Page 49 of Saltwater Cowboy

She hummed thoughtfully, her gaze drifting up to the sky. “Mom says when she needs fresh air, it’s because she has too many thoughts in her head.”

I huffed a small laugh. “Your mom is a very smart woman.”

Wren nodded sagely, then looked up at me. “What are you thinking about?”

I hesitated, staring at the darkening horizon. How could I explain everything running through my mind without making her worry? The weight of my next decision, the fear of change, the unresolved tension between me and Wells—none of it was something a little girl should carry.

“Grown-up stuff,” I finally said.

Wren wrinkled her nose. “That sounds boring.”

I smiled. “It is.”

We walked in silence for a few more moments before she spoke again. “Are you sad?”

The question hit me like a gut punch.

I swallowed hard and forced another smile. “I’ll be okay.”

She squeezed my hand, her little face serious. “You always take care of me, so I’ll take care of you.”

My throat tightened, emotions threatening to break through the surface. “That’s not your job, kiddo,” I whispered.

But as we walked down that quiet road together, hand in hand, I realized something—maybe I didn’t have to do everything alone.

As soon as we stepped back into the house, I spotted Blythe folding clothes on the couch. I didn’t hesitate.

“I need Wells’ phone number.”

Her hands stilled, and she slowly lifted her gaze, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Oh?”

I exhaled sharply. “Please don’t make this a thing.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. “Too late.”

“Blythe.”

She held up her hands in mock surrender, but the teasing glint remained. “Alright, alright. I’ll send it.” She tapped away on her phone, and a second later, mine buzzed in my pocket.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over his number.

Blythe tilted her head. “So, are you gonna call him?”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”

But we both knew I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t already considering it.

THINKING ‘BOUT YOU

It’s been nine days since I walked into the Coastal Cup and asked Rose to move in with me, to help out on the farm. Looking back, I probably should’ve heeded Charlie’s warning and left well enough alone. He’s always telling me I stick my neck out for people, and it always comes back to bite me.

“Granger, come on!” I called, watching as my black lab darted through the field—his favorite pastime. He came bounding toward me, tongue lolling, just as I stepped onto the back porch.

I leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the fields stretching wide beneath the evening sky. The sun dipped low, spilling gold across the fruit trees, and for a moment, everything was quiet.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, eyeing an unfamiliar number on the screen. Probably spam. With a sigh, I pressed decline and shoved it back where it came from.

Lowering myself into the old rocking chair—my father’s chair—I let the familiar creak of the wood settle around me. My thoughts drifted to Rose. To the mess she’d found herself in. When my life got turned upside down, at least I had a roof over my head and work to keep me going. She had nothing but bad news and no warning.