Among the Dimes

By Kelli Dawn

If only she hadn't flown off the handle in an act of betrayal. If only he hadn't mentioned the b word. If only life were a fairy tale and ended happily ever after. Everything should have been fine for Brooke Butler and her husband. But their latest marital argument was more than just a spat. This time, it felt bigger than ever before. This time, everything about Brookes life was thrown into a proverbial, and at times literal, pile of cow manure.

Brookes status among the perfect tens was now iffy, at best. At thirty-two years old and lacking anything remotely resembling a life plan, Brooke must examine everything that she had ever believed about herself and the life she was living. As she trudges through her own mud and muck, she realizes that no pair of $750 pumps, no expensive highlight job on her perfectly groomed tresses, not even the most beautiful BMW in the world could ever make her feel the way something does when it is real.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 10, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504903479

Kelli Dawn

Kelli Dawn is a writer, educator, mentor, and coach. With a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a master’s degree in education, Kelli has dedicated the majority of her career to teaching math and empowering youth through enrichment programs. She is passionate about writing and is most inspired during the wee hours of the morning. While Kelli lives by the beach in beautiful San Diego, she stays connected with her roots when she is home in Utah running cows and driving tractors. In her spare time, Kelli enjoys mountain biking, jogging, rooting for the San Diego Chargers, and bonding with her beloved dog, Hank. Find out more about Kelli at http://www.kellidawn.com.

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© 2015 Kelli Dawn. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/26/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-0258-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-0347-9 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

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Chapter 1

A SS FORWARD AND UGGS in the air, I lay splayed on the ground staring up at the lackluster gray sky. My head rested on something lumpy. Something I couldn’t readily identify—a fresh pile of manure, snow, or the harsh aftermath of broken dreams. My hand throbbed on the spot I’d used to catch myself during my fall, and something cold and unwelcoming was trickling down my back, seeping through my way-too-thin layers. It felt suspiciously like there was a hole in my new Cavalli skinny j eans.

Forget this—all of it!

I stayed on the ground, succumbing to the melancholy of the cold winter sky, of the leafless branches of the tree I’d fallen under, of my entire situation. I was exhausted, ready to give up. And I was ready to give in to this moment and stay on the ground forever.

I was already over it, and I’d been there less than five minutes. I shut my eyes, figuring if I tried hard enough, I could wake up and this nightmare would be over.

I don’t even know how I got here.

I do remember waking up at the ridiculous hour of six in the morning, dropping my bags off with a skycap, and getting a nice, thorough pat-down from TSA—the most action I’d had in months. I might have even enjoyed it if I had not been half asleep. In a perfect world, I would have been able to doze on the plane, but my brain—and the music blaring from the headphones of the angsty teen wearing all black (be original already) sitting next to me in seat 11B—prevented that from happening, so I did the next best thing. I drank. And even still, through the fog of the three vodka tonics, I was able to immediately spot Jason, the tall, rugged, full-bearded brown-eyed man-stud waiting for me at baggage claim. His swagger and large stature made him easy to find in a crowd, even if his calling my name hadn’t.

Brooke. Nice to see you. Your hair looks great. He wasn’t looking at my hair when he said it. Typical. He opened his arms and engulfed me in a hug. I was drowning in a sea of flannel, brawn, and the smell of true manhood by the time he decided to release me. Which one’s yours? he asked, nodding toward the baggage carousel.

One. Ha.

I waited as he hefted my four bags off the carousel and then followed closely behind him to the airport exit. As soon as I stepped outside, into my first taste of Colorado winter, I immediately regretted every decision I’d made that led me to this point. My carefully chosen outfit—jeans, sweater, scarf, coat, Uggs—did very little to protect me from the frigid air around me. Already my ears and nose were so cold they were almost burning, and the gloves I’d spent so much time fawning over, fancying myself a vision in varying shades of winter white, were absolutely worthless.

