Page 11 of Lassoed Love

Claire grins mischievously. “What he’s like now. Who knows, maybe he’s turned into a decent bloke.”

I roll my eyes, dismissing the idea. “Highly doubt it. Besides, I’m not interested in finding out.”

My phone chimes again, and I reluctantly pick it up, my screen lighting up with a thread of messages, all from Imogen.

Now, of all places, is the last place I want to be thinking about Justin.Ugh.I hadn’t thought of him in ages, maybe months, actually. This, while moving back home, really distracted me. Now thoughts of him start to surface. Back then, I was head over heels for him, completely oblivious to the fact that I was falling under his spell. Looking back now, I can't deny how incredibly brainwashed I was by his narcissistic ways and how his antics had me wrapped around his finger. His selfishness had finally reached a point where I had to put an end to our almost four-year relationship. It’s funny—I had genuinely believed we weredestinedto be together.

Now and then, I catch myself thinking about his family—his two sisters and mother. I had inevitably formed strong connections with them all, especially with his mother, who had been there for me in times when I had desperately needed a motherly figure. Now, even though they used to reach out occasionally, their messages have become scarce. I had done so much for his family. It’s a real pity.But I know better now.

I push these thoughts aside and continue reading the rest of Imogen’s messages.

I stifle a laugh.True. But I’ll never admit it. Part of me is too proud to do so.

This idiot.

I’m revolted by the thought and the amount of wink faces Imogen has used in the span of one minute.

Claire chuckles from beside me. “Come on, Isla. It’s been years. Imogen might be onto something. He might just surprise you.” She winks.

I shake my head, dismissing the idea. “I highlydoubt it.”

Later that night while I lay awake in bed, the quiet of the night surrounds me. I can’t help but replay the encounter in my mind. Annoyance lingers, intensified by today’s unexpected interaction. I had gone so long without thinking of him or seeing him, and now there’s an inexplicable undercurrent of something else—perhaps a flicker of excitement or anticipation.Snap out of it, Isla.

High school days were filled with girls frothing over him, and despite the three-grade gap between us, his antics never seemed to cease. However, age has brought wisdom, and I won’t be fooled by his charms or any man’s, for that matter.

Ironically, my mind is evidently quite fickle.Traitorous bitch.

6

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the kitchen as I pour myself a cup. Dad sits at the counter, his attention focused on the morning paper and a steaming mug in his hand. Mum is at the table, methodically folding tea towels.

“How’d it go with Duchess?” Dad inquires, glancing up from the paper, his eyes questioning me over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Fine,” I grunt.

Mum interjects abruptly, her voice tinged with excitement. “Oh my goodness, that reminds me, did y’all hear? Isla Thompson is back. I overheard Bessie and Karen talking about it at the grocer this morning. Apparently, she’s taken over one of the clinics in town. Bought it anonymously, but word travels fast.” She looks at me, eyes shining. “Heard anything?”

The mention of Isla’s return doesn't sit well with Dad. His expression sours, lines deepening on his weathered face. “Great,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “Just what we needed.”

“Yep. She’s the vet who looked at Duchess yesterday,” I deadpan, void of any enthusiasm.

Mum's eyes light up with interest, and she leans in. “Well, be a gentleman and make sure you say thanks. She’s got it tough, you know, losing her mum right after high school from that forsaken disease, and now her father—” she trails off. “It’s a damn pity, really.”

Her father?What’s wrong with her father? Fuck, I really need to get out in town more. Let’s face it though, that probably won’t happen. Dad’s face tightens, lines etching deeper as he shuts her down, slamming his paper on the table. “Enough, Grace! I would like to enjoy my morning coffee without having to hear the Thompson name uttered in my house. God rest Cheryl’s soul, but enough.”

Mum purses her lips, retreating back to folding her tea towels. I suppress a sigh. The mention of Isla Thompson is like adding fuel to a simmering fire. I don’t want to think about the way she looked yesterday—the woman that she’s now become. It annoys me more than I care to admit. I can’t help but ponder on what Mum said. I know her father has been struggling with alcoholism for a while now, but is there something else I don’t know? Focusing on my coffee, I push aside these unsettling thoughts.

As I take a sip, Dad clears his throat, a subtle signal that he wants my attention. “Got a few things on the agenda for today, son. Need to mend that broken fence near the southern pasture. Bloody cows’ve been getting out again.”

I grunt in acknowledgement, my focus more on the swirling coffee in my mug than on Dad’s words. The list of tasks on the farm seems endless, and I just want to finish my coffee and get out to the fields. Sensing my reluctance, he persists, “And we need to fix the waterpump near the barn. Can’t have those bloody animals becoming parched.”

“Yeah,” I mumble, my eyes locked on the weathered floorboards beneath my boots.Worn-out like my patience.

The vast expanse of our farm's open fields unfolds before me as I make my way towards the grazing livestock. Buddy trots alongside, tail wagging with anticipation. Nestled in the heart of the field sits my trusty, worn John Deere tractor—a relic that bears witness to decades of hard, unyielding work.

Rounding the tractor to the driver’s side, I hop in, the familiar creak of the door echoing through the still morning. Buddy leaps onto the seat beside me, his eager eyes fixed on mine.

“Ready to work, Bud?” Buddy responds with a single bark, a clear sign of readiness.

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