Page 173 of Things Left Unsaid

“What?”

“A bunkhouse.”

“So?”

“I didn’t realize it was there before.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve noticed much around that place. If that were me, I’d know every inch of that land already.”

“You’re nosy.”

“I’m curious.”

“Same difference.” I squint into the distance, and then, annoyed with myself for being dumb, I open the camera app on my phone. Zooming as much as I can, I say, “It’s occupied. There’s smoke coming out of the chimney. But why’s it over in that quadrant?”

“Are you asking me?”

“No. I know you don’t have a clue.”

“Why wouldn’t it be in that quadrant?”

“It’s too far out. There are no stables nearby. No trucks, either.” Toying with the St. Christopher’s medallion Tee’s nonna gave me before we left for New York, I murmur, “Plus, no cattle are grazing anywhere so I reckon it must be in fallow.”

“The trucks wouldn’t be there at this time of the day, though, would they?”

“Maybe not.” I purse my lips. “Also, why’s Colt even going to the bunkhouse? Ranch hands come to the owner, not vice versa.”

“Sounds elitist.”

“It’s not not.”

“Not not not not not, huh?”

“You’re in one of those moods.”

“Gee, ya think. Okay, so what’s he doing?”

“What else could he be doing, Tee? He’s on a horse! Riding to a bunkhouse! I’m not a spy. I don’t know why he’s heading that way.”

“To a super-secret bunkhouse.”

“Shut up.” I clear my throat. “We’re going riding later.”

“Ooohhhh. Another euphemism, I hope?”

“Have you been drinking original Coke again? You only get like this after you drink pop,” I grumble so I can hide from the fact my nose is smushed up against the window as I squint to see what Colton’s doing.

“I had one ice cream soda.”

“Ugh. I’m so jealous.” I might love the taste, but it doesnotagree with me.

“Unlike you.”

“Today feels like a day for sugar.”

“Why? You’re not sad.”

“No, I need to eat my feelings.”

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