This cold is ridiculous.

High of eight today. Jason didn’t stop walking, he didn’t wait for me to get my bearings, and I was forced to try to keep up with him.

I don’t even know how it’s legal to be this cold, I muttered, but my words were lost in the wind whipping around us.

I spent the two-hour ride to the ranch sleeping off the vodka and drooling onto the window I rested my head against. I woke up only because a hole in the road caused me to knock my head against the glass—a rude awakening. Jason had turned the car off the paved road and we were bumping down the dirt road that led to the ranch house, the place that would be my home for the next six months—aka the middle of nowhere. The sky was gray, the trees were comatose, and the only color, the only sign of vitality, was a big blue tractor parked in the yard by the house.

Everything looks so dead, I remarked.

Jason parked the car and opened the door without responding. Then, almost as an afterthought, he turned to look at me. It’s called winter, sweetheart. Get used to it. We have a couple more months of this.

He didn’t wait for me to respond, just slammed the door shut and left me alone in the car. I took a few deep breaths, savoring the last remnants of my life as I knew it. As soon as I stepped out of the car, I would officially be on a journey that I wasn’t sure I wanted any part of. Forget the ridiculous cold, forget the fact that just last week my life had been on a completely different path. The smell alone—cows—was enough to make me seriously consider hijacking Jason’s car and getting the hell out, driving until I figured out what I was supposed to be doing with my life, now that my world had turned completely upside down.

The fact that I had no idea what to do with my life—and the roads were icy and I didn’t know how to keep from ending up in a ditch—kept me from running away. Instead, I opened the car door with the intent of joining Jason, who had already deposited my bags inside the bunkhouse.

And now here I was, lying flat on my back on the icy ground, contemplating the ramifications of staying there forever. It seemed like the most appealing option at that point, freezing bones and all.

Without warning I was yanked up, back on my own two feet, so abruptly and strongly that I fell forward into Jason and his ridiculous pecs.

Might want to get shoes with better traction, princess. I know you’re not used to it, but ice is a thing during winter. As he spoke, I could feel the vibrations of his baritone voice moving against my cheek. I’d never been this close to him.

I straightened myself up but remained close enough to hold onto his arm.

That information would have been helpful before I fell. There was a hint of annoyance in my voice that I didn’t bother to hide. There were so many things wrong with this picture, including the fact that Jason hadn’t asked if I was okay after I fell.

And then, because I knew I couldn’t very well get snarky with him and expect him to be okay with me using him for his physical stability as we walked the rest of the way to the bunkhouse, I looked up at him and smiled. I knew the power of my smile, knew it would erase any hard feelings my irritation may have caused. Men were easy enough to deal with if you knew how.

Get over yourself, princess. Apparently the smile he then gave me, like mine before it, was meant to cancel out his harsh words. It didn’t.

I quietly held on to his arm as we walked toward the door of what would be my home for the next few months. He pushed open the warped wooden door and waited as I stepped inside.

I looked around and knew in an instant that I had found the place where dreams went to die. Black aluminum bunk beds with shoddy, scratchy-looking blankets were pushed up against the wall to my immediate left. Across from that was a full-size bed made from what looked like hand-carved pine, complete with a hand-stitched patchwork quilt. It was actually quite pretty in that rustic, natural sort of way, its beauty a majestic island surrounded by a sea of cheap, unsightly castoffs. A threadbare blue sofa and unfortunate glass-top coffee table sat at the foot of the bed. I was surprised to see a fairly decent size flat panel TV on the wall across from the sofa, directly above a faded red brick fireplace. It was the only indication that I hadn’t traveled back in time to 1976.

A kitchenette to my right was complete with a green refrigerator, orange Formica countertops, and a small round table. A door off the kitchenette led to what I assumed was the bathroom, but at this point, I was too overwhelmed by the hopelessness of it all to do little more than stand in the doorway and try not to breathe through my nose.

