Page 52 of Forbidden Cowboy

“I’ll see you soon, Beau,” I said quickly.

I didn’t hear an answer, but felt his eyes on me all the way out the door.

Once back in the car, with Anna asleep in the passenger seat, I pulled the napkin back out, smoothing it on the steering wheel.

It was a cocktail napkin, and I recognized the font and name of the establishment immediately.

Archibald’s

I turned it over, and there in Sierra’s neat handwriting, was a small message that broke my heart.

I’m sorry, I can’t pretend anymore.

-S

Tears rolled from my eyes, and I cried openly in that parking lot, trying to reach Sierra by phone. It was turned off. That didn’t stop me trying, though, and as I drove home, my world crumbling, I was only accompanied by the dull tone of a tinny female voice.

“I’m sorry, but the number you are calling is not available, please try again later.”

Chapter Seventeen

Sierra

“I’m sorry, but the number you are calling is not available. Please try again later.”

At the automatic disconnect, I wanted to scream. All I was trying to do was get my car back from impound, but people were making it impossible. It turns out, you can’t leave your car in a public parking lot for months and expect it to be there when you get back.

I didn’t really think I’d even be getting my shitty Toyota Corolla back, but it was worth a try. I knew it had likely been auctioned off to the highest bidder, or even broken down for scrap at the lot’s earliest convenience.

At least I still had my apartment, and public transport was a lot easier to come by in Denver than in Gunnison.

My apartment, with its cold, linoleum floors, the dull views of the gray roads and grayer people. The white walls I wasn’t allowed to drill into to hang art. The small kitchen without even enough counter space to make pancakes.

Not that I had much need to make pancakes. Anna had loved them, but by giving up Gunnison once again, I knew I’d given her up as well. I wanted to call Anna, and tell her that my leaving wasn’t her fault, because I knew she would blame herself. I was worried she would retreat back into her protective shell of mischief, and become permanently scarred by my actions. I wanted to write her a letter so she could understand, but what would I say?

Dear Anna,

I’m sorry I left in the middle of the night without saying goodbye. I saw your dad kissing your mom. There’s obviously no room for me in your family. Also, I’ve been desperately in love with your father since I was fourteen.

Don’t forget to do your homework and eat your greens!

Love,

Sierra

Yeah, somehow that didn’t sound right in my head. So, I didn’t write a letter. In fact, I made myself almost impossible to reach, by changing my number in much the same fashion as I had when I first left Gunnison, except this time, Beau didn’t have a phone I could call him on, so instead I called the hospital every day to speak to him.

He kept asking when I was coming home. Even as his speech grew clearer, and his responses to my questions more coherent, he didn’t have any interest in telling me about his recovery, but was more concerned with when I’d be coming back again.

I wanted to tell him never, tell him that if I saw Wyatt again, and if he was happy with Eliana once more, it might kill me.

But he was my brother, and he was recovering from something I couldn’t even imagine going through, so I looked at the numbers in my bank account and promised him I’d visit every weekend. I just had to make sure I did it when Wyatt wouldn’t be around.

Even with all the money I had saved while under Wyatt’s employment, I still had to downsize my apartment, largely to afford the cost of travelling to and from Gunnison. I always made my visits as brief as possible, but one weekend, I somehow ended up at dinner with Arthur and Mary, who mentioned Wyatt. Like he had heard his name, the man walked by the window of the restaurant, and into the hospital—presumably visiting Beau.

That wasn’t right. Wyatt didn’t visit Beau on Saturday afternoons. He took Anna out for a ride—Beau had told me. So why was he here? A part of me wanted to rush after him, to know exactly what was going on in his head, and what might have happened that had him changing his schedule, especially when Saturday afternoons were so convenient for me.

The other part, the more sensible part, told me to stay where I was, to nod and smile and vaguely engage in the conversation so as to not seem incredibly rude. So that’s what I did.