Page 7 of Rope Me

Randolph bailed on picking him up this morning—again. I couldn’t reach him, so Connor is here with me, and I’m not sorry about it. Connor is the absolute life of any party and I adore that about him.

We park in a sea of trucks outside The Velvet Spur at Kingridge Ranch. They call it a barn, but this massive event space is more like Sagebrush Creek’s unofficial town hall. Everything happens within these walls. That’s why I’ve spent as much time as possible avoiding being here in the last decade or so. It’s a fitting location for my debut as Cassidy-no-longer-Bellcourt.

As soon as I open the car door, the twang of a fiddle and the hum of a steel guitar fill the air. It’s nice, but right now the sound makes me want to crawl back into my car, drive away, and never look back. Connor doesn’t even hesitate. He starts shimmying his stick-straight hips, throwing in some enthusiastic finger guns and an air guitar.

“This is your jam, Mom!” He yells. “Dance with me!”

“Let’s at least get inside first,” I say, laughing as I take his hand.

We step through the wide barn doors, and I can’t help but gasp. The Velvet Spur is stunning. It’s glowing with warm, yellow candlelight that bounces off the stained-glass windows. String lights crisscross above the rafters, and the wooden dance floor overflows with people.

Before I can take it all in, Hunkleberry—the Kingridge Ranch’s elderly yellow mastiff—bounds toward us. Hischeckered bandana flops as he goes. He might be a senior, but he’s got the energy of a puppy. I crouch to pet him, feeling the weight of curious eyes settle on me. I already know that Hunkleberry isn’t the only one with a tongue that’s wagging.

I hate this—the way the town stares, and whispers—but it’ll pass. Randolph will find someone new soon enough, and she can carry the weight of being Mrs. Mayor.

Holding my head high, I guide Connor further into the barn. Everyone’s decked out in denim, fringe, and cowboy boots. It’s nothing but the Sunday best for Sagebrush Creek’s event of the season.

Connor doesn’t waste a second before darting to the center of the dance floor. His body flails in rigid movements, but his confidence radiates. I wish I had half his nerve.

I make my way to the bar at the back of the barn. I’m not a big drinker, but tonight, liquid courage feels like a necessity.

“I heard heborrowedthe milking machine for… personal use. Bless his heart.” Old Patty June’s voice cuts through the chatter as I approach the bar.

Brandi Rose, Sagebrush Creek’s self-appointed celebrity, doesn’t miss a beat. “Men get desperate, don’t they? All these boys out here, and not a single one married.” The Botox on Brandi’s face holds strong, but the corner of her mouth twitches as if she’s attempting a smile.

“Ladies,” I say with a tight, mock smile as I step between them to order my drink.

“Oh my,” Brandi Rose exclaims, taking my hand in hers before I can pull it away. “I didn’t even recognize you. Good for you, coming out looking like…this.”

I let out a small huff. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome, dear,” she says with a saccharine tone.

Brandi Rose starred in a few infomercials back in the day before coming home to run the community theater and helmevery charity event in town. She’s not mean, exactly—just out of touch.

“How does it feel to be a single woman?” Patty June pipes up. She’s worked here at the ranch for years, though no one seems to know exactly what her job entails.

“I’m doing well.”

She continues, clearly not satisfied with my answer. “I heard there was a new man snooping around the ranch earlier today. No one knows him. He isn’t from Sagebrush. I could get his information for you if he shows up tonight. Maybe he’d be interested in a single mom?”

“Uh, I’m just going to grab a drink for now,” I say, giving the bartender a desperate wave.

But he’s too busy flirting with a blonde in a cowboy hat. She’s stunning and around his age. I watch them banter back and forth. The pang of resentment that follows is sharp and unwelcome. I traded away my youth and now, I feel every year of those lost decades.

“A little birdy told me they saw a Jeep out on the ranch the other day. That wasn’t you was it? I said to myself, I don't know many jeeps. Especially not women driving them. But you are progressive. Had to be you, wasn’t it?” Patty June’s question is feigned innocence at its finest.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that the comings and goings of people from Kingridge Ranch are of interest. But it catches me off guard and I freeze.”Well, I?—”

“There she is,” Alex’s deep, familiar voice booms behind me, and my heart leaps.

He slides up to the bar, pulls a drink from behind the bar, and hands it to me. His arm drapes over my shoulder with fierce protection. His warmth instantly grounds me.

“If you’ll excuse us, ladies.” He tips his hat to Patty June and Brandi Rose as he guides me away from the gossip gauntlet.

He doesn’t stop walking until we’re alone in the breezeway, the cool night air swirling around us.

“You’ve made a habit of saving me. Cheers to that.” I raise my bottle to him and take a sip of the cool beer.

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