Well? What do you think of your new home? Jason asked.

What’s that smell? I hadn’t been able to place it, but it was something like a mixture of mildew, men who ate beans for every meal, and bad decisions.

That, princess, is years of cowboy living at its finest.

It smells like a truck stop restroom.

Jason laughed and tossed my bags on the full-size bed, rightly assuming I’d lay claim to—maybe cling to and never let go of—the only decent thing about this place.

You want to get settled in or go to the main house with me?

Main house. I want to air this place out before I settle in. Can you help me open the windows?

Brooke, you do realize it’s 10 degrees outside, right?

I’ll just turn up the heat when I come back. I made my way to the first window and threw it open.

Jason pointed to a metal bar (I later learned it was a radiator) on the wall. That’s your heater. Not going to do much to help get rid of all the cold air you’re letting in.

Well then I’ll light a fire. I tossed open the kitchen window.

Do you know how to light a fire?

I’ll throw a match and some wood in there. Problem solved. How hard could it be?

Jason snorted and rolled his eyes. I followed him out the door, which I didn’t bother to shut.

This is ridiculous, I muttered as I held onto Jason’s arm on what I originally thought was a short trek to the main house. Now, even with my gloves and scarf, my fingers were frozen and icy and my ears were positively screaming with cold. My legs were so stiff I could barely bend them to climb the few steps that led up to the back porch of the house. The walk from the bunkhouse to the main house felt longer than the two-hour ride from the airport.

I think my fingers have frostbite, I said, as evidenced by the fact that I tried—and failed—to open the door.

Jason said nothing as he opened the door for me. I stepped into the kitchen and sank into the warmth, into the enticing aroma of something simmering in a big pot on the stove. It was the kind of smell you yearn for on a cold winter’s day such as this, something hot and comforting and likely laden with carbs and the bad kind of fat.

Karalynn, the woman of the house, turned and smiled as we walked into the kitchen.

Brooke. Hi! She stirred the pot one more time before she walked over to give me a hug. Welcome.

Thanks. I smiled at her, taking in her perfectly curled hair, her carefully done makeup, and her manicured nails. Personally, I didn’t see the point when you were stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, but I appreciated the effort just the same. What are you making? It smells amazing.

Venison stew.

Can’t wait to try it. Are Robby and the boys here?

No. They’re out in the fields somewhere, she shrugged and then went to stir the pot again. They’ll be here soon, I’m sure. They’re usually back before dark. Sit down. She gestured to the table. Can I get you some wine or something?

Wine would be great. I sank down at the table across from Jason, who’d already sat down with a beer.

So what do you think of the bunkhouse? Karalynn asked as she handed me a glass of red wine and sat down across from me.

I took a sip of wine before I answered, deciding whether I should be honest or polite. Manners won out in the end. After all, these people were really doing me a favor. And weren’t manners, like, a big deal in the country? It’s… nice.

Jason smirked into his beer.

I’m sorry I didn’t have time to clean it before you came. I’ve been down with the flu for a few days and am just now catching up on things.

What had she been doing the ten years before that, because I was sure she’d never once bothered to clean the place?

It’s fine. I’ll clean it tomorrow. Is there somewhere in town we can go buy candles or something?

Sure.

And maybe I could check out the gym while we’re in town? Do they have yoga classes?

At this, they both burst out laughing. I smiled as if I was in on the joke, though I felt pretty dumb for assuming a town with only one stoplight would have a gym.

Nature is your gym. Jason’s tone could only be described as condescending. And if you really get into your job, you won’t need a gym. Ever notice how strong Charlie is? That girl hasn’t gone to the gym a day in her life.

Ah, the Charlie comparison. The moment I had been dreading. I had hoped my performance here wasn’t going to be measured by my best friend’s. It was hardly fair, because she had grown up here, helping her brother Robby run the place, and I’d grown up in the city, where the toughest thing I ever had to do was Paco’s spin class on any given Tuesday night.

