Page 39 of Every Promise Broken

Whit Bowman

“Are you about ready?” Conrad asks, standing in the doorway to the en-suite.

I glance up, my breath catching as I take him in. He looks the same as he does almost every single day, but even after all these years, I’ll never get over howlargehe is, especially when he’s taking up almost the entire doorway, and how effortlessly rugged and handsome he is. Conrad is a stunning man with strong muscles carved from years and years working on this ranch, and it’s almost painful to look at.

“Yeah,” I reply quietly. “I’m just going to brush my teeth, and I’ll be ready. Is your nana all ready to go?”

“She’s finishing up her makeup.”

“Okay. I’ll be out in a minute.”

It’s Saturday morning, and the three of us are making a trip up to Cheyenne today. There’s an indoor farmers’ market of sorts going on up there that Nana apparently heard about at the supermarket the other day. There’s supposed to be a ton of fun booths, activities, and even live music.

Once I finish brushing my teeth, I give myself a once-over in the mirror, making sure I look okay. My nerves are shot this morning. Things have been going about as well as can be expected since she got here. Thankfully, work has been keeping most of my focus, so there hasn’t really been much time for me to have to fake our marriage, but I bet that’ll change today.

After we get back from Cheyenne, we’ve got dinner over at Will’s place tonight. I like Will, and my buddy, Colt, will be there. It should be fun, but I have to make it through our day trip first.

Conrad is waiting for us in the living room, sitting impatiently on the edge of the recliner. I chuckle to myself before I can stop it. His gaze darts to mine, brows pinched. “What’s funny?”

Sitting down on the couch, I ask, “You’re dying to leave already, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I’ve been ready to go for almost a half an hour.” I breathe out a laugh, shaking my head. “Why is that funny?”

“I swear, you become more and more like your dad the older you get.”

Furrowing his brows, he replies, “I do not.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” I murmur. “He always used to grumble any time we had to go anywhere, and your mom would take her time getting ready. Even though he knew how long it took her every single time, he’d still hurry and get ready right away. You do the same thing.”

With his lips pursed and his jaw clenched, he side-eyes me before looking away. Sometimes I get the feeling he thinks being compared to his father is an insult, when in reality, it’s anything but. Henrik Strauss was one of the kindest and most hardworking men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. He was a man of few words, but he cared fiercely about those in his life, and I feel lucky that I got to know him. Henrik was somebody I looked up to for many years. He was somebody who openedup his home to me when I was a homeless teenager. He may not have agreed or understood my relationship with Conrad at first, but that never stopped him from being there for me when I needed a family to lean on.

So, yes, while it’s comical to watch Conrad become more and more like his late father the older he gets, it’s also lovely to watch. His father instilled some strict expectations in his son from a very early age, but the man Conrad grew to be, because of the rules, the hard work, the tough love, is one I know Henrik and Catherine would be damn proud of today if they could see him.

Our marriage may not have worked out, but Conrad is still one of the best men, alongside his father, I’ve ever known. He would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it, and he’s always been that way. I remember as a bumbling teenager, working here for the first time, and being just absolutely enamored by Conrad. The way he carried himself. His confidence around the ranch. He always seemed to be working, no matter the day, and he never once complained about it. The hottest of summer days and the coldest, snowiest of winter days, he was out there, doing what needed to be done. He’d always stop whatever it was that he was doing to explain something to me—even if he seemed quite peeved at having to do so because I hada lotof questions.

Conrad was made for this ranch. His blood, sweat, and tears are poured into every inch of this land, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve loved watching him find his way around here since his parents died. It was sudden and gut-wrenching, and nobody would’ve blamed him if he chose to close up shop and walk away for good. But he didn’t.

“Alright, you two,” Nana calls out as she strolls into the living room. “I’m all ready. Shall we get going?”

Huffing out a sigh, Conrad stands, and I follow. After he locks up the house, we hit the road. Even though I offered the front seat to Nana, she insisted on sitting in the back. Stubborn old lady.

It takes about forty-five minutes to get to our destination, and the parking lot is already packed by the time we get there. Finding a spot is proving to be a little challenging.

“We should’ve gotten here earlier,” Conrad grumbles under his breath.

“It only opened an hour ago,” I reply as he finally pulls into a spot.

“Yeah, but it probably would’ve been a lot less busy had we come then.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Nana barks from the back, making me snort. “You’re not going to be in a piss-poor mood all day, Connie boy. Snap out of it. We are here to havefun.”

Glowering at her through the rearview mirror, Conrad turns the truck off, and we all climb out. My heart lurches into my throat when I round the back of the vehicle and he takes my hand in his. I turn my head, glancing up at him, but he’s staring straight ahead, paying me no mind, like holding my hand is the most natural thing in the world.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss at him quietly enough that I know Nana can’t hear.

Finally, he meets my gaze. “You’re my husband, remember?” he grits out. “I’m allowed to hold my husband’s hand.”

My eyes narrow, and I grit my teeth, annoyance flaring inside of me. I try to remove my hand, but he just clamps down tighter, his massive baseball mitt of a hand swallowing mine.

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