Page 75 of The Cowboy and the Stray

Tears hit before I even reached the end of the ranch's long driveway. I wiped them with the heel of my hand, pissed at myself, but they just kept coming. This was not how I was supposed to go. I was supposed to vanish after a few weeks, not get attached, not make friends, or fall for a rancher with a jawline that could cut glass.

Damn it.

I drove until the gas light blinked, then pulled into a twenty-four-hour station with bars on the windows and a flickering soda machine. I filled up, cash only, and bought a cherry Coke and a pack of donuts. Thankfully, I had a little bit of money left from before I got to the ranch, plus what I got for my car. The guy at the counter didn’t look twice at me, even though my face was probably still red from crying. He just took my twenty and handed me the change.

Back on the road, I stuck to the highways at first, then took random exits, doubling back whenever I saw the same truck twice or convinced myself someone was tailing me. I drove north, then west, then north again, looping small towns and ghost subdivisions and construction detours. If there was a way to confuse anyone following, I did it.

I kept the radio off because every song made me want to turn the car around. Instead, I replayed the greatest hits of Calder in my head. Him teaching me to fix the fence, handing me that bandana when I was melting, and the way he'd looked at me when I cooked something actually edible. I told myself I was forgetting, saying goodbye, but all I did was remember.

I’d put two hundred miles between me and the ranch before the sun came up. By then, I was running on caffeine and spite. I stopped at a rest area and washed my face in the sink. My hair looked like roadkill, but I didn’t care. I kept moving.

Around noon, I hit a truck stop and bought more gas, plus some basic groceries. I checked my cash. I’d left with three hundred, and now I was down to two-forty. If I kept moving, it would last a week at best. After that, it was anyone’s guess.

I kept thinking I’d stop at the next town, or the one after that. But every time I got close, I pictured Lance sitting in a parking lot, waiting for me. Or worse, walking up to the counter of a diner and asking if anyone had seen a girl with hair like rust and a face like trouble. I wanted to laugh, but my jaw was stuck.

I made it to Oklahoma by dusk, then cut west again, doubling back through Amarillo, then north into the panhandle. I didn’t have a plan, just a set of bad habits.

After dark, I found a dive motel that looked like it hadn’t changed hands since the Nixon era. The sign out front said,

VACANCY – FREE HBO – PETS OK.

I'd been driving for nearly twenty-four hours. I had to sleep.

I pulled in, parked behind a minivan, and checked in with a fake name and cash. I had to sleep for a while. The guy at the desk gave me the first-floor room closest to the office, which is exactly what I wanted.

If I was going to get murdered, I wanted witnesses. Or at least a security camera for the eventual documentary.

The room was even worse than I dreaded. Threadbare bedspread, weird carpet, a TV the size of a toaster. But the door locked, and the curtains closed, and it was mine for the night.

I dropped my bag by the door and checked the windows, making sure they latched. I jammed a chair under the knob, just in case. Old habits, drilled in by my mom, who was never wrong about what could go wrong.

I left my jeans on, in case I had to make it out fast, and curled up on the bed, hoodie pulled tight. I shut my eyes and tried to picture anywhere but here, but my brain replayed the last week on loop. Dancing at the bar, Ash talking trash, Sloane pretending not to care about anything, even though she cared the most. Baking an actually edible cake.

Calder, standing in the sunrise, leaning on the porch rail. Kissing me. That was the one that really hurt.

I squeezed my eyes shut and told myself I’d made the right call. It didn’t matter if I believed it.

I fell asleep like that, hungry and alone and wishing I could start the whole thing over. But I knew better. Second chances didn’t come free.

The bed was scratchy, the pillows flat, and I was still asleep in seconds.

37. CALDER

I drove north with the window down and sweat gluing my shirt to the seat, every turn of the highway thick with June bugs and old diesel. Ash rode shotgun, one boot on the dash, all sharp eyes and confidence. She and Tess had grown close. I hoped if Tess didn’t want to talk to me for some reason, she’d talk to Ash. She was my backup, as it was.

She didn’t say much, just flicked the radio back and forth between stations, always landing on something angry.

“Slower,” she said, maybe the fourth hour out as she checked my phone and the GPS. “We’re getting close.”

I eased up. When we rolled into town, the only sign was over a motel next to a closed-down Dairy Queen. The parking lot was only half full.

I did a loop around the lot. We both saw it at the same time. Midge’s sedan, parked in the back. I parked two spaces down and turned the truck off.

“What’s the plan, jefe?”

“Find her. Fast.”

She nodded, then jerked her chin at the row of rooms. “You want loud or quiet?”