The back door opened then and the boys—Robby, Hunter, and Drake—walked in. Hunter and Drake, Charlie’s teenage nephews, breezed through the kitchen without acknowledging my presence. Robby, Charlie’s big bear of a brother, went to the sink to wash his hands, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, and headed toward the table before he realized I was sitting there.

Brooke. He raised his beer in a salute to me and then sat down at the table with a thud. Jason and Robby were close to the same size, but they moved in completely different ways. Jason moved with the grace and agility of a former professional athlete. Robby moved in the clumsy, bulking way that one would expect of a man with a 6 foot 3 inch 200+ pound frame.

How those heifers looking? Jason asked Robby.

Robby finished off his beer—he’d been sitting at the table less than a minute—and shook his head. I’m going to have to move them in. It’s just too damn cold. He turned his eyes to me. You ready to work tomorrow? We could use your help running the heifers in.

Sure. I smiled brightly, though in truth I didn’t at all feel ready to work. I wanted a day or two to settle in, and I wasn’t sure I could survive more than a few hours with the bunkhouse being in the state it was, but I wanted to show I was willing to work—after all, that the was the whole point of my being here—and I especially didn’t want to tell Robby no. The guy was someone I didn’t ever want to piss off.

Robby gave a slight nod and then turned his attention back to Jason. The two of them launched into more ranch talk, which I didn’t bother to follow, partly because I had no idea what they were talking about and partly because I didn’t at all care.

Need help? I asked Karalynn.

Sure. You can help me dish up dinner.

Why we had to help dish up dinner when everyone who was eating was fully capable of doing it themselves was beyond me, but maybe this was one of those things I would have to get used to about ranch life.

The boys came back into the kitchen then. Hunter, age 15, was the older of the two. He was a smaller version of his dad: tall and barrel-chested with dark hair and bright blue eyes. But unlike his dad, he smiled at me and made an attempt at small talk. I didn’t miss the blush that crept up on his cheeks or the fact that Jason noticed and would probably goad him—or me—later. At least Hunter was trying to be friendly, and even if his friendliness was spurred on by what seemed to be a schoolboy crush, I appreciated it just the same. I knew how hard conversation was for the entire McIntire family.

Drake was 12 and looked more like his mom. He was not quite as tall as his brother, with a more average build, but with the same brown hair and blue eyes. He didn’t really try to talk to me, and I wasn’t sure if that was because he was shy or because he had inherited his dad’s surliness.

I helped Karalynn place steaming bowls of stew in front of everyone and then sat at the table to eat. The room grew quiet, except for the sound of chewing. I took a bite, anticipating the warmth of the soup going down my throat. What took me by surprise was the weird taste, as if Karalynn had rubbed some sort of weird spice on the meat.

What’s the matter, you don’t like venison? Jason asked, already having finished his bowl.

I don’t even know what venison is. Is it, like, a special spice or something?

The formerly quiet table erupted with laughter. I had no idea what was so funny, but I think it was safe to assume they were laughing at me.

Venison, Karalynn finally said, is deer meat.

Deer? Like… Bambi? My spoon slipped out of my fingers and clattered onto the table.

Deer, like those little bastards that come down from the mountains and eat thousands of dollars’ worth of my feed hay. Robby put a large spoonful of stew in his mouth, I’m sure for my benefit, after he spoke.

Oh. Even though I hadn’t eaten anything more than a few peanuts on the plane earlier, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to eat any more of the stew. My appetite was shot, much like the poor, helpless creature that had ended up in tonight’s dinner.

You want something else? Karalynn offered.

Hell, yes, I wanted something else, but I had a feeling admitting that was the wrong thing to do. Maybe I’d get lucky and find some food in the bunkhouse, but I had a strong suspicion if I found anything at all it would probably have reached its expiration date before I was born.

