Page 6 of Alive and Wells

Pow. Whoooooosh.

Two sounds I don’t want to hear, and they make my heart skip a beat. A ‘low tire pressure’ warning flashes in bold, red lettering across my dash display. My eyes burn and I blink up at the grey upholstered ceiling to stop tears from falling. For half a second, sitting on a rural dirt road, I stupidly wish KJ was with me. Not that he would have the faintest clue about how to change a tire, but I’d have somebody with a functional cell phone to call for help.

Preparing myself to cry, I lean against the headrest and shut my eyes. A sudden burst of laughter makes me jump, and I’m even more alarmed when I look in the rearview mirror to see it’s me. I’m the one laughing. A deranged hyena with smeared mascara, puffy under-eyes, and… chocolate. I have chocolate smeared on my cheek. Scrubbing it off with my thumb makes me more hysterical. I’m so deep into my laughter it’s become practically silent, save for the occasional wheeze or snort, when a massive black truck pulls to a stop behind me. My face drops. It would be just my luck—I leave my abusive husband, and end up murdered on a country road, anyway.

A handsome man in fitted jeans, a thick canvas jacket, and a cowboy hat raps his knuckles against my window. His other hand motions at me to roll it down. I suppose he looks honourable enough, despite the scruffy facial hair and dirty clothes.Even still.Evil people look honourable sometimes. KJ’s a prime example of how deceiving appearances can be.

I discreetly reach for the lock button, mouthing the wordsno, thank you. The sound of all four doors locking simultaneously is deafening in the otherwise silent environment. Even the cowboy notices, his lip turning up at the noise.

“Gonna have to unlock the trunk if you want me to change your tire, darlin’.” The man’s deep, gritty voice nearly rattles my window. I look up cautiously to see his chin gesture toward my trunk. This may be my only option for help…

Anxiously nibbling on my bottom lip, I reach and pop open the trunk.

With a minor side-mirror adjustment—thank God for power mirrors—I discreetly watch him haul a tire from the back of my car and get right to work. KJ would be angrily dialing for roadside assistance in this situation. This is much hotter.

Deciding it’s unlikely a murderer would fix my flat before killing me, I bravely step out into the warm sunshine.

“How much do I owe you?” My pitch hits a higher octave than normal as it dawns on me how attractive the man towering in front of me is. Definitely better up close than he was in the small, dust-covered mirror. He jacks the car into the air and roped muscle along his arms tightens as he works to replace the flat tire. I gulp, thankful for the distance between us, because I’m sure he’d be able to hear my heart thundering in my chest if I moved closer.

The puffy brown jacket he was wearing when he showed up is draped over the hood of his pickup truck. It was cute on him, in a country-chic way, but the tight grey T-shirt is a definite step up. His biceps bulge when he lifts the old tire off the ground, and the thin fabric displays his muscular shoulders perfectly when he turns to place it in my trunk.

You’d have to be dead not to take notice of him. And I will be dead if my husband finds out I’m noticing a handsome cowboy.

Keenly watching him, I ponder when I’ll be able to officially call KJ my ex-husband.After all, I’m not going back… I don’t think?No. I’m not going back.

I spin the simple gold band on my ring finger, abruptly aware of its presence, and shove my hand into my pocket. Shame trickles through me when I realize I’ve hidden it because a small part is hoping this cowboy thinks I’m single.

Perhaps KJ’s right, and I am a whore. I’m sure no normal married person would be so eager to throw away their ring after seeing one cute guy.

Granted, it’s not like we have a happy marriage, nor am I a normal married person. We have sex on special occasions, and give small pecks on the lips when he’s trying to make something up to me. I can’t remember the last time I truly wanted either of those things. And now I’m five hours away on a dirt road because he hit me. But I suppose it’s still wrong to gawk at another man.Maybe?

No, it’s simple biology.I’m a straight thirty-year-old woman. He’s an attractive, and presumably hard-working, man. I’m evolutionarily wired to be interested. It’s perfectly natural to assess somebody of the opposite sex—especially when they’re basically saving you from being left for dead on the roadside. Anyway, there’s no wedding vow aboutlooking, is there?

“How much? Fifty bucks?” I ask again, giving the ring a tug. It’s pleasantly surprising how easily the band slips off. Almost like it wants to be removed.

The trunk closes with a thud.

“One hundred?” I gulp. I should have taken more than $500 from the bank account, if I’m going to blow through my cash this fast.

“Use the money to get some proper tires. These city slicks,”—he lightly kicks my tire with a big, chestnut-brown cowboy boot—“aren’t cut out for the rough dirt roads around here. You’re going to keep getting flats from every sharp rock you come across.”

“Oh, okay. Well, thank you then.” I smile at him, knowing I shouldn’t, feeling the damn weight of my wedding ring in my pocket.

With a stolid nod, he strides to his truck, grabs his jacket, and jumps in. It doesn’t occur to me that I failed to catch my hero’s name, until the only thing left of him is a distant dust cloud settling back onto the gravel road. It’s probably for the best. I’m a married woman, after all. Even if myhusbandthreatened me with a gun a few hours ago.

3

Cecily

Ihunchoverthesteering wheel to look up at the carved wood Wells Ranch entrance sign looming over the driveway. It’s the length of my Honda Civic and flanked by the largest logs I’ve ever seen. Beryl didn’t exaggerate when she said it was impossible to miss Wells Ranch.

The sickly sweet stench of lilacs attacks from every direction, sending a tingling shiver down my spine that has my hair standing at attention. Hundred-year-old lilac bushes lining the backyard were the top-selling feature when KJ and I bought our home; after being together for a year, and married for four months. In retrospect, I should have listened to my friends, who told me things were moving too fast. I was incredibly quick to become defensive, and even quicker to cut those friends from my life for him.

You don’t understand. Kyson’s my dream man and we’re deeply in love. Why wait? Life is short.

Less than three years ago, I thought that was true.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

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