Page 30 of Wild and Wanted

There was silence for a few beats and Clay thought they might be embracing. Then Stevie, her voice thick with emotion, said, ‘Do you want me to book some flights for us back to Boston?’

Clay’s stomach dropped at the thought of Stevie leaving. But of course she would want to see her grandmother, and wishing that this… thing could keep going, that they had more of a chance to fully explore it, was utter lunacy. He should be grateful – except for the granny stroke bit – that the universe had given him the chance to nip it in the bud.

‘No.’ Cindy’s voice was husky with emotion too, but her response was decisive. ‘I’ve already organised it. They’ve assured me she’s doing better but I need to eyeball her. I’m leaving on an evening flight and I’ll go straight to the hospital as soon as it lands.’

A dizzy sense of relief flowed like cold water through Clay’s veins. Stevie was staying. Was he an asshole for wanting her to stay? With her helicopter mother gone?

‘I’ve already organised everything here. Theresa said they’ll make one of the ranch vehicles available for your use so I’ll drive the rental to the airport. If I think you need to…’

Clay heard the sound of a throat clearing and definitely felt like the asshole.

‘…to fly home,’ she continued, ‘I’ll let you know. Otherwise the record company had paid for another three weeks.’

The record company. Clay remembered Stevie’s lament before he’d kissed her. Can you make me forget everything? My sister. My career. The record company…

‘You need to stay here and keep up your lessons and get your cowgirl on.’

Clay shut his eyes and tried valiantly to not picture Stevie getting her cowgirl on while her grandmother was lying in some hospital bed after a stroke. Because that would really make him the asshole.

‘Mom… I don’t want you to be alone for all that.’

‘I won’t be alone. Your father will be there. Truly,’ Cindy assured her, ‘I’ll be fine and hopefully with any luck she’ll be discharged properly and I can stay with her in her house to help out for a while, because you know her.’

‘Fiercely independent,’ Stevie replied, her voice echoing in admiration.

Her mom laughed but it sounded brittle. ‘Right. So come on, quick sticks, come and help me pack and we’ll map out a schedule for you for the next few weeks if I’m not able to get back here in that time.’

The crunching of shoes on the concrete got fainter as did their voices until Clay could no longer hear anything. He dropped his forehead to the cool cinder block for several moments as he collected himself. Stevie would be here – alone. Maybe for the rest of her stay. He should be running a hundred miles away but no part of him wanted that.

Turning around, he leaned his butt into the wall to find Electra regarding him steadily with her soft brown eyes. Fuck, he’d forgotten she was here. He’d necked in front of the filly like a goddamned teenager and had been that swept away by it he hadn’t given the animal – which had preoccupied him for months now – a second thought.

Maybe it was his latent guilt over that purity ring Stevie still wore on her finger, but the horse did not look impressed by Clay’s actions.

Bending a leg, he flattened his booted heel against the wall. ‘Hey, don’t judge me. Your kind fuck out in the open and don’t give a damn who’s watching.’

Electra snorted haughtily. Clay hadn’t thought it possible that a horse could snort haughtily but that just proved you could get to twenty-eight and still know jack shit.

‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ he said with a sigh as she continued to judge. ‘I’m the asshole.’

Pushing off his heel, Clay strode to the gate, opened it and walked away.

10

STEVIE

Two days later, Stevie walked from her cabin to the cookout area, the crunch of gravel underfoot and the sighing of wind through the grasslands her only companions. She was dressed in her red boots and a twirly country-inspired boho dress with a shirred bodice. Her hair had been pulled into a loose, high bun with shorter tendrils floating freely in the gentle breeze.

Inhaling deeply, she took in the beauty of the ranch around her as the afternoon light fell all soft and golden on the long grass of the pastures and gilded the jagged outline of the mountain peaks. Soon that would soften and the sky would turn pink and the mountains would turn a hazy kind of purple.

This was her favourite time of the day out here in the wilds of Wyoming.

Her guitar case occasionally knocked against her legs as she walked. There was always music playing at the cookouts but Mags had asked if she might sing a couple of songs around the fire one night – only if she wanted – and although Stevie had initially shied away from the thought, she’d found herself reaching for her guitar as she walked out the door.

Performing on a stage in front of thousands of strangers all screaming her name and claiming some kind of ownership of her because they were fans had never been her thing but… a small gathering? Where people just listened and nothing was performative?

That was where Stevie thrived. No lighting and teams of roadies and a manager with run sheets and a head set and promoters who chose the programming to give peak entertainment. No slick of adrenaline curdling her stomach contents to cold lumps of porridge.

No razzamatazz. Nothing fake. Just individual connection.