Page 27 of Falling Hard for the Billionaire Cowboy

Chapter eleven

HAYLEY

One. Two.

One more step.

Another.

I close the door behind me.

As soon as I rested my back against the door, I let out a muffled scream into the blanket I was holding. My face is burning from pure embarrassment, the interaction with Austin playing over and over in my head like a reel.

"What were you thinking, Hayley?" I groan to myself, slumping against the closed door.

The memory of Austin's amused face, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as he tried not to laugh at my predicament, makes me want to crawl into a hole and never come out. I wish I had just gone to town like a normal, civilized person instead of attempting my ill-fated garden heist.

“Hayley the vegetable thief.” I choke out, wondering how a lawyer had suddenly changed titles to the other side.

I'm about to drag myself to the bedroom when I realize the blanket feels heavier than it should. Frowning, I unwrap it and discover a couple of squash and some carrots still inside. My red face reaches new heights.

"Oh, for the love of..." I mutter, carrying the produce to the kitchen counter.

As I stare at the stolen vegetables, a tear rolls down my cheek. It's not just about the embarrassment anymore.It's the knowledge that—out of the millions of people on this earth—it had to be him. He had to be the one to catch me in the act.

I spend the rest of the morning hiding in the cottage, alternating between reliving my humiliation and trying to come up with a plan to avoid Austin for the foreseeable future. By midday, hunger forces me out of my self-imposed exile.

"Okay, Hayley," I tell my reflection in the bathroom mirror. "You're just going to town. No big deal. You probably won't even see him."

I choose the longer route to town, aka the second gate, not caring about the extra time it takes. The winding country road is peaceful, and I find myself relaxing as I drive, windows down and the not-too-hot air whipping through my hair.

The small grocery store in town is a welcome sight, considering I haven’t eaten in like a million years.

And apparently, being hungry can instantly turn you into a criminal.

I grab a cart and start filling it with everything I can think of – pasta, sauce, fresh vegetables, fruits, snacks, and enough ice cream to last me through several bad rom-coms.

As I approach the checkout, the elderly cashier eyes my overflowing cart with amusement. "Having a party, dear?" she asks, her eyes twinkling. I swear I have seen her before, and she would probably call me Martha’s girl if she knew who I was.

But at this point, I have no zeal to socialize.

"Oh, no, it's just... I don't want to run out," I explained lamely, my cheeks feeling warm when I think about the real reason.

She nods knowingly.

Lady, I don’t know what you’re understanding – but that is not it, I swear.

But once again, I have no zeal to socialize.

"Ah, stocking up for two, then?” The cashier continued. “That's sweet. You must be staying at one of those romantic little cabins out by the lake."

"No!" I say, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "I mean, it's just me. I'm staying at my parents' old place. Alone."

The cashier looks surprised but doesn't push it. As she rings up my items, I can't help but wonder if she now remembers who I am. And if everyone knows everyone in Redstone, then everyone knows I’m living on the ranch.

Even Santiago’s little boy Charlie knew.

Saying a quick goodbye, I manage to get back to the cottage without running into Austin. Thus begins what I dub my "hiding week." I become a master of stealth, timing my trips outside with absolute care.

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