with the TV playing something so she didn’t have to be alone. She’d told him that was what she’d done while he was gone on the roundup—play the TV and pretend those people were in the room with her.
Maybe she’d be in the kitchen, scrambling eggs or heating up something from the freezer they could both eat.
He didn’t expect the cabin to be sitting in evening shadows, silent and empty. He hadn’t come home to this in a while, and he did not like it. “Charlotte?” he called as he hung his hat on the hook next to the front door. His head pounded, but he ignored it for the moment.
Pepper and Ruby came laboring inside, because they’d all had a very long day. Sunrise to sunset, and while Beau didn’t usually mind it, today, he did. Charlotte didn’t answer, and Beau got busy feeding and watering the dogs.
He normally showered before dinner, but his hollow stomach shouted at him to eat first. He made himself a ham and cheese sandwich, wondering if Charlotte was still at work or not. He’d been diverting people all day, and she did have a lot to do to care for the horses that had been out on the roundup for a week.
He set a tea kettle to warm for his mother’s home remedy, and he threw back some painkillers that actually hurt his throat as he swallowed them.
As he finished his sandwich, he went down the hall to his bedroom. Her door sat closed, which wasn’t that unusual. He left his open during the day, but she rarely did. He’d not been inside the bedroom since he’d cared for her when she’d had her headache, and he gave the door a cursory glance and continued into his bedroom.
He closed and locked the door behind him and sent her a quick text. I’m home and getting in the shower. Where are you? Did you get dinner?
Before he’d stripped out of his dirty clothes, she answered with, I’m home, showered, and I’ve eaten. My mom called, and I’m talking to her in my bedroom.
Oh, great, he said. Not sure what else to say, he left his phone on the nightstand and went to shower.
The next day, a loft in one of Pete’s barns broke, and Beau had sent several cowboys to help rebuild it on the fly. An ambulance had been called for the two cowboys who’d fallen two stories with the hay and rotted flooring.
He didn’t get home until dusk that evening too, and once again, he walked into a semi-dark, silent, empty cabin. “Charlotte?” he called again, feeling eerily like he’d entered another dimension where he was living the same day over and over again, but with different calamities during the day.
But at night, he had to go home alone. Hungry. Too hot. And with a headache and that pesky sore throat. His mother claimed more vitamins and zinc supplements would ward off the impending sickness, and Beau happened to have the things she claimed would save him.
He heard Charlotte’s shower running as he passed the mouth of the hall, and he fed and watered the dogs, made himself a sandwich, drank the orange-flavored vitamins with a side of zinc, and texted his cabinmate from the safety of his locked bedroom.
Been a long day, she said. I’m going to finish some notes for the horses and go to bed early.
Beau did the same. He woke up the next morning and did his Sunrise Cowboy live-stream with hardly a voice. His head hurt this morning, when it usually didn’t start to ache until lunchtime. He coughed as he said, “Until tomorrow’s sunrise, have a good one, doing good things and living good lives.”
He spent the morning in his air-conditioned office, trying to put together a schedule for the upcoming harvest. They were a couple of days late getting started, and Beau sent men to town to pick up the equipment they needed.
That put them down a few hands on the ranch, and that forced Beau out of the admin building and into the blazing heatwave to work alongside his men. After all, animals had to be tended to, as did seemingly everything else on this ranch.
When he and the dogs walked into a dark, silent, empty cabin for the third night in a row, Beau realized there was a problem. Not one on the ranch. Not one a few texts could fix. Not one he could send a couple of cowhands to help with.
But a problem between him and Charlotte.
He didn’t know how to fix phantom problems. Give him a schedule and a pile of men, and he’d figure it out. He knew how to organize a harvest with dozens of people, machines, and fields.
But a woman who’d gone silent on him? Whom he lived with?
Beau only knew how to do one thing in a situation like this: Flirt.
So he pulled out his phone and sent Charlotte a message.
Chapter Eighteen
