Page 25 of The Cowboy and the Stray

Moving with the rhythm of the shared work, I felt myself fall into step with them, as if I belonged in that dance and a small, traitorous part of me believed it might be true. God help me, I wanted it to be.

After the foam was cleaned away the stove was still in one piece, which was more than I'd hoped after the fire alarm. Midge had worked her magic, quickly making eggs and bacon that weren’t blackened to bits.

Calder bit into a biscuit as dark as a bruise, one of the ones I'd made that had been inside the oven and safe from the foam, chewing like it was fine dining. I caught his gaze and looked away fast, swallowing the urge to cry, and nearly jumped out of my skin when Sloane appeared, quiet as a shadow. Of course she’d sneak up on me like some kind of emotionally devastating ninja.

She was watching me with a cool gaze, but there was something under the surface. Something that softened the set of her mouth and the line of her shoulders. "Don't let it bother you," she said, voice low enough that it didn't carry. "He's eaten worse."

Was that… Kindness? From Sloane? Whoa. I blinked at her, confused.

She sighed like a woman explaining the obvious. "You're not the only one who's made a mess of things around here."

Before I could figure out what she meant, before I could even process the surprising gentleness in her tone, she moved past me.

It left me flustered, like everything else about that woman.

Seriously, did she take classes in advanced emotional whiplash?

Maybe I was just good at making myself feel that way. Ten out of ten in self-sabotage.

I couldn't take it anymore. Couldn't sit there and pretend I didn't notice Calder chewing his way through the world's worst biscuit, pretending it wasn't burned to hell and back.

The house was too hot and too full of memories I hadn't earned. I got up and ducked outside, the morning light bright enough to sting my eyes.

There was a sigh and the scrape of a match to my left. Sloane, smoking on the porch. I should've known she'd come out here when she'd gone past me.

I hesitated, one hand on the screen door, then forced myself to let it swing shut. I crossed to where she leaned against the railing.

She said nothing, just took a long drag and raised one eyebrow as she chuckled. I folded my arms across my chest, trying not to sniff myself. My shirt smelled, and I didn't think it was all from the fire. More like the pungent aroma of failure, with a disturbing undertone of bacon.

"You think it's funny," I said, trying not to sound as wounded as I felt.

"What is?" she asked, flicking ash over the side of the porch. "That you nearly burned the house down or that Calder ate that biscuit?"

I hunched my shoulders, staring out at the horizon. "Both."

"Only a little," she admitted. "And not for the reasons you think."

She paused, glancing at me sidelong. “I once thought the only way to get anywhere was to go it alone." Her mouth quirked, wry and unwilling. "You remind me of me."

God help us both.

I didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to process the reluctant tenderness in her words. It clashed with everything I'd built up in my head about her, everything that kept me at arm's length.

"I can't stay here," I whispered. It was the first time I'd said it out loud. The first time I'd admitted it to anyone, even myself.

We stood in silence, the screen door rattling softly as the others moved around inside. I wanted to tell Sloane that I wasn't like her, that I didn't have her strength.

But the words wouldn't come.

"What are you afraid of?" she asked, and for once there was no edge to her voice.

"Running's what I do best," I said. I didn't mean for it to sound so small, but there it was, pathetic and true.

A faint smile touched her lips. "I don't believe that for a second."

She didn't wait for me to respond. Didn't give me the chance to untangle the conflicting emotions churning inside. Just put her cigarette out in the ashtray on the porch railing and walked back into the house.

I straightened and squared my shoulders like that could keep the doubts from gnawing their way in. There was work to do. Always work to do. I had to clean up breakfast, had to pull my weight before the others started thinking less of me.