Page 16 of Alive and Wells

Brick and wood buildings are dispersed along either side of the street, sun-faded and weathered from long, hot summers and harsh Canadian winters. Every spare wall has a mural, most of which are dedicated to the area’s rich agricultural history. More than one seems to be specific to Wells Ranch. I glance over at Austin as we walk along the cobbled sidewalk. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have this much familial influence over an entire town. My parents still live in the house I grew up in, not far out of Vancouver proper, and I’m not convinced their immediate neighbours would notice if they left.

“Your family’s kind of a big deal, eh?”

He snorts. “Something like that. We’ve been around here for four generations and I’m related to half the town.”

“It must’ve been fun growing up with so much family nearby. I don’t have any siblings, and my extended relatives lived far away, so it was just me and my parents most of the time.”

“Yeah, I guess it wasn’t so bad. Even though we live near each other, we don’t really spend time together anymore. Not since my grandparents passed.”

“That’s a shame. I love the idea of a big family.”

I’m drawn in by the hand-painted, floral window art outside a quaint home goods store. My gait slows, allowing me a few seconds to peer inside as Austin plows ahead. So much for my relaxing day in town; he’s going to be rushing me to get back to the ranch. I’m sure even Wells Canyon is too big of a metropolis for his cranky ass. After lengthening my strides to catch up to him, I enter the cell phone shop out of breath. He stands around, hands in his pockets, with his usual annoyed expression as I speak to the employee.

“So, he said it’ll be about fifteen minutes to set everything up if you have somewhere you want to go,” I say to Austin. “Sorry.”

“I’ll stay here and wait for your phone. You wanted to go into the girly store down the street, so go.”

Excuse me?“Who are you and what have you done with Austin Wells? Are you feeling okay?”

“You need to do your errands, right? Caught me in a rare good mood—don’t make me regret it, darlin’.”

Enough said. I’ll ignore the patronizing tone if it means shopping.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll be back in a few.” I dart from the store before he has the chance to change his mind, and practically skip my way down the empty sidewalk.

My fingers stroke a luxurious towel display, noticing how my once well-moisturized, manicured hands catch on the fabric—thanks to healing blisters and newly callused skin. The feeling makes me squirm with disgust and I scan the shelves for any cream that might fix my mangled hands. I toss two bath sheets, a large bottle of mango-scented hand lotion, cuticle oil, and a charcoal face mask into my basket.

That should help me feel more like myself.

Bringing a candle to my nose, I’m hit with a familiar, gut-wrenching aroma that causes me to nearly drop the glass jar. Even after it’s safely back on the shelf, I can taste the tobacco and vanilla perfume in the air. For a brief moment, it jars memories of walking into the ensuite bathroom while KJ got ready for work. I pick up candle after candle, begging for something to relieve me of his stench and his memory.

Surrounded by a blast of cold, oxygen-sucking energy, Austin walks through the chiming front door with a paper bag from the cell phone shop. His presence brings me rushing back to my KJ-less reality—thank God. Austin’s entirely out of place, and not only due to his dirty jeans and plaid flannel shirt. Or the permanent scowl embedded in his face. For somebody who moves between live cattle without hesitation, he’s incredibly apprehensive lumbering through aisles of fragile merchandise. Seeing him anywhere outside the ranch feels weird, and I struggle to hold back a giggle.

“Sorry, I’m almost done.” I quickly set down the candle that his appearance made me forget I was cradling.

“Take as much time as you need.” He picks up the small jar and raises it to his nose. His face pinches as he slams it back onto the shelf with such force it’s a miracle the glass doesn’t shatter. “It smells like a urinal puck. Who would buy that?”

I don’t think Austin means to be funny, but I can’t contain my laughter anymore, even as the woman working the cash register glares at us over the top of her glasses. His lip twitches upward into the faintest smile, and my breath catches in my throat; warmth trickling down my spine.

With a hushed voice, mindful of the employee keeping a glowering eye over us, I say, “Nobody with any sense. It smells absolutely terrible. This one,”—I hand him a leather-scented candle from my basket, enraptured by the way our fingertips graze—“actuallysmells amazing. Now let’s go before the old biddy up front boots us out.”

Taking a cautious sniff, he nods thoughtfully before grabbing a duplicate from the shelf and heading to the counter. To be fair, I don’t know much about Austin Wells. But owning a candle or any décor—other than dead animals hung on the wall—isn’t something I expected.

“I’ll pay for her stuff,” he says, pulling a worn leather wallet from his back pocket.

“I’m a big girl with my own money.”

He shakes his head, encroaching on my space to prevent me from handing my cash over to the employee. “No need. Save it for your tires.”

My shoulders fall as I watch him pay for all this crap that’s definitely less important than tires for my car.

Just as I’m considering telling him to forget it, and putting everything back, he adds, “Consider it a thank-you gift. You, uh, did really well with branding.”

I try to hide the fact that I’m blushing by turning quickly on my heel. Austin Wells just…complimented me.Without a hint of sarcasm or any clear motivation. And my cheeks have turned to molten lava because those wordsdid somethingto me. Beryl, Kate, and multiple cowboys have sung my praises for weeks, but Austin giving me a single compliment is making my knees weak and my brain foggy.

We step out into the sunshine, and he grazes my back as he steps to the outside. The road edge. Unlike when he raced ahead before, our feet fall in sync. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you, though. I’ll get the tires fixed. I do have the money, so you know. Or most of it, anyway. I’ll have it all soon. Um… if there’s a guy to change them in town or—”

Austin interrupts my rambling when we get to the truck. “Don’t worry ’bout it. Tack store?”

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