Page 15 of For Fillies and Monsters

“Uh, please be careful,” he stammers, straightening himself. I quietly close the door behind myself. A hot flush climbs up my neck, embarrassment hot in my stomach. I fold my hands in my lap like a scolded child and try to keep myself from grabbing the door handle to sprint out.

I want to yell at him to go fuck his tailpipe and leave me out of it. But I don’t want to disappoint Dale. She seems so excited by the prospect of me dating someone from town.

We ramble down the dusty road, slower than molasses, most likely to protect the truck—hisbonusfrom his daddy for all his hard work.Yeah right.I roll my eyes and look out the window.We sit in tense silence, not even the radio buzzing, until Nathan clears his throat in an uncomfortable cough.

“So, uh, I wanted to take you to Bovines. It’s a nice steakhouse here in town.” He’s flustered—good.I nod. What else is there to say? I won’t comment on how I would rather go to the drive-thru Tex-Mex place, because at least that would be over faster. I don’t state how uncomfortable and stiff the seats in his precious truck are, and how I’d rather jump out of it while moving than spend another moment talking to him.

No, instead, I bite my lip.

The wind blows around us—it is always blowing—and the red sand pelts the sides of the truck. I wonder if it worries him, and I cover my mouth to hide a smile stealing across my lips at the thought. After another minute, he leans forward, adjusting in the seat.

“So, tell me about yourself. I know you used to live here, but I don’t remember you. Or your parents, really. For a small town, they didn’t seem to come around much. What happened to them? Do you know where they are? How did you come into the ranch?” He pelts me with questions faster than I can turn to look at him, and each one cuts deeper and deeper into my last fraying nerve. I inhale through my nose and out through my mouth.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…

“Uh, yeah. I lived here for a couple of months when my mom and Gibson first moved here. But I moved to Colorado shortly after. My mom died about a month ago, and no one knows what happened to Gibson. So, as the only living relative, I got the ranch.” I give him the abridged version of my life, like I’m reading it from a newspaper—dry and black and white. I don’t know him, and I definitely don’t owe him anything. I sure as shit am not going to tell him more than that.

“Wait, your mom died?” His question catches me off guard,his voice high-pitched with fake concern.Does he live under a fucking rock?I always could sniff out a bullshitter, and he reeks of it. I turn to look at him and fight a scowl as his blue eyes ping between me and the road.

Maybe he’ll drive off the road and crash this bitch.

“Yep.” I turn back to the window.

“So, like, you own everything out there? That must be nice. What do you plan to do with it?” This is the weirdest version of this conversation I have ever had.

“I don’t know.” My voice sounds more calm than I feel, and I mentally pat myself on the back. “Right now, I’m just trying to stay afloat. They left the place a mess. And I’m still just trying to deal with the fact that my motherdied.” I fill my words with annoyance, willing him to catch the hint.

Which he doesn’t,or doesn’t care.

“Yeah, yeah, I understand that. That place is probably a lot of work for a horse girl from the city.”

A horse girl from the city? Has he not listened to a word I’ve said about my time living in the mountains? No, what am I thinking? I bite down on my cheek, hard enough to taste copper. I am either going to jump out of this truck or punch him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, acting embarrassed. “I’m just curious. Didn’t mean to be so nosy.”

Yes, he fucking does mean to be so nosy. He wants to pry into my personal life and see what he can carve out for himself, just like everyone else in this God-forsaken spit of hell.

I curl my hands into tight balls in my lap, breathing in my nose and out my mouth.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…

“Look! We’re here.” His enthusiasm makes me jolt.What the fuck is wrong with him?

We pull up in front of the dimly lit adobe exterior of the steakhouse. Trucks in every color overflowthe small parking lot, and I have to tamp down the very real, and very sudden, eruption of nerves in my stomach. I hate going out in town, and I especially hate being judged. It is bearable when I can sneer back, or if I am with someone who sneers for me—like Dale—but Nathan?

I sigh, breathing deeply to calm my nerves. I’m pretty sure he would light the torch for my pyre if the town decides I am, after all, the big bad witch they all make me out to be.

“Looks busy. Hope you called ahead.” He parks, the engine cutting off. He shrugs, clearly not bothered or worried.

“Nah, they know me. And if they don’t have anything available, there’s the Tex-Mex place we can try!”

On second thought, I hope he didn’t call, and there isn’t room.

I wait one beat, and then two, to see if he comes around to open my door. He’s too busy looking down at his phone to notice me waiting. He doesn’t move toward my door. I wonder how long I can sit here before he notices.

After a few more seconds pass, he looks up and waves at me, a questioning look on his face. Like he has no idea what I’m doing and that my sitting here is holding him up.

I gently open the passenger door and climb out.

---