Page 2 of High Frequency

I do my best to curb my annoyance. It’s not like I want to hurt her feelings any more than I need to, Shelby is a nice girl.

Her parents own the feedstore in town and I remember seeing her around from time to time years ago. Apparently, she got married to a truck driver from Eureka and ended up moving there. Then suddenly this spring, she was manning the cash at her parents’ place again, and we got to talking and hit it off. She made it clear she’d just gone through a messy divorce and was looking for something very casual, which suited me just fine.

Then she called this morning to let me know we were expected for dinner at her parents’ place this weekend, and it became clear somewhere along the past few months her expectations changed.

Sadly, mine have not, which is why I asked her to meet me tonight to set the record straight.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, because what else is there to say?

She nods and takes a small sip of the wine I ordered for her, seeming to pull herself together. Then she plasters on a smile and blows me away when she asks, “So, your place or mine?”

Twenty minutes later, I close the door of her little blue car and step back, as a crying Shelby peels out of the parking lot.

Needless to say, she did not take my rejection well, and I’m actually pretty pissed myself. I’m not a player, I don’t lead women on, or make empty promises, and yet I’ve just been made to feel like a goddamn villain in the public drama she created back there.

From here on in I’m sticking close to the ranch. I do better with horses than I do women.

Sloane

“Ohmigawd! So cute!”

I manage a grin at Carmi’s excited outburst, as she pulls open the rear passenger door and pokes her head inside. I barely have the chance to put my Jeep in park.

Getting out of the vehicle, I catch sight of my uncle walking up, his eyes zoomed in on me. I recognize both the concern and the anger I was expecting.

He has cause.

My phone call last week must’ve come as a shock. Years and distance had made those a rare occurrence, Mom is the one who would serve as an information relay, of sorts, since I took a job with the Billings Police Department and left.

Last time I saw my uncle and his family was October last year at the goodbye party for my mother and stepfather at their place in Brigham City, Utah. Mom and Steve were embarking on their years-long dream of moving to a life on the beach.

They found it in Panama, where the temperature is the same year-round, and life moves at a slower pace. With the proceeds of the sale of their house in Utah they’d been able to purchase a sprawling beachfront property, which they’ve turned into a profitable bed-and-breakfast.

I haven’t been to visit yet, but I’ve seen pictures.

Anyway, there are a myriad of reasons why Mom and I haven’t been in touch a whole lot these past few months. There’s a couple of hours of time difference, and with my crazy busy schedule it’s been hard to find a good moment to connect, so we’ve mostly been emailing back and forth. At least, that’s the excuse I’ve been hanging on to.

Of course, that is not going to last. Not now.

“You look like shit,” are the first words I hear out of my uncle’s mouth before I’m wrapped up in his arms.

With my face pressed against his wide shoulder, it’s hard to hang on to the stiff upper lip I’ve been sporting for a while now.

“Sully, let go of her already,” Pippa firmly orders her husband.

I’d been so focused on my uncle; I hadn’t seen her walk up behind him. Next, I’m hugged to a much softer body but her grip is equally strong.

“Mom, look how cute!” my little cousin gushes.

“You’re gonna wake her up if you keep squawking like that,” Sully grumbles.

By the time I step out of Pippa’s hold, Sully already has the baby seat out of the Jeep.

“She’s precious,” she observes, shooting a warm and encouraging smile in my direction.

I’m grateful for it.

“Leave your things. I’ll grab them later,” Sully orders over his shoulder as he starts walking to the house, carrying the car seat.

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