Chapter Two
Hailey
July, Early Evening
My phone was ringing, but I couldn’t find the damned thing. I’d already missed the initial call—the bare floors and high ceilings in my apartment created an echo effect, and I couldn’t tell where the hell the noise was coming from—but, luckily, whoever was on the line was calling again. My place was a disaster, as usual—boxes overflowing with interesting things I found on my travels, piles of books and periodicals, some of which had fallen over onto the floor, dishes from meals eaten at my desk stacked on every available surface, and papers strewn everywhere, looking a little like I’d taken a few reams and simply thrown them in the air to land however gravity decided. I had working drafts of a few novels spread out everywhere, too.
I dashed around my living room like a madwoman, tearing through piles of crap until I finally found my purse and, inside it, my phone. It was my agent, who definitely knew what to expect where I was concerned. If I’d missed this call, she’d have called at least two more times. I lost my phone inside my own house on a daily basis.
“Hi, Andrea,” I said, and collapsed on the only empty cushion on the couch, a little out of breath from the ordeal. I’d been both looking forward to and dreading this phone call for days. Andrea had spent the week pitching my newest idea for a novel-length project to my editor. Everything depended on how well that had gone.
“Hello, Hailey,” Andrea replied, and it was impossible to tell by the sound of her greeting how the conversation was going to go.
My stomach was in knots, but I didn’t want to pounce on her. She’d called for a reason, and I didn’t mean to rush her, no matter how anxious I was.
“I have good news.” She paused, and my stomach relaxed a little, though the knots were still there. “The pitch for your cowboy novel went great with the editing team at the publishing house. They are definitely on board and stated that they already have the early workings of an advertising campaign. They even hinted at the possibility of making this into a series.”
My brain was taking a long time to process the things she was telling me. This was better than I’d expected, and it was a bit of a shock after so much time spent worrying. When I didn’t respond, Andrea just continued, all business, as she explained the rest of the meeting.
“The editors praised the authenticity of your earlier novels, even the ones that didn’t do as well where sales were concerned. They know that you’re a solid writer who can deliver beautifully written content, dynamic characters, and engaging plotlines.”
I was still too stunned to speak. I knew I was a good writer—I’d been doing it since I was in elementary school in one way or another—but it was amazing to hear professionals in the field deliver such high praise. Finally, the words came loose, and I spoke them through a rush of relieved giggles.
“Too bad that authenticity isn’t helping me sell more novels,” I replied, and I had to consciously put a lid on the giggles to get them to stop. Once I got started, it could go on for several minutes at a time, much to the chagrin of whoever I was talking to.
“Your sales are steady,” Andrea reminded me. “With the rise of the digital market, many up and coming writers felt the squeeze, but the cowboy genre is a trend that’s only been getting more popular. The editing and marketing team at the publisher have a great feeling about the idea you’ve come up with. So do I, for that matter.”
“That means a lot, Andrea,” I said.
“I wouldn’t say it unless it was true.”
“I’m so excited to get started!” I rose from the couch, and a pile of books tumbled onto the ground next to my feet. I stepped over them to get to my desk and the computer sleeping on top of it. “When do they want the first draft?”
“By February, at the latest.”
That was more than doable and left plenty of time for research. I had no idea why a novel about cowboys out on the range had appealed to me so much. I’d never even been on a damned horse, let alone out West.
“That’s perfect. I can spend a few months on research, maybe on a ranch someplace rugged and picturesque. Really live the life, you know?” As I was saying it, I realized how ridiculous it sounded, but I’d find a way to make it work. I always did. I hadn’t known anything about being a captain on a dive boat in the Bahamas either before I spent four months down there diving and working on the water.
“Keep me updated, kid,” Andrea said, which was her way of signing off.
I hung up with her and fired up my computer, sliding a few magazines off the chair so I could sit down at the desk. I pushed my glasses up my nose and started hunting around on the internet, looking for some opportunities out West. I could find an extended Airbnb or look into one of those dude ranches where they let you come live the life of a cowboy for a week or two. That might be a great start while I looked for something more long-term.
I opened several tabs in my browser, each with a separate opportunity that was available, but not quite right. I was ready to quit for the afternoon when I landed on a page advertising a room for rent on a ranch outside of Jackson, Wyoming. I read through the details and looked over the picture accompanying the ad—a wooden barn in the middle of a grassy plain, with cows in a field and, in the background, a breathtaking mountain range overlooking it all. Everything about this location was perfect and, most importantly, the rate was reasonable.
The ad listed a man named Eric Matthews as the contact. I shot an email off to him, introducing myself and asking how soon I could move in.