Page 36 of Small Town Frenzy
Seeing him tucked in and hearing his soft slumber makes me smile. “Love you, buddy,” I whisper and then walk down the hall toward my room.
As soon as I shut my door, I go to my bed and flop face-first. But being squashed in the blanket can’t stop my smile from beaming. I roll over, throwing my arms out wide, and stare up at the ceiling. Griffin Greene, who would have thought he’d come into our lives like he did—unexpected but potentially just what we need.
I kick my legs and silently squeal, letting giddiness take over. This was the best night I’ve had since the last time we were together. I’m starting to see a pattern with this man. And he sure is making it hard not to fall head over heels for him. I sit up and pull my phone from my back pocket. Pulling up his number, I text:Thank you. I had an amazing time with you.
I set it on my nightstand and get ready for bed. When I return, I see his response on the screen:Tonight was worth the wait.
And just like that, I swoon to death.
CHAPTER 15
Griffin
Didn’t matterwhere I lay my head in the world, I used to sleep like a baby. Here in the Pass, I’m wide awake at five in the morning, cursing at the dark sky beyond the curtains. It’s too early for this. Groaning, I put my feet on the floor and hunch over, rubbing my eyes. Seems I have no choice but to get up since I’ve lain here for the past hour staring at the ceiling. My body has fallen back into the rhythm of ranch life without my permission.
My mind is groggy despite my muscles itching to start moving, stretching with the day as night becomes morning. I stand, grabbing my phone from the nightstand to check for messages that came in overnight. It’s clear, and I’m surprised by the disappointment that floods my system as the little chirp races to the forefront of my groggy mind.
A quick pit stop to the bathroom doesn’t help with the exhaustion. Splashing cold water on my face revives me somewhat, but it will take some caffeine in coffee form to really get me moving. I bypass the closet, knowing nothingfrom high school or even college will fit me anymore. I’m a few inches taller, and my shoulders aren’t shrinking despite playing ball a lot less over the years.
Sliding on a pair of jeans, I kneel to dig through a box of clothes I shipped from St. Louis when I was sent packing. I pull a solid light blue cotton shirt with pearl snaps along the front from the box and slip it on. It slides easily over my bicep, and I know I’m good to go. It slips on, so I snap the front closed and tuck it in, remembering one of the golden rules when working around farm equipment: loose shirttails lead to losing limbs.
After digging out an old pair of socks from the dresser, I reach over the sneakers to grab my old boots that are as well-traveled as I am. The leather has softened, but the form still holds strong.
Standing in front of the wall with hats that range from Little League to pro ball caps, I shift to the cowboy hats. Black felt is too hot, and my beige one is too formal. I pull the lighter summer straw cowboy hat from the wall and set it on my head. It’s snug but fits the way it should. It’s identical to the one I gave Cricket four years back. Wonder what ever happened to that hat. Broken in just right, soft around the band, but the brim still stiff and holding its shape. I don’t regret giving it to her because damn, she looked so fucking incredible in it, but I do miss it.
I leave my room but stop when a flashback of the sun flooding this landing, the curtains my mom made hanging wide open, comes back. She always put special touches around. I wish I had paid more attention when she was around. I can still feel her in the details—floral curtains at the top of the stairs, a teacup on the side table my dad never put away, the blanket she handmade using all my jerseys from my childhood draped over my desk chair.
Dropping my head back, I close my eyes and soak in the memory, letting the comfort of being near her again wash through me. Mom may not be here, but I know she’s watching over us. And sometimes I can even still hear her voice calling me downstairs for breakfast, in the creak of the steps when she used to come wake us up in the morning, and through the calm breeze after a passing storm.
I open my eyes and take a deep breath. It’s good to be back as I breathe a little easier, feeling more attached to this life with each passing day. My mom’s death was a catalyst. Maybe being home can tether me again.
Heading downstairs, I pause when I hear the TV. The volume is the lowest, just above silent. I continue down, quieter this time, and see the top of my dad’s head over his recliner. “Can’t sleep?” I ask, entering the living room.
I hadn’t realized he was actually asleep. His lap is covered in a blanket, and an empty cup sits next to him. I walk more carefully into the kitchen, but I know I can’t make coffee without waking Dad. So I slip out of the house and make my way through the first spot of light to the barn.
The large spotlight hanging over the entrance shines bright, so when I open one of the doors, the horses start to softly neigh as if I caught them off guard. I walk to Sunrise, my sister’s horse, and open the stall. Letting her mosey out, I know she’ll stay close. She’s always been a good horse, not one for trouble like Nightfall has found himself in a few times.
I take a brush to her coat, allowing her to get used to my presence. My sister is a lot lighter than I am, so I’m not sure how she’s going to appreciate the extra weight, though she’s more than built for it. And since Nightfall is the bigger horse of the two, my brother-in-law rides him most of the time.
Sunrise rubs her head against me, causing me to smile. Irub her nose and then fit her with a bridle collar and headgear. There are options of saddles, but I go for the one my dad used to ride when he was running the place.
It doesn’t take long before I’m riding again. Learning to harness the power beneath me, the ways in which the horse listens to commands or reacts, and speed will come when I’m ready to let her loose to run. She gallops down the grassy knoll and heads straight for my sister’s house. It’s a good reminder of who’s really in charge around here.
When she stops about twenty feet from the front porch, she starts to graze, and nothing I do—from asking politely to trying to lead her in the other direction—deters her from her current mission. So I sit and wait.
The front door opens. My sister pushes open the screen door with my new niece in her arms. She doesn’t say anything at first, the grin getting her amusement across loud and clear. But then she says, “Looks like you’ll be here a while. You’re welcome to join us for breakfast.”
Leaning forward, I ask, “She’s not going anywhere, is she?”
“She’s loyal through and through.” Christine steps to the railing of the porch and holds her hand out. Sunrise comes without a command to get nose rubs. My sister leans forward and kisses the bridge of her nose and then holds her baby up and whispers, “Look at the pretty horse, Julie Ann.” Looking off to the trees in the east, she smiles. “Sun’s coming up. Come on in.”
I hop off, not bothering to tie Sunrise to the railing. She’s got a mind of her own and seems to do as she pleases. I follow them inside the house and get a cup of coffee before taking over scrambled egg duty while Christine changes the baby. I pull the bacon from the oven and plate up the eggs, lining the sides with toast. I cut them on the diagonal, likemy mom used to do. By the time I get some company, breakfast is served.
My sister says, “You didn’t have to finish?—”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind earning my keep.” I pull out the chair for her and tuck in under the table.
Tagger walks into the living room to find us sitting down. “Morning. You’re here early?” Though I suppose it’s not a question, it still rings as one.
