Page 67 of Lost Trust

My phone buzzes.

I pull it out.

Trust: You make it?

I stare at the message. He knows I did. I’m sure Evelyn told him and Ryder that I called. But he’s checking on me anyway.

I type back.

Me: Just landed.

The response comes almost immediately.

Trust: Good. Ryder’s fine. And a hell of a bull rider if I do say so myself.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Annoyingly sexy cowboy.

Three dots appear.

Trust: Don’t worry. No one got hurt.

Me: I trust you.

I lock my phone as the taxi pulls up to the curb.

I toss my bag in the back seat and climb inside before giving the driver my address.

I’m about to pack my life into a bunch of boxes, but it doesn’t feel like I’m losing anything. It feels like I’m making room.

Room for something better—Wyoming, Wildhaven, my son’s laughter.

My phone chimes again, interrupting my thoughts.

Trust: You don’t. But you will.

And one dark-haired cowboy with a crooked smile who seems determined to make my new life complicated.

The condo looks like a war zone.

Boxes are stacked three deep along the living room walls, the furniture is slowly disappearing beneath layers of brown moving blankets, and two men from the moving company are currently wrestling my sofa toward the front door.

I’m kneeling beside an open box, torn between taking my eclectic collection of coffee mugs to the ranch or storing them, when my phone rings, and I grab it from my back pocket, tapping the screen.

Mom.

I hit Speaker and set the phone on the floor beside me so I can keep packing.

“Finally!”

She immediately launches into her frenzied questioning.

“I got your voicemail. What the hell do you mean, you’re moving to a ranch in Wildhaven? Where the hell is Wildhaven?”

I smile despite myself. “Hello to you too, Mom. Wildhaven is in Wyoming. Near the Teton mountains.”

There’s a beat of silence.