Page 89 of Not Another Yesterday
“Great,” I mutter, shoving my papers back into a cohesive stack. It’s all numbers related to codependent behavioral patterns, life satisfaction, and dyadic coping. I never realized obtaining a degree in psychology would involve so much math.
I shut my laptop and slide everything into my backpack. Now what am I supposed to do for the next half hour? Just sit here and not think about the fact that I’ll be face-to-face with Ronan in a matter of hours?Yeah, that’s guaranteed to end in tears or a panic attack.
I’ve been a bundle of nerves for days now with the approach of Frank and Penny’s wedding, my family’s trip to Montana, and the prospect of being around Ronan twenty-four hours for an entire week. Three months ago, this vacation was something I looked forward to with giddiness. This morning, it took every ounce of willpower just to get on the plane. All I know is, being near Ronan is going to hurt like hell. He’ll be there with me, but he won’t be mine. It’s a good thing Steve, Shane, and Tori will be there to buffer any awkwardness, at least for a few days.
We touch down half an hour later and are met in the arrivals lounge by a burly man holding a sign with “Stevenson” printed in neat letters. He introduces himself as Thomas as he shakes first my parents’ hands, then tips his cowboy hat—yes, an actual, real-life cowboy hat—at my siblings, both of whom giggle.
“And you’re Cat, I take it,” he booms with a smile on his rugged face. Thomas looks almost exactly as I had pictured him whenever Ronan talked about him. He’s of average height, but wide-backed, his jaw scruffy, skin sun-tanned and wind-chafed. He offers me his hand and I shake it, noting the thick patches of calloused skin on his palm even while he squeezes my hand gently. “Kinda weird, I’m just meeting you, but I feel like I’ve known you for years.”
I raise my eyebrows, eliciting a throaty chuckle from him.
“Saoirse is a huge fan of yours,” he says. “She talks about you all the time. You’re basically part of the Soult clan.”
My spine straightens.
“Not anymore. Ronan made damn sure of that,” my dad says, lugging a large suitcase past me.
If my looks could kill, my dad would be a pile of ashes now.
Thomas just smiles, then lowers his voice conspiratorially. “She’s been working on Ronan. That little shit,” he says with a chuckle before raising his voice once more. “Alright, let’s get you to the ranch, folks.” He collapses the pull-out handles and lifts the awkward suitcases like they weigh nothing. “Follow me.”
Thomas leads us out to the parking structure and to a large, shiny black Ford pickup. I’m not exactly short, but I still have to take a giant step up to hoist myself into the backseat. The moment I slide onto the leather bench seat, my cheeks heat with Ronan’s clean, masculine scent. He’s been in here. Recently.
“This truck is huge,” I say, hoping the unaffected chill in my voice will lower the temperature in my face. My eyes remain firmly on the latch of my seatbelt.
The front doors slam as my dad and Thomas shut them simultaneously. “Yeah, it’s roomy,” Thomas chuckles. “It’s actually Ran’s truck.”I knew it.“Mine’s been having some issues. Not super reliable at the moment, so Ran insisted I take his. Wanted to make sure we wouldn’t get stuck on the road out in the middle of nowhere.”
Rather than dissipate, the warmth in my face deepens as my heart flips in my chest, hopelessly tuned to him. Seems Ronan hasn’t completely written me off, at least not enough to stop caring whether I make it to the ranch in one piece.
My mom’s head swivels from left to right, eagerly taking in the landscape as we maneuver onto the road. “How long is the drive out to the ranch?”
Thomas turns the knob on the radio, lowering the volume of the music. I didn’t pay attention to it before, but I realize now it’s EDM. Not country or something I’d suspect Thomas to listen to on the daily. This is Ronan’s music—lo-fi. I looked it up one time, something about calming frenzied brainwaves.
“Couple of hours. The ranch is north of Missoula, pretty cut off from most everything except Redtail Ridge—tiny town about an hour from the ranch. You’ll love it, though,” Thomas says.
My dad continues to make small talk. “So, what do you do, Thomas?”
“Oh, I’m the ranch hand, wrangler, assistant manager,” Thomas says, then chuckles. “I’m Perry’s right hand on the ranch, just help him manage the day-to-day, take some of the load off, you know? My son Elias and I live on the ranch. I’ve worked for the Soults since I was eighteen—Frank was only a boy.” Another laugh rumbles in his chest. “They’re a great family. Saoirse and Perry have hearts of gold. Never met better people, especially when you find yourself in need,” he says with a decisive nod.
I listen to Thomas describe his daily work, watch the landscape fly by, and inhale Ronan’s familiar scent.
***
An hour and a half later, Thomas pulls off the paved highway onto a dirt road, and it’s another half hour before he arrives at a large, gated arch donning a giant letterS. Thomas throws the truck in park just long enough to hop out and open the gate for us to drive through. He repeats the process to close the gate, then continues the drive slowly. It’s not nearly as smooth of a ride now, but the truck handles the rougher terrain with ease.
“Yikes, you can’t speed down this road unless you want some serious whiplash,” my dad says.
I can’t help but roll my eyes, then lower my window. I might’ve grown up in a small town, but clearly that didn’t make me “country.” I fully expected the air to reek of livestock, but instead it’s crisp, earthy, mixed with pine and snowmelt. The breeze whispers of peace and memory, and for a moment it feels like I’m aging in reverse.
Thomas’s laugh reminds me that I’m not the only person in this ethereal place. “Oh, yeah. That’s why nothing out here will do but four-wheel-drive trucks. You’ll bottom out quickly otherwise. It’sworse after a good rain or snow. You gotta know how to handle the terrain and the weather.”
“My god, it’s beautiful,” my mom breathes, her eyes wide.
She’s right, this place is incredible. In one breath, I understand why Ronan feels safe here. I have arrived in his world.
The road is flanked by endless green pastures, the mountains behind them fading from lush green to icy white—a breathtaking backdrop. Cattle and horses graze lazily, some in the distance, others closer to the wire fence line. I delight in the sight of calves napping in the grass next to their mothers.
“The babies are so cute,” Benny coos.
