Page 89 of Wild and Wanted

Six weeks later

Walking away from Clay Calhoun had been one of the most difficult things Stevie had ever had to do, and she’d cried herself to sleep that night after she’d left him for the last time. Lucky – or unluckily – there’d been a lot of difficult stuff to deal with the past couple of years so she was well versed in handling situations that really, really sucked.

She just hadn’t expected this to suck quite as much.

There was plenty of distractions with production on her new songs now in full swing but six weeks down the track, Stevie was still thinking about the Wyoming cowboy a little too much. The first week had been the hardest but the other five hadn’t been a walk in the park either.

She’d been trying to ignore and rationalise feelings that were so beyond what she’d ever known, but working on ‘Cowboy Kisses’ – which the record label were convinced would be her next big hit – wasn’t helping the situation. Singing the song she’d written about Clay and about a very different world over and over and over was achingly bittersweet.

Suddenly, she felt like a foreigner in her own life. Like she didn’t fit into Boston or this recording-studio, record-deal life any more. It felt like being at the RVR had rewired her brain, or maybe it was just that it had tripped her true DNA into life. Like she’d been switched at birth with city parents and that’s why this girl from Boston penned songs about honky tonks, pickup trucks and cowboys.

Checking no one around the table at the meeting she was currently in – regarding the creative and filming schedule of her music video – was looking her way, Stevie glanced at her cell phone in her lap which had lit up with an incoming notification.

Clay.

The meeting, as informative and necessary as it may be, was currently bogged down in a bunch of tech speak about camera angles that did not get her heart a’leaping like Clay’s name on her screen, so she didn’t hesitate to tap on the text. It opened to a picture of Electra in her stall, her head out, looking strong and haughty, and was accompanied by a message.

Electra says hi.

Stevie’s heart just about melted on the spot. She missed the routine of going out for a ride every day. She missed the smell of horse and hay. The feel of sunshine on her shoulders, the wind in her hair, the sounds of hooves on the ground and the creak of leather beneath her butt. She missed the rhythmic satisfaction of brushing Gertie down and the wet nudge of her nose as the horse ate an apple from Stevie’s palm.

She missed the ranch. That whole way of life. The cookouts and the trail rides and the line dancing classes and the stars at night and The Corral and the camaraderie. And yes, she knew a dude ranch stay was a curated slice of country living and the everyday reality was probably a lot grittier but, after living a life she didn’t really want to live for so long now, life on the RVR had still felt much more authentic.

A place she could truly be herself.

It was ridiculous to be homesick for a place she’d spent less than four weeks at and wasn’t even her home and yet, that’s how it felt.

Also, she missed him. This guy she hadn’t even known for a month.

But that was only to be expected, right? She’d shared something special with Clay – parts of herself she’d never shared with anyone else. And not just her virginity. She’d told him things no one else knew. He’d been the one person she’d been truly open with, so of course she missed him, especially now she was back to the version of Stevie everyone expected.

Back to being Stephanie Everhart, Grammy-award-winning singer/songwriter.

And they had kept in touch. The picture of Electra was evidence of that. In fact, this was what they did now. They traded photos. The first week or two they’d texted a lot but, as both of their schedules had picked up – his with his business plans, hers with the new songs she’d written – they’d settled into a routine of mostly just daily pictures.

Clay had started it with a snap of a sunrise from his porch, and she had replied with a picture of her guitar lying on her bed. And that’s the way they’d continued. A daily snapshot of their lives, a quick check-in that didn’t require a lot of words because the images themselves were reflections of what they knew about each other.

Each picture was relevant to something in their shared history, each one said – I see you, I remember, I know you. It was their special shorthand.

Stevie scrolled back through them now, a faint smile on her face. Picture after picture of pastures and cows and horses. Of the barn and the loft and the haystack. Of the pool table at The Corral. Of his Adirondack chairs and his dusty boots. Of Mags cornering a barrel, Ivan shoeing a horse, Beau pouring a beer, Dev laughing at something. His – their – special spot by the stream with the leaves now turning golden.

And the numerous snaps of the sky changing colours over the mountains as the sun set and rose. Those ones were always accompanied by four little words. Wish you were here.

She stopped at one now, looking at a picture that was all breathtaking golds and misty mauves. She read the exchange with a fondness that hurt so damn bad.

Clay

Wish you were here

Stevie

Wish I was too

Clay

It’s especially purple tonight, reminds me of your eyes

Stevie