Um, I’m not really that hungry. I’ll just go get settled in. I rose from the table and carried my bowl to the garbage to dump the stew out.

Don’t waste it, Robby barked.

Oh, okay. I set the bowl on the counter, not bothering to ask what I should do with it instead of dumping it out. So what time do I need to be ready tomorrow? I asked Robby.

Light. Robby rose to dish himself another helping of Bambi’s mom.

I wanted to ask him a specific time, but figured I might as well not bother. I mumbled goodbye to everyone and made my way outside, where it was barely light enough for me to make my way back to the bunkhouse, let alone look for any icy patches on the path. I fell twice, and by the time I walked into the bunkhouse, which was somehow colder than the air outside, I was ready to crawl into bed and hibernate for winter, or at least the duration of my stay.

But first, I needed heat.

I quickly shut the windows, located the thermostat, and cranked it up. I then stood in front of the fireplace with my hands in my armpits, trying to warm up my fingers, and thought about the best way to go about starting a fire. There were a few logs on the side of the fireplace, so I set those inside and picked up the book of matches lying on top of a newspaper. I lit a match and threw it toward the logs.

Nothing. I tried four more times, with the same result.

With that failure, defeat took over my mind and body. There was nothing left for me to do but cry. But even as I let the tears fall down my cheeks, through the exhaustion and the hopelessness of it all, I at least was rational enough—and desperate enough for warmth—to realize that I wasn’t completely helpless here. It would be easy for me to figure out how to build a fire, because the key to basically everything in life was in the palm of my hands—my iPhone. If you couldn’t find the answer to what you were seeking on Google, you were probably doing life wrong.

And so there I was, sitting in front of the fireplace, watching a YouTube video on how to build a fire when Jason walked in. He crossed the room and stared in disbelief at the screen on my phone.

Are you…

Don’t.

Are you actually watching a tutorial on how to build a fire?

How else am I supposed to learn?

You could’ve asked. He took the phone from my hands and tossed it onto the sofa. Let me show you.

It’s not that Jason didn’t do a good job of explaining what he was doing as he did it, it’s just that the guy on the YouTube video had been a lot less condescending and more patient, even if I did derive more pleasure from watching Jason move than I did the old guy on the video.

You’re going to need to bring in more wood if you want to keep this going all night. Jason stood from where he was crouched building the fire and brushed his hands on his jeans.

I wrinkled my nose at the thought. Jason probably knew just as well as I did that there was no chance in hell that I was going back outside for the rest of the night. Maybe not ever again, actually.

I guess you’re good here. I’ve got to get going. Bastard didn’t even offer to go get the wood for me.

Okay, well thanks for everything today.

Thanks for the entertainment. I look forward to watching you tomorrow.

I didn’t respond to him, just gave him a small wave and tight smile as he made his way out the door.

I buried myself under three blankets that night, trying to get rid of the goose bumps and chattering teeth that felt like they would be my companions forevermore, trying to make myself believe that this was all just a bad dream; that when I opened my eyes in the morning, I would have a good laugh at myself for believing that my life could really come to this; and that my life was anything other than exactly what I wanted. I was the girl who always got what she wanted.

And yet here I was…

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Chapter 2

T HE FIRST TIME I visited the ranch was the summer after my first and only year of college. I’d been dying to see the place ever since that day in stats class when I leaned over and introduced myself to the toned brunette who took copious notes and always aced her t ests.

She smiled back at me, and I was surprised at the way it transformed her usually stoic face. Charlie McIntire. She didn’t wear boots or a cowboy hat, but her Wranglers and button-down shirts screamed country. Her bright blue eyes and her discreet but definite beauty screamed please make me over.

Originally, our friendship consisted of studying together. By studying I really mean that she tried to explain stats to me and I pretended to be making at least some effort to care about passing the class. But after a couple of weeks, I could take neither the dry material nor the untapped potential for beauty I saw in Charlie. So I invited her to a frat party one Friday and insisted she let me dress her for the evening.

