Page 113 of Married With Lies

True, I have a plan every day but today I’m determined to stay focused. The hole in my heart doesn’t get any smaller by constantly brooding over Cale. I don’t know where he is or when I’ll hear from him next. Since I can’t solve this problem, I might as well channel all my energy into work.

There’s a ranch to run and every living creature living here requires love and care. Maybe if I can concentrate solely on the needs of the ranch then my soul won’t ache quite so acutely.

The sun has edged over the horizon and the forecast calls for a brilliant summer day. There’s something magical about watching the first segments of sunshine touch down on the corners of Bright Hearts while I chew on my breakfast apple.

Yes even as I stand there marveling at all the blessings in sight, there’s a sudden tug on my heart as I wonder what Cale is doing now. This is a habit I can’t quit. It doesn’t matter how much I try to chase Cale out of my mind. He insists on staying.

The sight of Bright Hearts greeting the sunrise is just the kind of thing I’d pounce on to share with him. However, I can’t call him or record a video to send his way because I’ve left my phone on my nightstand. It’s a deliberate and pathetic attempt to avoid checking my screen every five minutes in the hopes that Cale will make contact.

If he were standing here with me right now, he might wrap his arms around me. He might chuckle at my delight in this enchanted view. He might claim my mouth for a long, passionate kiss and then suggest in a husky voice that we celebrate the morning by returning to bed for an hour.

HA! There I go again.

Just minutes after I told myself I wouldn’t spend all my time wishing for a man I can’t have, I’m creating imaginary sex scenes with him. I don’t know where Cale is. I don’t know when I’ll see him again.

A ray of sun winks as it peers over the horizon. I want to believe it’s a sign from the universe that Cale is safe and as I’m standing here thinking of him, he’s out there somewhere thinking of me.

For a few seconds I close my eyes and hope with all my might that this is true.

I meant it, Cale. I do love you.

Swallowing the familiar lump in my throat, I open my eyes again and hope the plea has reached its destination. Then I toss the half-eaten apple into the compost bin and trudge in the direction of The Doghouse. I could sure use some joyous, quivering, tail-wagging greetings right now to lift my spirits.

They can hear me coming. An exuberant outburst of barking brings a smile to my face. The door stands slightly ajar, which is odd. Peggy and I have been the only ones at the ranch since yesterday evening. And I remember locking up The Doghouse on my last check of the property.

There are no cars here so it’s doubtful that anyone else has arrived yet. If I hadn’t left my phone in my bedroom then I could check the surveillance videos. I doubt anyone has broken in. There’s no shattered glass or signs of damage on the door.

In their exuberance, some of the dogs are now trying to crash through the kennel enclosures. Nothing looks amiss at first glance. The long row of kennels looks just as it did yesterday. The dogs all seem to be healthy and ecstatic.

There’s a full container of biscuits sitting to the right of the door. I grab a handful and approach the first kennel, still keeping a curious eye out for any visitors.

“Hey, girl.” I stop at a kennel housing a boxer named Pearl. She was just pulled from the county shelter last week and I’ve been working with her. She’s so excited that she snorts and wiggles her whole body. “Sit, Pearl. Sit.”

After a few more commands she obediently plops her rear end down and waits with her long pink tongue longue lolling out of her mouth.

“Very good, Pearl.” I reward her with a biscuit and a pat on the head just as I notice a few bits of dry dog food sprinkled on the floor of Pearl’s kennel. The food and water bowls are full. A peek into the next kennel shows those bowls are also full.

Someone has definitely been here.

I don’t think it’s Peggy. Just a few minutes ago, I heard her scolding one of the cats for trying to get into the gingersnap jar. She would have mentioned getting up early to complete the morning feedings.

The barking has died down a bit. That’s how I’m able to hear a scuffling noise coming from the small utility room just out of sight on the left.

“Jasper? Is that you?”

The scuffling sound stops. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I take a step back toward the door in case I need to run from whatever is lurking in the utility room. Although it makes little sense that a burglar or an ax murderer would go to the trouble of filling Pearl’s water bowl before getting down to business.

“Jasper?” I call again, a little more desperately, still hoping the teenager will emerge with a shy smile.

Then someone other than Jasper steps out of the utility room.

“Hi, Sadie,” Cale says. He’s dressed in jeans and sneakers. A t-shirt with the name of a New York pizzeria in faded letters stretches across his muscles.

He’s so unexpected and so gorgeous that I legitimately rub my eyes on the off chance I’ve conjured a mirage.

“You’re real,” I say. Then I run to him, not caring where he came from or what he’s been doing or why he’s hiding out in The Doghouse utility room.

He’s HERE. Nothing else matters.

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