Page 29 of Ghosted Cowboy
I watched her disappear into the bathroom. The shower started, and I forced myself out of bed, pulled on yesterday's jeans, and headed to her small kitchen.
Rainey's cottage was cozy—handmade quilts on every surface, vintage finds from the shop creating warm corners, everything smelling faintly of old wood and coffee grounds from yesterday. I found the coffee maker, got it started, then raided her fridge for eggs and whatever else I could throw together for a quick breakfast.
By the time she emerged—dressed in jeans and a soft burgundy sweater, hair still damp—I had scrambled eggs and toast waiting.
"You're perfect." She grabbed the coffee mug I offered, took a long sip, sighed with contentment. "Absolutely perfect."
"Just trying to earn my keep." I watched her eat, quick bites between checking her phone for messages. "What scenes are you running today?"
"The saloon sequences without the ghost. Bunch of dialogue with the sheriff and doctor characters. Then we’ve got full dress rehearsal later this afternoon, as you know." She glanced at the clock—8:35. "I need to leave in ten minutes or I'll be late."
"Tell her you were investigating the case. Thoroughly examining evidence."
She choked on her last bite of buttered toast, laughing. "I'll be sure to mention that."
I pulled her close for a proper kiss—deep, thorough, the kind that made her grip my shoulders for balance. "Be careful today. Any weird feelings, anything seems off, you text me immediately."
"Yes, sir." She gave me a mock salute, but her eyes were serious. "You too. Be safe."
"I'm just going over paperwork with Dad. Not much danger in blueprints."
We left together, my truck heading one way, her small sedan the other—her toward town and the theater, me back toward the ranch. The morning was cold and damp, fog still clinging to the low spots along the road, the moss on the oaks hanging like tattered curtains in the mist. Through the trees, I could hear the first drops of rain starting—just a sprinkle, but promising more to come.
Dad was waiting in the kitchen when I pulled up, blueprint tube already on the table beside two steaming mugs of coffee.
"Starting to think you might not make it," he said, but he was grinning. "Late night?"
"Had to help with some theater business in town." Not exactly a lie.
"Uh-huh." He didn't push it, just unrolled the blueprints across the kitchen table. "Your mother's at her church committee meeting. She'll be sorry she missed you."
We weighted down the corners with our mugs and spent the next hour deep in discussion—costs, timelines, which improvements would give us the best return fastest. Dad's mind was sharp as ever when it came to the land, and his enthusiasm was infectious. This could work. We could save the ranch, modernize operations, maybe even expand into agritourism with fall hayrides and pumpkin patches like other struggling ranches had done.
"This is excellent, son." Dad straightened, pride clear in his eyes. "We'll be back in the black in no time with these changes."
Mom came through the front door, back from her meeting, bringing a rush of cold air with her. "Oh good, you're both here. How are the plans coming?"
"Better than expected." Dad showed her the plans. "Ransom's got a real head for this."
"Of course he does." Mom squeezed my shoulder, her eyes bright with emotion. "You've done wonders for your father, son. He's been up before dawn every day this week, excited about the future. First time in months he's taken his medication without me reminding him. Even Dr. Bennett commented yesterday that his color's better, his breathing's improved. Having you home, having hope for the ranch again—it's given him a reason to fight."
"Mom—"
"No, let me say this. Seeing him like this, engaged and planning for what’s to come instead of just... existing day to day. You've given us both our lives back, Ransom. We're just so grateful you're here."
"I'm not going anywhere," I said, meaning it. "This is home. This is where I belong."
My phone buzzed. Text from Rainey:Come quickly, something else has happened
My chest tightened with dread. I was halfway to the door, keys already in hand. "I have to go. Emergency at the theater."
"The theater?" Mom's brow furrowed. "Is everything alright with the production?"
"Not sure. I'll let you know." I was already at the door.
"Be careful," Dad called after me.
The drive to town stretched endlessly despite my lead foot on the accelerator. Every worst-case scenario played through my head—another "accident," Rainey hurt, worse. My hands gripped the wheel tight enough to ache. I squealed into the theater's gravel lot and killed the engine, my jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
