1
Summer
“Shit,” I mutter, rolling over and turning off the alarm screaming for me to get my ass out of bed. It’s half past six, and I stayed up way too late last night swiping the cringy men away on the dating app my best friend, Kinsley, forced me to download. I wasn’t even remotely attracted to one guy on there. Over the past few months, I’ve given this app my best try. I’ve even gone on several awkward-as-hell dates. Chivalry is Dead Shawn, Handsy Henry, and Bad Breath Bart had me drowning myself in a huge tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream before midnight. Don’t even get me started on Farting Frank. Each time he coughed, he let one rip, and I reconsidered my life choices. Everyone talks a big game about finding dates online, but I’ve had zero hookups or booty calls, just a handful of bad experiences.
At this point, I’m convinced that I’ll be single forever with a barn full of horses, some chickens, and goats…just because they’re cute. Maybe I’ll never be able to live out my dream of being a MILF business owner with a hot as hell husband. Nope, just a lonely old woman who collects animals like postage stamps. But at least I’ve got a nice ass, a great smile, and a sense of humor. Sometimes my sassy mouth gets me in trouble.
After dressing, I slip on my boots and head outside. Working on a ranch means getting up at the butt crack of dawn, and it being the weekend doesn’t matter. I check the plants on my porch—yep, still dead—then walk across the pasture toward the chicken coop.
Cluck. Cluck. Cluck.
“Hey, ladies.” I enter with a big smile on my face. Some are roosting, while others are foraging for early-morning worms. I grab a pail of feed and throw it out by the handful. The hens rush over, pecking at the seed on the ground. They scatter around me, clucking away, and I love how happy they are. Happy chickens mean yummy eggs, and you can’t beat free-range eggs from chickens you raised yourself.
“Have a good day, chickadees.” I make my way toward the big red barn, where most of the horses used for ranch duties are housed. My family owns the Lazy J, but nothing is lazy about it when it comes to raising and trading cattle. The three-thousand-acre property has been in my family for several generations. But honestly, that’s the case for most who reside in Valentine, Texas. It’s the norm around here.
The West Texas mountains surround the prairie lands where Valentine is located, and it’s a true Southern oasis. Our town isn’t big, but we have the essentials—a grocery store, bakery, café, bank, and even a plant nursery. We have the essentials that make living in the middle of nowhere a bit easier. There are a few locally owned restaurants and antique shops, but there’s nothing like what one would expect to find in a bigger city. However, this is home, a place where everyone knows everyone’s business and one another. You might even miss it if you’re driving down Highway 90 and blink.
“Good mornin’.” My dad looks over his shoulder at me as he saddles up Sassy. She’s a deep red quarter horse that loves to gallop. He’s wearing his old straw cowboy hat with grease stains from working on tractors and his trusty cowboy boots. His mustache is curled at the ends, and he smiles.
“Mornin’. Where ya headin’ off to?”
His blue eyes meet mine. “Gonna go check the water well across the property by the east side. One of the ranch hands mentioned the pressure bein’ low, so I’m goin’ to check it out while I got some time.”
“Wouldn’t a four-wheeler be faster?”
He slides his worn boot into the stirrup, and he pulls himself into the old leather western saddle seat. It’s Daddy’s favorite saddle, with sterling silver embellishments and an intricate design carved into it.
“It’s just not the cowboy way.” He shoots me a wink and takes off. I give him a wave and continue with my morning duties.
By the time I return home to grab a late breakfast, I have five texts from Kinsley.
Kinsley: Call me.
Kinsley: I know you feel this vibrating in your back pocket.
Kinsley: Bump?
I laugh at that one.
Kinsley: I’m driving to your house. It’s an emergency!
Before I can respond, I hear someone blaring a horn outside. I walk out, and Kinsley hops out of her truck.
“Someone better be dyin’.” I’m not used to seeing her midmorning like this, but she looks put together. She scrunches her button nose and laughs as she tucks dark brown hair behind her ear. We may be complete opposites, but we look like we could be sisters. Growing up, we used to tell people who didn’t know us that we were.
“No, but you might after I fill you in on the news.”
I make a face, not particularly liking the sound of that. “Should I be excited or pissed?”
“Excited.” She lifts a brow.
One thing about Kinsley is she knows everything that’s going on in our small town. Valentine isn’t large, but it’s full of drama, and usually, we live for it. Unless it involves us.
I impatiently wait a few more seconds. “Kins! Are ya gonna make me beg? Geez, spill it!”
She’s overly giddy. “Nah, I think I want to let ya guess.”
“You’re pregnant.” I don’t even wait a beat before I say it.
She glares at me, offended. “I don’t even think so.”
“Oh yeah, totally forgot ya kinda had to be doin’ it with someone for that to happen.”
“Who says I’m not doin’ it?” She laughs.
I wave her inside. “Want some coffee?”
“Yeah, I’ll take a cup, but I gotta head back to work, so I can’t stay long. What’s your second guess?”
I look at her over my shoulder. “Hayden’s movin’ back to town.”
“We don’t talk about him,” Kinsley snaps. “He better not show his face in Valentine ever again.”
Hayden Shaw was Kinsley’s high school sweetheart who she thought she’d marry one day. Now he’s public enemy number one, the ex-boyfriend she pretends doesn’t exist. The last I heard, he quickly got engaged to the woman he started dating after Kinsley, but they still haven’t planned the wedding. Or at least his mama keeps telling me that.
“One more guess.” She grabs the steaming hot mug from me. I set a bottle of vanilla creamer onto the counter, and she pours it in.
“I give up! Just tell me!” I stir some cream in mine and take a small sip. A smile immediately touches my lips because it tastes like happiness in a cup.
“The Horseshoe Creek Ranch is goin’ up for sale later this week.”
My mouth falls open. “What? How did you find out? Are the Whitleys okay?”
She looks at her nails. “Oh yeah, they’re totally fine. Their granddaughter Natalie contacted the newspaper just an hour ago sayin’ she wanted to run a local ad before officially putting it on the market.”
“Do you know why?” Properties on this side of town rarely go up for sale, so this is huge news. Nothing so close to my parents’ place has been on the market for as long as I’ve been alive. Especially not right next door.
“Apparently, they want to move to a retirement community in Florida. Be closer to their kids, grandkids, and soon-to-be great-grandchildren. Plus, being a short way from major hospitals and airports are important to them. I think she said Mr. Whitley was eighty-two now.”