She was a hit with the boys, as I’d known she would be. But what surprised me was that she really didn’t care about all the attention she was getting at all of the parties we attended. Sure, she had a drunk make-out session here and there, but she wouldn’t really give anyone the time of day when she was sober.

She talked incessantly of home and the ranch she’d grown up on, and I suspected the reason she wouldn’t date any of the various guys who asked her out was because she was wildly infatuated with her older brother’s best friend, Jason, who’d just been drafted by the Denver Broncos. As far as I could tell, he’d never viewed her as anything other than his friend Robby’s younger sister.

But thanks to me, that changed.

Charlie went back to the ranch the summer between her first and second year of college, rocking highlighted hair, carefully applied makeup, and the right jeans to flatter her body type. Jason noticed, and the two engaged in a wild summer fling that was so intense it was all she could do to drag herself at least partially away from him for four days when I came to visit.

She was in love, the happiest she’d ever been. I was going through the biggest crisis of my life: I had come to the realization that college wasn’t for me and my parents were threatening to cut me off. I had no clue what I was going to do with my life if that happened.

Whereas Charlie was incredibly book smart and school came easily to her, I was the opposite. High school had been relatively easy, but going to a major university after not taking any honors or AP classes was my downfall. The only class I passed my first year of college was nutrition, and that’s because I was so obsessed with escaping the dreaded freshmen 15 that I actually read the required material.

So there I was, still reeling from the disappointed look on my dad’s face, from the lecture I’d endured when I finally showed him my grades, and from the very real threat that unless I got it together, I was going to be forced to get a job and support myself.

At least going to the ranch felt like an escape from real life. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t until we were officially out of Denver—that was the closest airport—and driving north that I realized the vast difference between the way Charlie and I had been raised. I was born and raised in San Diego with all the comforts of a city: paved roads, millions of people I didn’t know, and, of course, malls. Charlie was raised in the country with all that implied: vast acres of farmland, endless cows, and the constant threat of smelling like a horse.

I don’t know how you survived, I remarked as we turned down a dirt road, bumping along in the dusty farm truck that smelled worse than my eighth-grade algebra teacher’s breath after lunch. To this day, I shudder when I think of anything that has to do with math.

Charlie shrugged. I shouldn’t have expected anything more.

I’d come to expect little to no words from Charlie. She wasn’t a talker, at least not most of the time, but she became really alive and animated as she showed me around the ranch. We drove on what felt like endless miles of dirt road. She told me the names of the fields and what year her family had acquired them. I was fascinated, not so much by the history of the ranch but by how enchanting and truly gorgeous Charlie was when she was passionate about something.

No wonder Jason showed up after only a few hours of being away.

He was the all-American football star, with broad shoulders, dark blond hair, and a larger than life presence. His eyes had a way of making you feel beautiful. Maybe my feelings were not appropriate given that this was the love of my best friend’s life, but I thought Jason was one of the hottest guys I’d ever seen. Apparently so did many other women, and so probably did he, because the following spring while the rest of us went to Cancun for Spring Break, Charlie went to Denver for a surprise visit with Jason. The surprise was hers, though, when she caught him with another woman.

Charlie never spoke of Jason again, and I never saw him during my annual trips to the ranch, at least not until ten years later when Charlie returned home, done with her life as a litigation attorney in Chicago, pregnant and alone. Jason came back into her life then, even though the two never discussed what happened when she was 19.

And now, serving as what I hoped would be my ally on this foreign land, he was apparently back in my life.

The bitter air sucker-punched me the next morning when I opened the door, so cold and commanding that I couldn’t catch my breath. I closed the door and considered my options. I could build a fire and stay there until the sun came up. I could crawl back into bed and hibernate until winter was over. I could run away and forget this plan, which was definitely the most appealing option, except for the tiny little fact that the only place I had left to go was my mom’s house. Because I was 32 years old, that was just downright pathetic and not really an option.

