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by Jenn Alexander

  Two and a half months earlier, they had ridden in the truck together, heading to a cattle auction. She had sat in the passenger’s seat with her veterinary textbooks in her lap so she could sneak in a few minutes of studying for her upcoming finals. Her dad had talked about the longhorns he wanted to procure for the upcoming season and the calves he hoped to sell. They’d both had such different plans from now. Now they were driving to the hospital in what was to be a weekly routine.

  Warren stayed silent on the drive, and Kate didn’t know what to say to him so she was silent as well. While her dad was in inpatient care, she had driven back and forth to the rehab facility a few times a day, trying to balance being with him while also trying to make sure the ranch didn’t fall apart. Driving back to that all-too-familiar building, a knot of anxiety crept back in. With her dad home, things were hard but there was a level of reassurance that they would be okay. The rehab facility forced them to confront exactly what their future would look like. In rehab, it was impossible to ignore how much things had changed.

  Kate pulled into the lot and parked the truck.

  “Ready, Daddy?”

  “I suppose.”

  She felt a little sick at the thought of going inside. She could imagine he was feeling that tenfold, though, so she swallowed down her own fears and tried to inject optimism into her voice. Her job was to keep him motivated and inspired.

  “Just think how much stronger this will make you,” she said as they headed inside. “Every day spent doing PT is one day closer to not needing this.”

  “It’s not going to let me walk again,” her dad said.

  “Maybe not,” she answered. “But walking is overrated. Just gets your boots dirty, and who needs that hassle? You’re going to be unstoppable, Daddy. You’re iron.”

  If he heard her, he didn’t respond. He wheeled toward the entrance in silence.

  Kate followed him to the outpatient ward check-in and the exercise room where he would work on building his upper-body strength over the next few months.

  “Mr. Landreth, welcome back,” the therapist said.

  Kate took a chair and watched as Diane began to work with her dad. She started with a few fairly easy exercises before transitioning into the harder ones. Most of the work focused on developing the upper-body strength her dad would need to be able to function on his own, to be able to hoist himself in and out of chairs and to get around without the use of his legs. Warren Landreth was by no means a weak man, but he was also stocky, solid, and not used to having to lift such weight with his upper body alone.

  Tears stung the back of her eyes as he struggled through exercise after exercise, and she looked away while taking a few deep breaths to steady her emotions. Her dad had always been her hero. She still saw him as she did when she was little, as someone who could do anything. It had been just the two of them for most of her life, and if playing the role of both parents while running the ranch had been hard, he’d never shown it. He’d been everything for Kate. He had an old baby photo of Kate on the fridge where she was standing in his cowboy boots which came up to her knees. She couldn’t have been more than a year or so old. She’d been trying to stand in his boots ever since.

  Now, her hero was trying to hold himself up on two parallel bars, his arms shaking and his face twisted with the effort.

  “You can do it, Daddy,” she said, stepping forward, wishing there was more she could offer than mere encouragement.

  With a grunt Warren dropped himself, and the therapist assistants helped him back into his chair.

  “We’ll give you a few minutes and then try again,” Diane said.

  He shook his head and wiped the sweat from his brow. Kate knelt down in front of him with her hands on his knees.

  “You’re doing so great, Daddy. These exercises are so hard, and you’re doing them all so much better than last week.”

  “You should go get some lunch,” he said in response.

  She shook her head. “I’m not hungry. I’m here to support you.”

  “You should go get some lunch,” he said again, more sternly this time, leaving no room for argument.

  She stood and looked at him, trying to find some tenderness behind his hard, pained gaze. “You sure?” she asked, hoping he’d change his mind.

  He didn’t. He nodded. Kate gave him a long look but saw no crack in his resolve, so she nodded. “I’ll bring you a doughnut for after. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

  She headed for the rehab hospital’s small cafeteria. She’d had enough of their cafeteria food while her dad was in inpatient rehab. She’d be happy to never eat any of that food again, and she wasn’t at all hungry. But she had nothing better to do, so she found herself in the checkout line with an egg salad sandwich in one hand and two doughnuts in the other.

  She took the food to a table and pulled out her phone to aimlessly kill the time with social media and phone games.

  She had to admit that an additional level of disappointment settled in when she opened her phone and there were still no calls or texts from Rowan. She tried not to overanalyze the radio silence. It had been less than twenty-four hours, after all. But her dad had kicked her out of his therapy session, and it was hard to not feel rejection from all angles.

  She frowned and unwrapped her sandwich to take a bite. It tasted like cardboard, and probably had the nutritional content of cardboard as well.

  Kate glanced at the time on her phone and gave herself five minutes to wallow, to let the pain of the past few months settle in and to let her thoughts dwell on feeling sorry for herself, thinking over the future she’d envisioned that was now never going to come to be. When the five minutes were up, she scrunched up the plastic wrap from her sandwich and tossed it in the trash. She picked up the doughnuts to take to her dad. She had to believe that there would be progress. He didn’t believe, so she would believe enough for the two of them.

  ❊ ❊ ❊

  “I need two sirloin, medium and medium rare, two chicken, and one pork,” the caller said, clipping the order to the line.

