Page 39 of Cash

“What was that like?”

Cash’s chest presses into my shoulder blades as he inhales. “Garrett was a great boss. Great friend. Treated us fairly and with more kindness than we deserved. Most of what I know, I learned from him.”

I swallow the sudden thickness in my throat. I like hearing that Dad was good to his people. But that makes me wonder why he wasn’t all that good to me.

“How’d you end up on Lucky Ranch anyway?” I ask.

Another inhale. “After my parents died, we didn’t have the money to maintain Rivers Ranch. I was nineteen with four brothers to look after. Garrett took us under his wing, offered us jobs and a place to stay so we could rent out the house on my family’s land for extra income. Been here ever since.”

“Wow.” I swallow again, my eyes burning. “That must’ve been a lot for you.”

“Wasn’t fun. My parents were hell-bent on me being the first Rivers to go to college, but I had to drop out my sophomore year.”

My chest clenches. “That sucks.”

“We made out all right.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Is Grumpy Cowboy here a secret optimist? And really, howdidhe survive losing his parents? How did he not crumple when, at nineteen, he was faced with the huge responsibility of raising his brothers?

How did he feel, having to give up on his parents’ dreams? What abouthisdreams?

Why the hell do I care about any of this?

“Your dad”—Cash urges the horse into a trot—“he was a huge help. The five of us kept him busy.”

Too busy to take an interest in his daughter?

I blink, hard, and look out over the hills. The light has taken on an orange tinge. Nighttime, and the cooler temperatures it brings, is blessedly within sight.

This has been the longest day ever.

My insides feel mushy and sore. And my outsides—ugh, why am I not more grossed out by the way my sweaty shirt sticks to Cash’s?

“That’s why he’d theoretically leave you the ranch.” Anger feels safe. These mushy things do not. “Because you were like a son to him.”

Cash goes rigid behind me. “I don’t know what I was toGarrett. But he was a father figure to me. Showed up when I really needed one.” A pause. “I loved him.”

More anger. The burn in my eyes becomes unbearable. “I loved him too.”

Another pause.

“Losing a parent—I think that’s the suckiest thing of all the sucky shit I’ve been through.”

Cash would know. If what he’s saying is true, he’s lost every parent he’s ever known.

Doesn’t make my pain any less real. But it does put it in perspective. This guy has beenthrough it. How can a person withstand so much and not collapse?

“It is pretty sucky, yeah.” I lift my shoulder to wipe my eyes on my shirt. “To be fair, I don’t have any siblings to worry about.”

“I wish I could say it got better. The grief.”

I laugh, the sound mirthless. “Aren’t you a barrel of monkeys.”

“You want me to lie to you?”

“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know.” I look down at his feet, my chest clenching. “Those are Dad’s boots, aren’t they?”

“How’d you know?”