Christy

Maybe I was foolish to think moving to Colorado would give me a chance to make a fresh start. I had all these daydreams about taking over my uncle’s homestead and using the time with the goats and chickens to let all the negativity and toxicity Mark brings to my life seep right on out of it. I should have been more clear when he started packing his bags. I should have told him I was done with our relationship. I’m just … afraid of him. My pride stings to admit it, but it’s the truth. I don’t even know how things ended up this way. Mark was a decent guy when we started dating and I’m not the kind of woman who lets herself get taken advantage of. And yet, here we are. Maybe I’m not as strong as I want to think I am.

I’ve never been more embarrassed than I was when Mark was being an asshole to Chet at the diner. It’s one thing when he aims all that vitriol at me. I don’t like it, but I’ve gotten used to it. It’s a different thing altogether when he’s spewing that poison at someone else. Especially when that someone else is Chet Wilde.

Mark has said less than three words to me since we left the diner. Even the stunning skyline can’t soothe my nerves. I stare at the clear blue sky and the snow capped mountains through the passenger window of my truck, hoping the beauty will help me find some measure of calm, but my heart thumps wildly each time Mark so much as clears his throat. I can’t do this anymore. Somehow, someway, I’m going to have to figure out how to tell him I’m done feeling like this, that when he packs his shit up and drives his stupid ass sports car back home, that’s the end.

Mark pulls into the parking lot of the supply store and wrenches the gearshift into park. He kills the engine and sits with his hands in his lap, the little vein in his forehead pulsing vigorously, keeping time with the muscle in his jaw. I take a long breath and ready myself. The silent treatment is about to end and the chilly atmosphere is about to give away to a fiery explosion of Mark’s possessive anger.

“You feel like telling me who the hell that was?” His voice is low. Barely controlled. Electricity pulses through the air in the tight space of the truck cab. I feel it in my bones, the way you feel the air go quiet before a storm that rips trees out by the roots. Whatever is coming my way is going to be bad.

“That was Chet Wilde. The owner of the ranch I told you about yesterday.”

Mark turns to me, his eyes wide and bulging. “And you had the gall to whine to me about your loyalty and integrity. I’m not blind, Christy. There’s no hiding whatever is going on between you two. Anyone could see it.”

I sit back and throw up my hands. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on between us, then, because I’ll be damned if I know.”

That was a mistake. I know better than to raise my voice when he’s this mad, but damn it, I’m tired of cowering whenever he rattles his saber. In the three weeks since we’ve been in Colorado, it’s become more and more clear to me that I don’t love him anymore and it’s hard to believe he loves me either. I’m pretty sure love isn’t supposed to hurt, but whenever he and I talk it’s like stepping into the ring with a boxer. His words are targeted and purposeful, three jabs and a right hook that sends me sprawling every time.

I grip the door handle. I need space. Now. “I don’t know what to do to make you believe I’m not a cheater. I’m sorry you don’t trust me.” And then I commit the cardinal sin of getting out of the truck without waiting for his response.

Mark turns to me in a rage as I swing the door shut. His eyes go wide and then he narrows them. He brings the engine to life and then flips me the bird. Without waiting for me to step safely away, he speeds out of the parking lot, barely missing another vehicle on his way out and leaving me to stand like an idiot as I watch the asshole drive off in my truck.

As the person Mark almost sideswiped pulls into the spot beside me, I blink in surprise, trying to make sense of the fact that Mark might have just committed grand theft auto and I’m stranded in town with no way to get home. I run my hands up into my hair and growl in frustration. A truck door thumps closed and I turn to find none other than Chet Wilde standing there with his hands shoved in his pockets, the brim of his Stetson pulled down low.

“Looks like you’ve got a problem,” he says, the low rumble of his gravelly voice soothing my frayed nerves.

He has no idea how right he is. Mark is a problem and it’s well past time I find a solution. “It does look that way, doesn’t it?” I sigh.

“Think he’ll be back?” Chet pushes off his truck and closes the distance between us.

My shoulders droop. “Honestly? I have no idea. He could show back up in a few minutes or he might be halfway to Pennsylvania before I figure out how to get home.”

Chet doesn’t say a word, but his entire demeanor changes. It’s clear he disapproves, although I can’t tell if that disapproval is aimed solely at Mark or if I’m included as well. This is not the way I want a client to see me, especially this client. I dig through my bag and pull out my phone, partly needing a distraction, but mostly operating on autopilot. Whenever Mark and I are separated, he expects me to respond to texts and calls immediately, regardless of what I’m doing. The asshole has only been gone a minute and here I am, worried about missing one of his messages. I drop the phone into the abyss of my purse without even checking the screen.

He’s the one who left me.

He can worry if I’m mad for a change.

Chet watches me, his gaze sharp. When I look at him, he smiles and I swear, something in his eyes makes me feel safe. I find myself smiling in return and then, to my utter surprise, I laugh. “I hate that we keep meeting like this,” I say. “First the diner. Now this. Between you and me, I tried to make it clear he wasn’t welcome when I moved out here, but it looks like he never got the message.”

“Can’t say for certain, but experience tells me there’s gotta be something wrong with a man who would treat a woman this way.” Chet gestures towards the store. “Come on then,” he says. “Let’s go. You can grab what you need and I’ll take you home.”

“My house is twenty miles in the wrong direction.” I shake my head. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered.” Chet smiles again and holds out his hand as if to say ladies first.

We get what we need from the store and load it into the back of his truck. Chet opens the passenger door for me and in the moment I brush past him, I breathe him in. His cologne mixes with his sweat and instead of shuddering in disgust like I do when Mark’s been working outside, I fight the urge to pause and breathe deeper. If I thought he was a man’s man before, his scent only solidifies the thought. He smells of sawdust and time in the field.

I can’t tell if Chet values silence or the weight of his words more, since he only doles out a few every now and again, but his quiet nature combines with my growing nerves and we don’t have a lot to say to each other on the drive home. I’d call the silence comfortable if I wasn’t worried about how Mark will react when Chet pulls up in front of my house.

Gravel crunches under the tires as we pull into the driveway and I suck in my lips when I see my truck parked ahead of us. Here we go. There’s no way the shit isn’t going to hit the fan. Hopefully it will happen after Chet’s on his way home so he doesn’t get caught in the mess.

“Thank you so much,” I say when we pull to a stop. The sun is setting behind the old house, lighting the sky on fire. “I really feel bad,” I say to Chet when I realize the time. “It’s going to be so late before you finally get home.”

“It’s no problem.” Chet swings open his door. “I’ll help you get your things.”

I hop out of the truck, ready to grab everything by myself before Mark sees how I got home. “There’s no need,” I begin, but the front door slams shut, interrupting me.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Mark crosses the porch in two long strides and runs down the steps. His face is screwed up in a snarl and his eyes are filled with hate. Before I know what’s happening, my worst fear comes true. He grabs me by the shoulders, overcome by his anger and jealousy. His fingers dig into my flesh and I cry out. He shakes me. Hard. I try to push him away, but he’s stronger than me. He tightens his grip and then starts to drag me towards the house, my feet shuffling helplessly in the gravel.