Page 23 of Forever To Me

After a few days out of town, I get in late after a long day of Mack’s band competition in Cody. They ended up taking third place, and it was a good, proud dad moment. It was a long drive back, but I needed to get home. I have a huge list of things I need to get done in the morning with the animals and the bar.

I received a text from Maggie that she has the house and animals taken care of for me, and I’m surprised when I don’t see her old truck out front. Thinking she probably parked in the garage, I grab my bag and head inside. The guest room door isshut, and Pickles isn’t in her kennel, so I assume Maggie has her for the night in the guest room that she uses when she stays here.

I take a shower and wash off the long day, falling into bed, not even having more than a few thoughts before drifting off to sleep.

I wake up to the sun peeking in through the blinds and blink a few times when I hear faint music from somewhere in the house. Weird. Mack’s not due back until later tonight. She’s riding back with her friends on the bus.

Thinking maybe I left the TV on or something, I get up, slide on some joggers and a T-shirt, and run my fingers through my hair. I pause when I realize it’s guitar music and not the TV. Who is playing the guitar in my house? I head down the hall and stop when I smell coffee and look over to see the coffee pot nearly full.

Maggie doesn’t drink coffee, and I’m confused about why she’d make it. She drinks Red Bull like its water. And too much of it, if you ask me. I pour myself a cup and almost spill it when I finally realize who is playing music on my porch.

Red.

She’s in my house. She made coffee, and she’s playing guitar on my front porch.

No fucking way.

What in the actual fuck? Dread fills me when I think about a stranger in my house, knowing where I live and possibly telling the world. But I know Maggie would never do me dirty. Maggie is the only person I trust on the planet with my family. But I might actually send her to a nursing home someday for this.

I lean against the door frame, watching Red through the glass. She’s on the porch swinging with a blanket over her legs crossed, cradling a guitar like it’s a baby. Her fire engine red hair is piled on top of her head in what Mack calls a messy bun, tendrils framing the sides of her face as it shines bright in the sunlight that engulfs her. A steaming mug of coffee is perched on the railing next to her. She looks right at home.

She’s stunning, and my breath hitches just watching her on my porch, looking like she belongs.

She softly strums a song and sings it quietly, like she’s trying to get the notes right. She’s good, but she’s missing one chord, and I resist the urge to show her. It feels so strange to have someone in my life who plays music. And it’s weirder that she’s playing my music. A song that I wrote. In my house. I feel like I’m in the twilight zone.

I’m lost in thought, watching her hands strum the guitar with precision and grace, and I listen intently to her until her hands stop, and I realize that she’s gazing over at me.

“Hey, Cowboy. Want to join me?” she asks with a grin and moves over in the swing to make room.

I shove off the door frame and slide next to her. “What are you doing here?” I ask as I sip my coffee and stare at her because I can’t seem to look away.

Her knee brushes against my thigh. And she turns to me in surprise, her face closer than I realize. So close I can see the length of her lashes and how long they are. I can see how the freckles line the bridge of her nose. She looks adorably fresh faced for it being so early in the morning. Violet is like sunshine.

She looks at me watching her and says, “Maggie didn’t tell you I was staying here to watch your house and animals? She told me that you asked for my help.”

Pickles pops her head up from under the blanket next to Red and looks at me sleepily, wagging her tail.

Traitor dog.

I can’t be mad at Maggie. She’s meddling again, but I know she means well. I reach over and stroke Pickles’ soft head, and she settles back between Red and me, resting her chin on my leg. I’m suddenly nervous around Red, so I am thankful for the dog distraction.

“Sure, I just forgot,” I muse as I look out over the yard and notice that the flowers Maggie and Mack planted in the pots have bloomed.

I knew she was up to something. She was vague about staying at the house and watching the dog. She just said she’d take care of it. And take care of it, she did.

Her eyes widen, and she pauses. “So, you just woke up to some weirdo playing their guitar on your porch? Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”

I snort and laugh. “You sound good. And thank you for taking care of my dog.”

I want to be perturbed. I want to be mad. But I’m happy to see her.

“Of course, I’m happy to help. I’ll get going now that you’re back,” she says as she stands.

I put my hand on her arm, and she freezes at the current between us when we touch. “Please stay, Red.”

“I saw you have a little girl,” she says softly and nods toward the living room where I have a lot of photos of Mack, most when she was younger.

“Well, she’s not so little anymore. And if you call her little, you two might have problems.” I chuckle as I adjust in the swing and sip my coffee.

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