Page 10 of Alive and Wells

Fucking distraction.I shut the heavy hay door.

I swear she’s everywhere. Which means I am nothing except sidetracked, day in and day out.

Strolling out onto the back porch with a midday coffee and peanut butter cookie, it should come as no surprise she’s in the garden below. If she’s not in the kitchen, she’s almost always out here. After two weeks, she has the plants flourishing like my mom used to. Yammering on for the last three days about some vegetable that’s almost ready to harvest.

I close the door gently and sink onto the porch swing, careful not to draw attention to myself. Sipping my coffee, I listen to her raspy, soft voice sing in a barely audible pitch. The melody’s familiar, but I have to strain my ears to hear the words.Strawberry Wine.I wouldn’t have expected a girl from the big city to know so many classic country songs, but anytime she’s focused on her work, she’s humming or singing one. Normally, I tune out her voice because I hate the way it scatters goosebumps across my arms, and fills my chest with an uncomfortable fluttering.

Closing my eyes, it’s easy to forget I’m supposed to feel nothing but annoyance toward her. I’m too lost in a daydream about her voice—her lips—to remind myself that I don’t enjoy having her here. I definitely shouldn’t be finding comfort in listening to her singing in the garden. That’s the sure-fire path to future heartache.

There’s been other girls like her here before. Out-of-towners that I’ve gotten too close to, just for them to inevitably leave. After being tossed aside for the last time a few years ago, I swore to myself I would never let it happen again. Instead, I’ve sunk every ounce of energy into the one thing I have control over—this ranch.

I don’t even notice the song’s finished until she starts up again. Closer this time. I peer between the railings and there she is, crouched down in the afternoon sun, letting her blonde hair blow in the subtle breeze. Pulling weeds, and completely unaware I’m less than ten feet away.

She’s too quiet for me to hear the first few words rolling off her lips. That’s why her voice becoming deep and manly, belting some Conway Twitty,sends me over the edge. A short laugh bursts out and I clamp my free hand over my mouth to stop it.

“How long have you been out here?” Cecily jumps to her feet, and places a dirty hand over her brow to shield the sun as she looks at me. A soft pink glow inches across her cheeks as her eyebrows narrow in my direction. She’s embarrassed and mad and undeniably adorable.

“Just got here, Conway. So, are you a Louisiana Woman or a Mississippi Man?” I’m as taken aback by my response as she appears to be.

“Was that… a joke? From Austin Wells?” Walking onto the porch, she leans on the railing, popping a hip. “You know, it’s rude to make fun of me while you’re eating cookies I made. They’re good though, aren’t they?”

Because I can’t seem to stop myself from being a habitual asshole when it comes to her, I set the half-eaten cookie down on the swing’s armrest, and leave without another word. She’s not winning me over with pretty looks, cute singing, and incredible baking.

5

Cecily

Noneofthemusclesin my body have ever ached the way they do after three weeks at Wells Ranch. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever get used to manual labour or waking up early. Although, I truly can’t complain when my work doesn’t start until six. Unlike the cowboys, who head out at four or five in the morning to spend a full day on the range in the blazing heat, eating hot sandwiches and peeing… Well, I imagine they pee wherever they want to. When that thought crosses my mind as I roll my neck under the hot water, I giggle. No, I get to enjoy modern amenities like running water and air conditioning during the day. If only KJ could see me now. I would’ve never imagined a life where those things felt like something worth being happy about.

After such a short time, it might be too early to say, but I think I like it here. And, except for Austin Wells, it would seem everybody enjoys having me here. Beryl and Kate have been singing my praises daily, especially as the rising temperatures are making Kate too uncomfortable to do much past noon. I put off Beryl’s job offer for ages, thinking it was a pity offer and doubting I was capable of holding my own here. But, despite my only work experience being in an office setting, years of waiting on KJ seem to have given me enough necessary skills to get by.

Slicking my damp hair back into a bun, I slather my face with sunscreen and head to the big house to start my day. The wet, crisp tingle in the air is already dissipating with the dawn and a group of men on horseback ride toward me, bringing the aroma of leather and horsehair in a wave alongside them.

“Morning.” The tattooed cowboy, aptly nicknamed Red, smiles down at me.

“Come on down to the river later, Cecily,” a large voice belonging to a large man, Colt, calls from the back.

Dust scatters under the clomping of hooves as they continue to work their way past me. I remain frozen in place, unable to help but be intimidated. Not by the cowboys, though my past indicates that perhaps I should be wary of men. As hard as I’ve tried to prove I’m not a city girl since arriving here, I can’t help how my eyes dart from horse to horse. IthinkI can read men. IknowI can’t read these thousand-pound creatures with their heavy exhales, roped muscles, and shifting ears.

“Sorry, guys. Maybe next time,” I say. Swimming and lounging in the shade sounds like a perfect way to spend some time, and it would be fun to go relax with those rowdy boys, but the idea carries a small prick of betrayal along with it. Even though, theoretically, it’s acceptable for a married woman to have male friends. Knowing that doesn’t make the choice to hang out with them any less of a struggle.

Once the men carry on past, it’s a clear shot to the big house. Or, it should be, except the resident “Not-A-Cowboy” grump is sitting on the porch steps with a coffee in hand. His cowboy hat balances precariously on his knee, and he runs a free hand through his dark brown hair, keenly watching me. Despite the knitted brows and obvious disdain, there’s something about the way he looks at me that always leaves me feeling stripped bare. And he looks frequently. I can’t help but wonder what he sees.

Austin’s said no more than a handful of words to me since my first morning here. Mostly, he communicates in grunts, scoffs, and huffs. The few times he’s spoken to me, his words were sharp and his tone surly. When I can, I give him a wide berth.

Part of me yearns to impress him—possibly because I have a problem with seeking male approval. The other part of me just has nowhere else to go. The last thing I need is to provide him with a legitimate reason to fire me, because he clearly wouldn’t hesitate. Either way, this needs to work. Imagining returning to live with my parents or KJ makes me more nauseous with each passing day. If I’m honest with myself, I should have listened to Beryl and come here months ago.

“Morning. It’s a beautiful day.” I give Austin a tight smile, solely acknowledging his existence because it goes against everything in my soul to ignore somebody who’s clearly looking directly into my eyes. Call it being a stereotypically polite Canadian, I suppose.

He grunts.God, he’s such a jerk.

“Good morning, City Girl. You look beautiful, by the way.” I do a terrible impression of his gruff voice, eliciting a nostril flare and the slimmest smile, which he’s quick to hide away behind his coffee mug. “I know you spend most of your time around cattle. But humans generally communicate using words.”

“Mornin’,” he says.

“You forgot the compliment. We’ll work on it.” I brush past him on the stairs and quietly close the screen door behind me.

“Morning, honey!” Beryl sings while kneading a massive mound of bread dough on the flour-coated counter. “Jalapeño cheddar buns. Whaddya think?”

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