  Rowan wiped her brow and then tossed the first of the steaks onto the grill. She smiled at the satisfying sizzle it made as it hit the heat, flames jumping up and licking the meat. That sound never got old.

  The grill was a juggling act, and adrenaline coursed through her as she did her best to keep up, ensuring that each steak hit the grill and was pulled off with absolute precision timing. Forget about a steak for even thirty seconds, and it might come off the grill overcooked, and she would have to start it over, throwing off the timing of the meals for the entire table.

  It was On the Range’s official opening— the big launch— and the kitchen buzzed with an energy that had not come close to being paralleled at the soft launch. Orders flew in and out of the kitchen, and all of the chefs worked in tandem— like a machine— to get the dishes out as quickly as possible while attending to every minute detail. It was a pressure and an energy unlike anything she had ever experienced in her professional career.

  “Rowan, what’s the time on the rib eye?” Daniel asked, stepping over to her station.

  “One more minute, chef,” she answered in an almost military drill-like fashion.

  Daniel nodded and moved down the line, checking the plates that were ready to be expedited. No plate left the kitchen without his approval, and she could hear him curse the friturier over a piece of chicken that was fried a darker amber than the crispy gold it was meant to be.

  She didn’t let herself glance at the offending plate or the fry chef. The juggling act left no room for even the slightest distraction. She blocked out the words and flipped two of the steaks in front of her.

  Heat and smoke from the grill added to the pressure-cooker assault on her senses. Sweat and noise and chaos.

  Rowan loved it.

  She pulled the two cuts of sirloin from the grill and set them on plates, sliding them down the line for the saucier to add the cactus pear glaze to each.

&n
bsp; Then she moved to the next order.

  Set a ball down, add another in the air.

  It was an almost-meditative dance. There was no room for homesickness, or stress, or daydreaming. There was only the grill.

  “Rowan,” Daniel said, returning with one of the plates she’d sent out, and she felt her stomach knot. “This steak is about a minute over. We need one more sirloin, medium-rare.”

  “Yes, chef,” she said instantly putting another steak on the grill, her face burning from more than just the heat.

  “It’s all good,” Daniel said, as though sensing the spiral her thoughts were taking. “Precision takes practice. Watch the clock with this one, and don’t let one slipup get to you.”

  She nodded, and exhaled, letting go of the embarrassment to clear her head. She needed her focus.

  They were slammed for the entirety of the evening. It was opening night in one of the most talked-about new restaurants in Fort Worth, and there was not a single lull between when the doors opened and when the final orders came in just after 11 p.m.

  Her heart pounded as though she’d finished running a marathon. She pulled the final rib eye off the grill and watched with satisfaction as the sweet potato rajas and fried green tomatoes were plated next to it, and the waiter carried the dish out to the dining room.

  There was nothing to do then but clean her station, pack her knives, and go home. The end of the evening was anticlimactic after the adrenaline-filled shift. She took her belongings to her car and started the ignition, still buzzing from her successful first real shift with On the Range. She hadn’t cooked perfectly, but it was her first night ever in a high-pressure kitchen, and she was immensely proud of the job she’d done. She wanted to celebrate. The thought of going home to her empty, as yet unpacked apartment felt like tossing a wet towel on a fire, and she was not ready to kill the spark of energy just yet.

  Instead, Rowan pulled out her phone, bringing up Kate’s contact information. She had been meaning to touch base with her after their trip to the rodeo, but she had been uncertain what to say. She’d composed a handful of text messages earlier in the day and had discarded them all.

  Getting kissed by the beautiful Texas cowgirl had been so far from what she expected from their evening out. Her head was still spinning. Kate was gorgeous, and engaging, and apparently not straight, which left Rowan feeling completely disarmed.

  But, God, did she want to kiss Kate some more.

  Emboldened from the evening’s adrenaline, Rowan typed out a quick message and hit send before she could question herself.

  Things I’ve learned about Texas: there is a place for the word “y’all” in absolutely every sentence; when people talk about the Cowboys, they’re talking about football, not actual cowboys; and God might just forgive me for missing church if I cheer for the Cowboys.

  Rowan glanced at the time displayed on her dash, and she cringed at the realization that it was nearly midnight. Nothing said playing-it-cool like midnight texting. She tossed her phone on her passenger seat and was about to put her car in reverse and drive home when the reply came through.

  At the soft ding, she picked up her phone.

  See? One of us! Now start wearing that cowboy hat of yours and you’ll be indistinguishable from the rest of us Texans.

  She smiled, about to type a reply when another message came through.

  Okay. Almost indistinguishable. We need to work on that accent of yours.

  Rowan laughed. What accent? I do believe you’re the one with the accent.

  It’s called a drawl.

  I stand corrected. She held her thumbs over her phone keyboard, trying to figure out the words to type that would open the door to spending more time with Kate.

  The message from Kate came in first.

  Have you ever ridden a horse?

  Rowan looked at the message for a long time before answering, scared of what the follow-up question would be.

  Not unless ponies at the zoo count.