I checked the time—just before seven in the morning—then picked up the phone to call Charlie. It was not even six a.m. in San Diego, but I had a feeling she’d probably answer.

Hey, cowgirl! Her tone transmitted the sunshine I hadn’t realized I’d been seeking.

Hardly. If her tone was sunshine, mine was the cold, dark night.

How’s it going?

We had venison stew for dinner last night. Wasn’t that explanation enough?

Charlie laughed. I’m guessing that didn’t go over too well with you.

It went as well as all this ice. How do people survive in real winter? All my life I’ve looked forward to ‘winter’ in San Diego, where I can pair my Uggs with a cute mini skirt and show off my tanned legs. Winter outside of Southern California is just downright unnecessary.

You’re going to need some long johns. And you might want to learn how to build a fire.

Oh, the Internet and Jason already taught me how to build a fire. What are long johns?

Thermals. Long underwear that you put under your clothes. I’m pretty sure I have some in my dresser in my old room. Along those lines, you’ll probably want to wear my chaps, too. They should be in my closet. You’ll want wool socks.

You’re scaring me.

The only thing you should be scared of is those so-called ‘riding’ boots you bought at Nordstrom before you left.

You’re calling my new Frye boots worthless? Now you’re really scaring me.

All I’m saying is, you might want to consider using a pair of real cowboy boots. I have a few pair in my closet.

Charlie, no offense, but the last thing I need is to take fashion advice from you.

This isn’t about fashion, Brooke.

Everything in life is about fashion. It was an almost exact replica of an exchange we’d had before I left, during which Charlie tried to tell me how I needed to dress while I was on the ranch. I brushed her off, because there was only room in our relationship for one fashion diva, and that had always been me.

After I hung up with Charlie, I grabbed a beanie, gloves, coat, and Uggs and, armed with only my cell phone, I set out on the impossibly long trek to the main house.

I could see exactly nothing. There were no street lights, no moon, and no stars, nothing to guide me. I hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps when the barking started. I froze, both because of the ridiculously cold air around me and because I was gripped by fear. The two dogs that I had noticed in the yard the day before but hadn’t bothered to befriend were somewhere in the dark growling and, I was sure, baring their fangs at me. These were ranch dogs, probably trained to kill bears, cougars, and invading yuppies. I couldn’t see them, but they sounded like they were close.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I panted, panning my cell phone around, hoping its dim light would be enough for me to simultaneously see and scare the dogs away. I heard a growl alarmingly close to my right ear and let out a yelp just as the back door to the house opened and a panel of light lit up the early morning darkness. Robby poked his head out.

Wreck! Annie! Shut up! His voice was gruff and mean and the most beautiful thing I could have imagined in that moment. The dogs stopped barking and I hurried—as fast as I dared on the ice—to where Robby was waiting with the door open. He eyed me stoically.

Nice pajamas. He let go of the door he’d been holding open, and if I hadn’t lunged into the kitchen at the last second, it would have hit me square on my ass. Hard to tell if that was intentional or not.

Charlie told me to go into her room to find warm clothes. Will those dogs attack me?

I watched while Robby poured more coffee into the mug he’d been carrying.

Probably not. He sat back down at the table. You have to show them you’re in charge.

Okay, how do I do that? I opened the cupboard that seemed the most logical to hold cups. It wasn’t.

Don’t show fear. Kick them if you have to.

Oh no, I could never hurt an animal. Three cupboards later, I found the coffee mugs.

At least the sugar was easily identifiable by its canister on the counter. I poured coffee and then opened the fridge, looking for the creamer. There was none. Of course. Charlie drank her coffee black, and I was guessing Robby did, too. I settled for a splash of milk and some sugar. I joined Robby at the table, hoping he was chattier in the mornings than he was otherwise.

So what exactly are we doing today? Following his lead, I took a sip of