Page 168 of Burn the Wild

Silver Springs, a quaint mountain town two hours north of Resurrection, is so adorable it puts every country song I’ve ever sung to shame. Main Street teems with old brick buildings that house museums, restaurants, boutiques, and western stores. Motorcycles line one side of the street, while a jagged mountain looms over the town square, giving a postcard-perfect backdrop.

I duck out of a boutique, scour the surroundings, then smile when I spot Ford coming down the opposite end of the street.

Ford slips something in his shirt pocket when he reaches me. “Good haul?”

I lift the bags. “You’ll never break me of shopping.” We’ve spent most of our Saturday running ranch errands, but I couldn’t resist a detour into a cute shop.

“Never dream of it,” he says, face solemn. Twisting, he drops the bags of feed into the bed of his truck.

“Should we get back?” I ask after we finish loading up the truck. The late afternoon sun hangs low in the sky.

“Nah, baby. We’re not goin’ back.” His eyes soften as he says, “It’s time for that date.”

I hold his gaze. “Really?”

“Really.” He pulls me close. “Been working you to the bone, Birdie Girl. Time to have some fun.”

Over the last week, it’s been chaotic bliss. I’ve spent my days working in Dakota’s bakery. Ringing up customers, taking out the trash, helping her with lines out the door. Evenings, I go back to the ranch and tend to the chickens. Then, it’s me and Ford.

On the ranch, life doesn’t feel overwhelming like it does on stage. It’s easy. Freeing. I can’t tell if it’s meds or therapy. Either way, they’re both working. I haven’t worn my bangles in a week. That dark hole glimmers less and less.

After locking his truck, Ford places a protective hand on the small of my back. “Dinner?”

I bat my eyes at him. “All planned out, Country Boy?”

He wraps an arm around my shoulder, steering me in the direction he wants us to go.

No man has ever taken me on an actual date. Ford has been different ever since he told me we weren’t friends. More serious, more intense. I like that he told me where we stand, but I still don’t know what happens after the summer. Go back or stay? And who’s saying Ford even wants me to stay? He has a job offer he’s still considering. An actual life. Would I throw a wrench if everything if I said I love him?

First things first. I need to focus on getting my money and getting out of my contract.

Then I’m free.

Then I can do anything.

And if it means telling Ford I love him, well, maybe I’ll do that, too.

I’ve been brave all summer. I can do a little thing like tell this broody mechanic I love him. Even if it feels like the scariest thing I’ve ever done.

“Here,” Ford says, gesturing to a red brick building with a sign above the door that reads Butcher and Baker. He opens the door for me and we step into a dimly lit, elegant restaurant. Fordchecks in with the hostess and then we’re led to a small table covered with a crisp white cloth. We’re tucked by the window, where the evening glow adds a touch of warmth to the scene.

Ford pulls out my chair, pressing me into it with a hand on my shoulder.

My heart flutters. “You made reservations.”

He sits across from me, touching his shirt pocket like he’s reminding himself there’s something in there. “Yeah, I did.” His voice holds an edge I’ve never heard before.

After we order drinks, I watch as he picks up the large leather-encased menu. His face is boyish and awkward.

My stomach drops into my high heels.

I see what he’s trying to do. Show me we can work. That he wants to do this. The glass of red wine by his hand when I know he’d rather have a beer. The stiff starched shirt when he looks so damn good in a baseball cap and torn up t-shirt. He thinks I want a fancy date.

A hard swell of love nearly knocks me over.

He doesn’t belong here.

Hell, I don’t belong here.

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