Page 31 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

I nod.

“Well, I can’t say I was expecting that verbal vomit,” he says.

I huff a short laugh through my nose. “Consider it a one-time performance.”

“So, I am not special then?” His tone is almost teasing.

My jaw drops. “Did you not hear the part where I said I don’t like you?”

“Oh, I heard.” He tips his hat back. He’s staring me down like he’s got me figured out. “Doesn’t mean I believe it.”

My unimpressed stare must land, because seconds later, he follows up with, “Fine. You’re right.”

The simplicity of it stuns me. Who would have thought he could respond without a smart remark? Not me.

He glances my way once, “I shouldn’t have walked in last night. That’s on me. I… couldn’t stop myself, for some bizarre reason.”

I blink, kind of stunned.

“Look, it won’t happen again. I’m sorry,” he says with actual sincerity.

“Thanks,” I say with a soft smile.

He nods once. “So, clean slate?”

I extend my hand across to him, “Clean slate. Like civil, grown adults.”

His palm is rough and warm when it closes around mine.

“Civil, huh?” His brow arches, playful again. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. “See? Those are the kind of comments I was going on about!” I sit straighter, meeting his gaze. “But while I’m getting more than one word out of you, I want more than stable duty. I didn’t fly across the ocean to shovel shit. I can handle a lot more than you think.”

His thumb taps the steering wheel; I can almost see the buffering symbol above his head as he thinks. And just when I am about to demand a response, he finally says, “We’ll see.”

That’s it. Two words. But the way he says them—calm and steady—changes the energy between us. It feels lighter than it did on the way here, and I can’t help feeling more hopeful that, going forward, things at Meadow Bell Ranch are going to be smooth sailing.

Chapter Eleven

Colt

“Colt, I want you to think about the last time you put too much of yourself and your happiness on one person.”

Oh, here we go again with the mind-provoking questions. I expect nothing less from Dr. Palmer in our weekly “Let’s talk about all the ways Colt’s childhood fucked him up” session.

I know I am literally paying her to deep dive into my psyche and fix me… or at least that’s the goal. But nothing needs fixing this week. In fact, I am riding a dopamine high, so much so that when I sank into that ugly mustard sofa that stretches across the back wall, I could not shut up about the ranch, and about how it feels different lately. All since Maeve arrived.

When I pitched the ranch immersion scheme to Wade, I never imagined this. I know I was looking for company, someone who wasn’t tied to this town or my mess of a family. But Maeve has become more than that. She’s become a good friend. One who takes time to know the parts of me that most people ignore.

And let’s be real, I’ve probably opened up to her more than I ever have in here, and I pay Dr. Palmer $110 an hour. I feel the muscles in the corners of my mouth pulling into a grin as I think about her, when Dr Palmer’s voice cuts through my thoughts, “Colt?”

I blink, returning my focus on the woman in front of me, one leg crossed over another with a curious look on her face. I clearly drifted off again. A regular occurrence when the good old doctor brings up things I don’t wanna talk about.

Avoidance tactic, apparently.

“What do you mean?” I ask, though I know damn well what she means.

“Well,” she says gently, “when you first came here, you talked about relying on someone else for your happiness too much. And how that made things heavy for both of you.”