Page 64 of Lost Trust

For a few minutes, we eat in comfortable silence.

“So,” I finally say, “what exactly do you have to do in Dallas?”

She leans back in her chair. “Ugh, so much. I need to meet with my realtor first.” She starts counting on her fingers. “Then I have to pack everything. Or at least figure out what I’m keeping and what’s going into storage. I need to call the movers, cancel utilities, turn in my leased car. And make arrangements to have Rowdy transported to his new home.”

“To Wildhaven,” I say.

“Yeah.”

The words settle between us, and I find myself liking her calling my ranch home.

“How long do you think all that will take?”

“If everything goes smoothly?” She lets out a breath. “A few days. Maybe. A week at most.”

We finish breakfast, and by the time we’re back in the truck, the quiet feels different.

The ride to the airport passes quickly, and when we pull into Departures, the tension has changed. She gathers her purse and checks her phone one last time.

I put the truck in park.

For a second, neither of us moves. Then she turns toward me.

“Thank you,” she says. “For breakfast and the ride.”

Then she reaches for the door.

“Give me your phone.”

She looks back at me, confused. “Why?”

“Just hand it over.”

She hands it to me reluctantly, and I open her message screen and send myself a hello. When my phone chimes, I open the message and reply.

“There. Now you have my number and can let me know you landed safely,” I say. “I’ll let everyone know.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, then opens the door.

Before she can climb out, I say, “Rina.”

She looks back.

I lean an arm against the steering wheel. “I’m happy you’re moving to Wildhaven.”

Something flickers across her face. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” I don’t bother pretending otherwise. “Having you around is going to make the summer a hell of a lot more interesting.”

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t get too excited.”

I grin. “Why not?”

“I don’t date cowboys anymore.”

I nod solemnly. “No dates. Got it.”

She studies me, clearly waiting for me to say more.