  They definitely do not, Kate wrote back. Come over Sunday afternoon and I’ll teach you to ride. Bring the hat. It’s essential.

  Rowan groaned, but there was a smile on her face. She shook her head and took a deep breath before typing her response. When she’d thought of spending time with Kate, she’d envisioned dinner and beers. But sure, getting on top of a one-ton mammal . . . that seemed like fun.

  What time? she asked.

  She had absolutely no clue what the hell she was thinking. This was why late-night post-work text messaging with cute girls was never a good idea.

  How about noon? Kate asked.

  Noon sounds perfect.

  Rowan was glad for the fact that her feeling of intimidation would not carry through over text messages. Now she just needed to prepare herself to appear just as cool and confident in person on Sunday.

  What are you even doing awake so late? Rowan asked. Don’t you have to get up at the ass-crack of dawn?

  Couldn’t sleep, Kate typed. Alarm goes off in a couple hours.

  I’ll let you go, Rowan said. I’ll see you Sunday.

  I can’t wait.

  Rowan couldn’t either.

  ❊ ❊ ❊

  Kate smiled as she set her phone on the table among all of the budget notes for the ranch. She went to take a sip of her coffee, but found the mug empty. That was her third cup. She could tell the caffeine had affected her as her hands were jittery and her heart beat a little faster than usual, but she did not feel any more awake than before she’d started that last cup.

  She hadn’t intended on staying up late trying to balance finances, but a hospital bill had been waiting in the mailbox when she and her dad got home from rehab, and when she’d tried to go to sleep, she had lain awake, stressing. She figured it was better to stay up and be productive, trying to solve the situation, rather than just lying in bed worrying.

  The texts from Rowan were a welcome distraction from what had otherwise been a long and unpleasant night. Rowan was a breath of fresh air during a suffocating time in her life. She had such a quick sense of humor and a zest for new experiences. Seeing Texas through Rowan’s eyes gave all of her mundane ranch life a certain magical quality. Their date to the rodeo (and Kate could now admit it was a date) had been so much more fun than she could have hoped. There was a tangible chemistry, but beyond her attraction to Rowan they had a natural, easy way of being together. It scared her a little to think Rowan might have the potential to grow into someone important. It was a terrible time for her to be dating anyone— for either one of them to be dating anyone— but that didn’t stop the optimism from bubbling free in her chest, a warmth that Kate happily embraced.

  She looked at the spreadsheet she’d created, feeling the warmth dissipate. Her mind could no longer process the numbers, so she closed her laptop. There was nothing more she could do for the night. The bills would all still be waiting in the morning. She would talk with her dad about selling his truck in exchange for a smaller vehicle. It would be more practical and would leave them with a little extra cash. Not enough, though. Never enough.

  She rubbed her temples and folded her stacks of paper to put them away so that her dad wouldn’t see them when he got up in the morning. She didn’t want him stressing. There was nothing he could do to magically fix the budget, and she didn’t want him worrying about anything other than his recovery. If he were to see her stressing about the finances he would become adamant about selling the ranch, and that wasn’t a step she was willing to consider.

  They had On the Range buying beef from them, and they could sell some cuts directly through local farmer’s markets over the summer. They’d also be able to sell stock at auctions, and they had a number of calves this year that should run them a decent profit. They would pay the bills off a little at a time.

  Kate could do it.

  She only wished she could feel sure of that.

  Chapter Six

  Rowan pulled up the dusty drive to Landreth Ranch, her stomach
tight in a combination of anticipation of seeing Kate and nerves about getting atop a horse. She had considered texting Kate to suggest a different activity, but she didn’t want Kate to know how scared she was. She had gone as far as typing up the message, though.

  She glanced over at the cowboy hat on the passenger seat next to her. It was out of place in her little hybrid hatchback, surrounded by the loud guitar and drums from the punk music coming through the stereo. That hat was so not her. It belonged in a truck with country music and a real rancher. She was a city girl from Portland. She would look about as natural in a cowboy hat as Santa Claus would look in a bikini. She put her car in park, shut off the ignition, and then rolled her eyes at the hat as she picked it up and stepped out of the car.

  There appeared to be no limit to the things she would do for a pretty girl.

  Rowan smiled at the thought of Kate. She was more than just a pretty girl. She was caring and warm, and if Rowan wearing the hat could win her one of those radiant smiles, then yeah, she’d wear the hat.

  A large dog bounded up to her and she knelt to pet the animal, whose tail wagged vigorously.

  She scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Who’s a good boy? Are you a good boy?”

  The dog wagged his tail in response and licked her cheek.

  “I see you’ve met Patch,” Kate said.

  Rowan looked up, squinting against the sun, to see Kate smiling down at her and the dog. Her stomach did a little flip.

  She stood, wiping her hands on her jeans. Kate held Rowan with a tender gaze that made Rowan feel warm and vulnerable.

  “So, hi,” Rowan said, moving in a little closer.

  “Hi,” Kate said back.

  Rowan was usually much better with words. Kate, however, stood there sexy as hell, and it was distracting. Sunlight reflected off the warm rust-red of her hair, which Rowan had the sudden urge to run her fingers through.