Page 20 of Craving Her Cowboy
Asha’s heart went sharp and then empty, like her chest forgot how to keep time.
She made her voice as flat as possible. “Can you send me the job description again? I want to make sure I have the details right.”
“Absolutely. But I’d love to talk through the position if you have a second. As a reminder, the role’s part therapy, part field operations. We’re looking for someone who can connect with our clients on a lived experience level. Most of our applicantshave the clinical experience but not the deployment history. You’d be building the program from scratch.” Melissa also went on to say the salary and gave a quick overview of the benefits. It was more than Asha had ever made before and that type of money would change her life.
Asha tried to picture what this could mean for her if she accepted the position, but all she could see was the inside of this cabin, and the way it felt when Gavin was here with her. She flexed her left hand, only now realizing it trembled.
“That sounds ideal,” she managed.
“Good. The board wants to meet you in two weeks for a debrief. Is that possible? We can either meet in-person if you’re in the area or virtual.”
“I think I can make that happen.”
“Great. We’re really excited, Asha. You’re the kind of person who can change the tone of the whole organization.”
The line hummed with the sound of an office in the background—phones, printers, someone laughing on another call. The normalcy of it made Asha’s jaw ache. She swallowed, then said, “Thank you. I appreciate the opportunity.”
“You’ll get a packet in your email by the end of day. Call me if you have questions.”
“Will do.”
“Have a good afternoon, Asha.”
“You too.”
She hung up, then let the phone fall into her lap. She stared at the opposite wall for a full minute, trying to make sense of the raw knot behind her ribs. The news should have hit like a rescue flare, all hope and relief and a clear way out. Instead, it pressed down, heavy as the sky before a storm.
She stood, walked to the window, and watched the wind flatten the grass outside. She touched the scar above her eyebrow, letting her thumb rest on it for three slow breaths. Thehand was still shaking, so she curled it into a fist and pressed it to her chest.
She’d just gotten everything she said she wanted.
So why did it feel as if her heart was cracking into pieces?
***
Evening at Silver Creek Ranch had always been Asha’s favorite. The blue haze of dusk flattening out the hills, the windows in the main house going golden as the sun ducked behind the ridge. It was the time when you could almost believe the past stayed buried, that every day was just another day and not one more step away from what you used to be.
She walked the dirt path up to the mess hall, hands in her pockets, head down. The whole place felt like it was holding its breath. She reached the door, paused, and looked through the side window.
Gavin was already inside, hunched at the far end of a long table. He sat alone, elbows on the scarred wood, plate untouched. Asha took a step back from the door, then another, her body immediately trying to retreat. She didn’t know how to face him, but God, she needed someone to talk to. She hated to admit it, but she missed him. His grumpy nature. His low, deep voice. The way they matched each other.
Asha considered going in anyway. Just eat, pretend nothing happened, let the noise and bustle cover the gap between them. But the idea of sitting within arm’s reach of him, with every word unsaid buzzing in the air, made her stomach twist.
Instead, she grabbed some food and carried her food back to her cabin but didn’t go inside. She dropped onto the porch steps, container in her lap, and watched the sun bleed out over the far hills. She balanced the food on her knees and picked at it, chewing each bite without tasting a thing.
The ranch quieted as the night settled in. You could hear every sound echoing across the land. A gate chain rattling, a screen door slamming shut on the bunkhouse, the uneven chorus of frogs in the creek below. Every minute brought the silence closer, until it was just her on the porch, eating alone and pretending it was all by choice.
She tried to focus on the job offer, running through the practical reasons it was the right move. There was better pay and benefits. She would be just another person trying to live their best life every day. But most importantly, she would have real, measurable impact on women veterans who were struggling. Hell, they were all struggling. But some were further along in their healing journey than others.
She ticked off the reasons to say yes like beads on a string, but nothing was sticking. All she could think about was the look on Gavin’s face when she’d told him it was a mistake. The way he’d stood so close to her in the barn, not touching, but radiating the kind of heat you couldn’t ignore even if you wanted to.
She finished the meal, wiped her mouth, and sat for a long while, watching the sky shift from blue to black. The lights in the ranch house blinked out, one by one. She wondered if he was still up, walking the fence line or staring at the night sky, same as her.
When the coolness of the night became noticeable, she stood, brushed the crumbs off her lap, and went inside. The cabin was the same as always, but tonight it felt as if it weretoo much. She closed the door, locked it, then leaned her forehead against the wood. For a minute, she didn’t move. Then she slid to the floor, back pressed to the door, arms wrapped around her knees.
The first sob hit hard and ugly, nothing graceful about it. She bit down on her knuckle to muffle the sound, but it came anyway, loud and wet. She’d cried more in this moment than inthe past decade, but it didn’t matter. The tears ran out, but the shaking didn’t stop. How could she feel this way about a man who hadn’t given her a second thought? Who was willing to walk away and ignore her as if she didn’t mean anything?
She sat there, letting herself just be in the moment. Allowing her heart to finally break. Giving herself permission to fall apart for the first time in years.
