by Sloan Archer
As she paid for her Chinese food, she wondered: How could she have believed that this was the life for her? New York was fantastic, just not fantastic for the person she’d become—the new, post-Montana her.
Not a day had passed when she hadn’t thought of Cash. She knew that she’d messed up a good thing, and the worst part about it was that she had no idea how to fix it. Calling Cash from clear on the other side of the country seemed like a cowardly move, given how she’d left things. She should have told him that she loved him when she had the chance—in the flesh.
So many times she’d thought, I’m just going to go to the airport, get on a plane to Montana, and never look back. She was even thinking it now. But, of course she couldn’t do that, no matter how much she wanted to. She had responsibilities here in New York.
Two blocks later, the city provided her the permission she needed to leave. She was just starting to cross the street when a bus came screaming around the corner and nearly mowed her down. She jumped out of the way in time, but she’d sacrificed her dinner in the process. Her noodles lay smashed in the middle of the road. “Well, that’s just great!” she shouted after the driver. “You need to learn how to—”
And then she saw it, the bright advertisement on the back of the bus. It was a beautiful image of a couple on horseback kissing, with snowcapped mountains gleaming in the distance. The caption read: Fall in love with Dunblair Ridge. The Montana Board of Tourism welcomes you!
Vanessa’s mouth dropped open. What were the odds—one in a million? Ten million? It had to be a sign. The universe was trying to tell her something, and who was she not to listen? She sprinted towards home.
As she ran, she made travel arrangements in her head. She’d pack a small overnight bag, head to the airport, and book herself onto the next flight to Montana. She’d sleep at the airport if need be and apologize to Morris later. But she was going to see Cash.
She was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the handsome cowboy standing in her doorway. She ran right into his solid chest as she frantically rooted in her bag for her keys. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” she said without looking up. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
“Me, too,” said the man, whose voice sounded like all the places she’d ever want to be. “I didn’t want to wait another twenty-seven years.”
Vanessa’s eyes filled with tears as she looked up and saw the bouquet of forget-me-nots the cowboy was holding. Crying, she took the flowers from Cash and said, “Let’s go home.”
EPILOGUE
Vanessa checked her appearance in the sleek Art Deco mirror she’d moved over to the office from Jeanie’s. In her flowing deep purple dress and carefully applied makeup, she felt ready to take on the night. She made one last fluff to her wavy hair, snipped into soft layers earlier that week by a hairdresser friend of Meredith’s downtown. She was good to go.
“Goodnight, Stephanie,” she called to her administrative assistant, who was shrugging on her jacket and shooting off a text as she headed toward the door—if there was one thing the girl had mastered, it was multitasking.
“Don’t say goodnight just yet!” Coming in at just under five feet, Stephanie was a tiny ball of strawberry blonde energy. “I’ll see you at the gallery soon enough. Just going home to change.”
“Sounds good.”
“I should’ve gotten ready here at the office like you did.” She flapped her long mane back with a freckly hand, her bangle bracelets jangling like a windchime. What she lacked in height, she made up for in accessories and hair. “Live and learn!” she exclaimed, her blue eyes twinkling.
Vanessa gave her a crooked smile and a shrug—What can you do, eh?
On her way out, Vanessa stopped to straighten the photograph that held center stage in the waiting area. It was a breathtaking shot of the sun glittering across a lake a sunset, taken by Cash, of course. Clients never failed to comment on its realism, how they could almost feel the warmth of the sunshine on their skin.
Vanessa gave the office of V.P. Financial Services a final glance, an act that never ceased to make her grin. She’d decorated the small space in a neutral-colored modern style, with touches of antiques like Jeanie’s mirror, to add a bit of personality. “Goodnight, sweet office,” she whispered and then shut off the light.
Business had been a little slow for the first couple weeks after she’d opened—slow enough that she’d questioned her decision to branch out on her own on more than a few sleepless nights. But she kept at it, and her list of clients around Dunblair Ridge gradually grew. After a couple months of being in business, it dawned on her that she was working day and night to keep up with the demand for her services. Without even recognizing it, she’d grown into one of the more successful businesses in town. Around month three, her client list had grown such an extent that she’d hired Stephanie. A little over six months later, Vanessa was now actively looking to staff another financial planner to help her handle the increasing workload, so that she could give her existing clients her full attention.
Leaving the comfort that had come with working for an established firm like Jersaw and Morris—now just Morris Financial Services, thanks to the illegitimate practices of Michael Jersaw (currently still at large)—had been scary. Really scary, especially during the first couple of days when her business phone had sat silent. But it had also been exhilarating.
Now, she was positive that there wasn’t a better choice she could have made. Cash’s constant encouragement was what had kept her going most on the days she’d wanted to give up, which was one of the million reasons she loved him so very much. He’d helped her in ways he’d probably never fully understand.
Vanessa also loved the way he’d treated their final day of DIY at Jeanie’s with ceremony. As she’d finished hammering in the very last nail—used to hold a WELCOME sign over the front door—Cash slipped off to the kitchen. He returned with two glasses of champagne, which they drank on the porch during sunset. Vanessa decided then that she’d always keep her family’s farmhouse in her possession, though she might later entertain the idea of turning it into a bed and breakfast.
