I start to ignore it, like I do most numbers I don't recognize, but then I remember my mom calling this morning, telling me she met a lovely girl at the dance hall and gave her my number. I tap the message open.
Unknown:Hey Bear. This is Kassi. I met your mom last night at the dance hall. She gave me your number. I hope that's okay.
Staring at the screen, my heart slows down and speeds up at the same time. Kassi. There's no last name, but I don't need one. I know who she is. The second I read it, I knew.
She doesn't know who I am.
Mom gave her my number, thinking she was doing me a favor. Called me Bear, like she always does. Kassi must not have put it together. Which means I've got an opportunity most men don't get.
A clean slate.
Or a test.
I lean on the fence post and stare across the pasture toward the barn. Phantom's out there grazing, tail swishing like he's got no concerns in the world. That horse probably thinks we're friends now. He showed up again this morning, nuzzled my pockets until I gave him the last half of my granola bar.
I look back down at the phone.
She's texting me. Voluntarily.
After all the hard stares and clipped conversations and that absolute storm of a showdown here at the ranch, she's texting me not knowing who I am.
I should tell her.
I almost do.
My thumb hovers over the screen, and a dozen versions of a confession run through my head. But none of them feels right.
Because the second I tell her the truth, this fragile little moment we're having shatters.
And for once, I don't want to be the guy who shatters something good.
Still, it feels wrong. Keeping quiet. I hate secrets. I hate the way they twist things up and make everything harder later. But there's a selfish part of me that wants just one honest connection that isn't immediately laced with land disputes and family pride.
And I can't help but wonder if I'm projecting all my frustration about the developers onto her. Maybe she's just trying to get by. Or she doesn't even realize the damage she's part of.
I tell myself it's just a conversation. Just a few texts. Nothing permanent. But deep down, I know it's more than that.
Instead, I thumb out a reply.
Me: Hey Kassi. Nice to meet you. You caught me off guard there. I wasn't expecting any introductions from my mom.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. Then, I save her number in my phone.
Her response comes quickly.
Kassi:She said you were single and too stubborn for your own good. Figured I'd say hi. I'm new to town and not great at this sort of thing.
I huff out a laugh. That sounds like my mother. And it sounds like Kassi, too. Honest. A little unsure. A whole lot braver than she probably gives herself credit for.
I type back.
Me:I'm not great at it either. But hi back.
There's a pause. Long enough, I figure maybe she regrets it. Then another ping.
Kassi:You always this charming? Or just when strangers text you out of nowhere?
I grin. She's got bite. That's something I've always liked about her, even when she was showing up at my ranch in those fancyshoes with that city-girl attitude, talking about modernizing everything.