Page 79 of Saltwater Cowboy

Rose shot me a flat look before turning back to Mrs. Turner. “Not him—though he does talk too much.”

Mrs. Turner gave her husband a shove, clearing a space beside her. “Darlin’, you sit down right now and spill the whole story.”

Rose plopped onto the seat with a dramatic sigh, then waved me off. “You can go now. The ladies have important things to discuss.”

Mrs. Turner practically lit up at that. I knew for a fact it had been too long since she had a proper gossip session—her words, not mine.

I took the hint and made my way across the room, handing out the rest of the flowers before carrying the empty box back to the car. By the time I returned, Rose and Mrs. Turner were deep in conversation, their voices hushed but animated.

Mrs. Turner suddenly gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “He did not!”

Rose nodded slowly, her expression darkening. “Oh, he did. Left me standing there on the sidewalk.”

Mrs. Turner’s expression hardened in an instant. “What a jackass.”

Rose let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah. I’m just figuring it out as I go.”

Mrs. Turner patted Rose’s knee, her expression softening. “Well, honey, you’re in good company. We’ve all had to find our way at some point.”

And for the first time since we arrived, Rose looked like she truly believed that.

“Whatever you do, Wells, you treat this girl right. She’s had a rough go of it.” Mrs. Turner turned towards me.

“Doing my best, ma’am.”

She pinched Rose’s cheeks. “She’s such a delight.” She needs to stay; don’t do anything stupid.”

Rose stood up and I nudged her elbow. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club.”

She scoffed. “You’re the one they treat like a hometown celebrity.”

I smirked. “What can I say? I’m charming.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”

We finished up with the residents and headed back to the truck. Rose climbed in next to me, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between us.

“It’s sweet that you do this.” She spoke up.

I shrugged, my gaze softening as I glanced over at her. “It’s the least I can do. They’ve always been good to me.”

“They seem like wonderful people.”

“You know,” I said, after a long pause, “You’re not as tough as you think you are.”

HIGH HORSE

I’ve survived an entire week on the Calloway farm. Barely.

The last seven days have been…interesting to say the least.

I’ve been chased by an aggressive rooster that I’m convinced was possessed.

I nearly fell into a water trough trying to carry a bucket twice my size.

I learned goats have zero respect for personal space.

I discovered that the farm life requires waking up at an ungodly hour.