Page 43 of Saltwater Cowboy

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snapped.

Feisty.

“It’s evident you hate my guts. Trust me, I don’t want to be over here anymore than—”

“You’re in the clear.” She interrupted.

“What?”

“Marjorie just left.” Rose stated plainly.

I turned to walk away.

“You should’ve just let me cry in peace on the plane.”

“Noted.” I called over my shoulder, not wanting to engage anymore.

I typed out a message to Charlie. Something I had been considering for the last few days.

Wells: Do you think it’s a terrible idea?

Charlie: You’ve had worse.

Charlie: It’s definitely not your best.

Charlie: I don’t think it’s gonna go over well. She’s got some thick walls built up.

A few years ago, I couldn’t get this guy to send a single text. Now, he’s sending three in a row.

I sank into my favorite chair overlooking the wildflower field, the place where my thoughts always seemed to settle. Ever since my conversation with Marjorie last week, her words had been circling in my mind. Inheriting the family farm had consumed every part of my life, leaving little room for anything—or anyone—else. I tried to remember the last time I’d been on a date. I searched my memory, coming up empty. Years, I realized. It had been years.

Years of sitting out here alone. No soulmate. No family. Just me and the land, stretching endlessly before me. Charlie and Blythe had been my saving grace, but at the end of the day, when the sky turned dusky pink and the crickets started to chirp, the loneliness settled in my chest like an old friend. The days were long. The nights, even longer. Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.

My phone buzzed again, another message lighting up the screen. I didn’t need to check to know who it was.

For years, I told myself I was fine on my own. That the farm was enough. That the rhythm of planting, growing, and harvesting could fill the empty spaces in my life. But I wasn’t so sure. Lately, I found myself staring a little too long at the horizon, wondering what else was out there for me.

I exhaled, raking a hand through my hair. Maybe Marjorie was right. Maybe it was time to let someone in. Or maybe I’d just had too much beer and was feeling sentimental. Either way, my fingers hovered over the screen, heart pounding as I finally typed out a reply.

Charlie: But best of luck…

Wells: Can I have her number? I can’t find her on social media.

Charlie: You didn’t find her because she doesn’t want to be found. She hates social media. Thinks it’s the downfall of society.

Wells: I don’t disagree.

Charlie: You’re going to have to be a grown man and talk to her face-to-face.

Wells: She terrifies me.

Charlie: You’re scared, but you’re still going to proposition her?

Wells: Yes…

Charlie: Suit yourself. She’ll be at the coffee shop tomorrow.

Charlie: I’m not involved in this. Whatever the deal is between the two of you, don’t bring us into it.