The night air was on the chilly side, but Vanessa didn’t have too far to walk—less than a block down Dunblair Ridge’s busiest street downtown. She was excited for the show being held at Holman’s Fine Art, since she just so happened to be in love with the guest of honor. She was proud of Cash and the courage it had taken him to show his photos to galleries around town, which had impressed gallery owner Ian Holman so much that he’d provided the rancher his very own show.
Vanessa saw a glitzy crowd gathered on the sidewalk as she approached Holman’s. Given the size of the group, she figured they must have come from a bar nearby, but then they all entered the gallery. As she entered herself, she could see that tonight’s event had garnered quite the crowd. What surprised her most was its variety.
There were cowboys mingling with women in slinky dresses, local business owners chatting with tourists. Vanessa recognized many faces. Practically the whole town, it seemed, was in attendance to help Cash celebrate his debut. This made Vanessa proud once more, as well as nervous. If she were in Cash’s shoes, she’d be feeling a little vulnerable, with such personal artwork on display for everyone and their mother (literally—both Violet and Donna McCarthy were in attendance) to critique.
Vanessa had helped Cash select which photographs he was going to show by pointing out her personal favorites, so she already had a good idea what would be on display. She saw that he had made a couple last-minute changes and had swapped out a couple landscapes for closer-up shots of animals. Vanessa thought this was a good call on her part, since the new images helped enhance his story. The one she loved most of all—a canted-angle shot of a bull’s profile—was included.
After working her way through the crowd, Vanessa finally found the man of the hour. He didn’t seem nervous in the slightest and was surrounded by a group that included his ranch hand, Harrison, Ian Hol
man himself, as well as a few (eh-hem) attractive female out-of-towners who were gushing over his talents. Cash was working the crowd perfectly, using artsy jargon like “mood” and “juxtaposition” to further explain the inspiration behind each shot. It was yet another facet of Cash she’d never seen, which thrilled her right down to her bones. He was constantly surprising her.
She’d been living at his house almost fulltime since they’d finished the remodel at Jeanie’s. With each new day that passed, she got to see him in a different light. As textured and complex as Cash’s personality was, she couldn’t imagine ever feeling bored. She loved this new character tonight—the serious artist persona—which was about as far from a rugged rancher as anyone could get. Being with Cash was like having a million men wrapped in one. Vanessa couldn’t be more fortunate. If she got to wake up next to Cash every day for the rest of her life, she’d die a happy woman.
Much to the disappointment of the fawning ladies, Cash excused himself from the group. He wasted no time offering Vanessa a compliment. “You’re absolutely stunning, my dear.” After she thanked him and returned a compliment in kind, he said, “You’re going to steal all the attention away from my photographs, looking the way you do.”
She gestured down at her dress. “Do you think it’s too much?”
“Not at all.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You’re perfect.”
Cash himself had gone for an upscale rancher approach: cowboy boots—he couldn’t disappoint the crowd’s expectations and not wear those—dark denim jeans, a black blazer, and simple shirt on top. Vanessa had suggested earlier that he roll up his sleeves to give his outfit a bit more edge, which he’d done, as well as added a couple thick leather rope bracelets. Her approving gaze told him that he’d done well.
She leaned in to kiss his cheek and whispered in his ear, “I cannot wait to have you all to myself later.”
Cash pulled Vanessa in his arms and gazed around the room, taking a moment to appreciate his blessings. “I love you, you know that?”
“I know you do. And I love you, too.”
The cheeky promise of lovemaking aside, having Vanessa in attendance at the show was what made the evening the most special for Cash. Though she might argue otherwise, he never would have found the nerve to venture out to the galleries with his photographs, had she not given him the courage to do so. She made him feel so good about himself, better than any woman ever had.
It wasn’t the only time Vanessa had helped out. His ranch was thriving, thanks to the deal he’d scored with Christian Seel. It still amazed him; had someone told Cash a year ago that his steaks would be endorsed by a world-famous chef and sold in some of the finest restaurants in America, he would have said that he must be suffering from a case of mistaken identity. Now, instead of feeling as if all his efforts on the ranch were being executed in vain, he approached each new day with a sense of hope and purpose.
Cash looked toward Vanessa, who was excitedly chatting with Ian Holman. After Holman excused himself, she pulled him close and excitedly whispered. “You are not going to believe this! Ian just told me that all of your photographs have sold!”
Cash was floored. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. Every single one!”
As if to endorse Vanessa’s claim, Holman raised his glass from across the room and grinned, “Let’s have a toast to tonight’s talented guest of honor, Cash Axton. The best is yet to come!” The crowd cheered and champagne was drunk.
As Cash sipped his own champagne, he looked down at the beautiful woman in his arms and then out across the sea of friends who’d come to show their support. He wondered if he might be the luckiest man alive. Vanessa leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and his hand rose to the small velvet box that was tucked away in his jacket pocket. He hoped the universe, generous as it had already been on this night, would allow him just a little more luck . . .
* * *
She said yes.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sloan Archer has been writing fiction since childhood; her first works were short mysteries, penned while Sloan was in grammar school. She later went on to study English and film and media at University of California, Irvine. She resides in Los Angeles, where she is always working on her next screenplays and novels. She also writes mysteries, thrillers, and horror under the pen name Vivian Barz.