Christy

It’s a solid forty-minute drive back into town from the Wilde ranch, and another twenty-five minutes home from there, but the time passes in a flash. My thoughts are so wrapped around Chet Wilde that I barely notice the view, which, under normal circumstances, distracts me every time I step outside. He’s older than me, but that gives him a distinguished aura that I find intriguing. The laugh lines near his eyes help offset his powerful presence and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to run my hand through that thick hair of his. There’s more to him than good looks though, something that sets him apart from every other man I’ve met. He has a timeless vibe about him, something that screams masculinity.

It’s more than the way he wears his Stetson and boots, or those wisps of sandy blond hair that fell in his eyes when he lifted his hat. Don’t get me wrong, he wears his Stetson and bootsjust fine, and the way his jeans hugged his thighs? Yes. Please. I almost feel like I should apologize to Mark for enjoying the view as much as I did, although there’s no way that discussion would end well. It seems like none of our conversations end well lately, but that particular one would be nothing but gasoline to the fire. It’s probably best for everyone if I keep how much I liked being around Chet all to myself.

The only thing I knew about the Wilde ranch before this afternoon was that the family is a staple of the community, and people around here hold them in the highest regard. The Wilde family garners the kind of respect that’s earned over generations and I’ve never seen anything like it before moving out here. Maybe that’s what struck me about Chet. The way he carries himself, it’s like he’s worthy of respect. Not that he expects it, but that he’s earned it.

But what kind of name is Chet, anyway?

When I finally turn off the road into the entrance of my own little homestead, I dig through my purse, looking for my phone. The blinking notification light sets my nerves on edge and the long list of missed calls and ever angrier texts from Mark lets off an anxiety bomb in my stomach. I didn’t realize it was set on vibrate when I stuffed it in my bag earlier in the day, but explaining that to Mark won’t count for much—there’ll be hell to pay regardless. I pull up to the house, put the truck in park, and take a moment to steel my nerves for the impending argument. Things between us soured slowly, the way water erodes rock. I couldn’t put my finger on the exact moment things got bad enough for me to want out of the relationship, but I am officially over feeling this way.

I take a deep breath and press my hands against my thighs to keep them from trembling. Just as I reach the porch, the front door to the house flies open and Mark steps out, looking straight up pissed off.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Spittle flies from his lips as his eyes flash with anger.

I freeze, one hand on the railing and one foot on the bottom step. “I was working, love. I got called out to the Wilde ranch to help with a cow in labor.” I know better than to get confrontational or to make direct eye contact for too long. When he gets spun up like this, it’s like I’m walking on ice covered in egg shells while wearing high heels. No matter how careful I am, things won’t end well for me.

“The Wilde ranch? What the fuck is that? Sounds like a chip flavor to me.” Mark sneers in disgust. “Like that’s the kind of outfit you wear to deliver cows, anyway. Those jeans are so tight you might as well be naked.” He glares at me, his eyes narrowing. “How am I supposed to know that’s where you’ve even been? Do you expect me to just take your word on it?”

I know that look and it means things are about to get bad. Fast. I swallow hard and fight back tears because he hates it when I cry. It only makes him madder.

“Mark, please. When have I ever lied to you? I’ve never given you any reason to question my loyalty, let alone my integrity. Even when we broke up and you were seeing other women, I stayed faithful.” I wipe at my face. “As for these tight jeans, they are just an old pair of boot cut Levi’s. I just happen to have hips and an ass,” I say, tears streaming down my cheeks even as I try to blink them away.

Rage twists Mark’s face into something hideous. “Bullshit Christine! If you don’t fucking want me here, why did you beg me to take time off work and help you move all your shit halfway across the country? What am I to you, free labor? Some schmuck you think you can take advantage of when it suits you and push off to the sidelines when it doesn’t? I’ve been here for three weeks and I’ll be goddamned if I’m sticking around for this kind of shit.”

Beg him? Has he gone full-tilt crazy?

I choke back laughter at the thought because Mark doesn’t have to go anywhere to get to full-tilt crazy. I most certainly did not beg him to come out here and help me. In fact, I gave him every chance to walk away. When my uncle passed and left me this homestead, I chose to move out here in the hopes that it would provide a clean break for Mark and me. He’s the one who insisted on putting his life in Pennsylvania on hold to ‘get me settled.’ His words, not mine. I know very well he’s here to keep an eye on me. I should have put my foot down and told him not to come. The mess we’re in now is just as much my fault for being weak as it is his for being an ass.

Before I have a chance to gather my thoughts and respond, Mark grabs his keys from inside and slams the front door behind him. He pushes past me and jumps in his little sports car without a word. The engine comes to life and Mark dumps the clutch, throwing gravel behind him all the way down the driveway. I hate that car. It was bad enough in the suburbs, but out here, it might as well be a sign that says, ‘everyone pay attention to me, and no I don’t have a small penis’. But we both know he does.

I haven’t been able to get the thought of a bourbon out of my head since Chet mentioned it before, so I go inside and pour a drink to steady my nerves. I sit on the couch, drink in hand, and try to piece together just how my life got this way. Is it something I’m doing that attracts an asshole like Mark? Or is this the best I can hope for because it’s just how men are wired? Lord knows it wasn’t always this bad, but since he was my first love, I don’t really have a lot of experience to draw from other than my mom’s experience with my father, and she had it way worse.

The alcohol does its job, soothing my frayed nerves, and I sink into the couch, simply relieved to know Mark’s gone for now. Indignation flares hot and bright in my stomach the moment I think his name. I spent the day at work. I can’t be at his beck and call when I’m elbow deep in a cow’s vagina. I just can’t. And he shouldn’t expect me to drop everything to respond to him when I’m at work because, well, I’m at work, damn it. I breathe deeply and finish my drink, looking for something, anything, to divert my attention.

It’s not long before I find myself thinking back on the afternoon. Gabe pops into my mind as I pick up my Kindle and power it on. That man is cock-sure, to be certain, but that doesn’t stop him from being immediately likable. He strikes me as the kind of guy that would be a lot of fun, at least for a little bit, but there’s no settling that man down.

Then there’s Chet. The way he carries himself couldn’t be more different than Gabe. He has a quiet sort of way about him that’s confident, but not at all cocky. It’s like he thrives on the silence most people actively work to break. Like he knows who he is, and doesn’t feel any need to explain himself or his actions to anyone.

In another life, I could see myself with a man like him. Maybe if Mark were more like that, quiet and confident and sure of himself, the two of us could have been happy together. I let myself daydream about what life would be like with Chet, but only for a little while. Even if I somehow get free of Mark, he’s the only man I’ve ever been with. The last thing I want to do is jump right into a relationship with someone else. Besides, Mark has made it clear if he can’t have me, he’ll do everything he can to make sure no man ever will.