"I'm insulted that you think I would have a crisis,” I callback. I step inside and grab a couple of throw quilts off the back of the couch. I toss them over the porch swing. If we’re out here past dark we’ll be glad to have them. Knowing our ability to talk a subject–especially a male subject–into the wee hours of the morning, we’re going to be grateful for them later.
"Honey, you've texted me seventeen times since he left." Jess climbs the porch steps. "That's four more than when your mother tried to set you up with that orthopedic surgeon." She sits down and unzips the tote. The scent of meat and veggies wafts out and my mouth waters.
We settle on the porch swing with cartons between us—lo mein, sweet and sour pork, fried rice that smells like comfort. The air carries woodsmoke from Grandpa's cabin up on the hill. There’s a bunk house where Billy and several of the ranch hands live and an apartment on the second floor of the barn that’s empty right now.
We eat for a minute before Jess settles back and asks, "So how's your cowboy?"
"He's not my—" I start to deny that he’s mine and then stop myself. My cheeks grow warm as I have to say the words out loud for the first time. "We're dating. Officially."
"Finally!" She grins and does a little victory shimmy with her shoulders. “I was ready to lock you two in a barn until you figured it out." She leans forward. "Okay, spill.”
"He planned this whole sunset ride.” I sigh all sappy-like thinking about how amazing it was. “He took me up to the ridge, and when the sky turned gold, he asked." I touch the necklace without thinking, and Jessica catches the movement.
"And that? Please tell me he gave you that gorgeous necklace." She leans closer to look at it in the fading light.
"He had it made for me." The memory of his hands at my neck, the way his voice went quiet when he fastened the clasp, makes my chest tight.
Jessica sets down her chopsticks. "Kinsley."
"I know." I feel the weight of it against my skin.
"That's not a casual gift."
"I know." I drop my hand from the stones. "I'm trying not to think about what it means."
"How's that working out for you?"
“Not great,” I admit.
My phone buzzes and I cringe at the number. I pick it up and swipe to see a photo of Wyatt in the sponsorship tent. Today—I recognize the dark gray Henley he was wearing when he FaceTimed me this morning. He's standing with his arms crossed, that easy smile on his face.
And Brittany’s pressed against his side like she belongs there, one hand on his arm.
Brittney:Don't worry—I'm keeping him company this week.
The fried rice I just swallowed sits in my stomach like gravel. “Ugh!” I set the phone down, but I didn’t close it, and Jessica sees the text. Her eyebrows lift, silently asking me for permission to take a closer look.
“Go ahead,” I motion for her to have at it. “I need carbonation.” I head inside and come back with a couple of sodas. I set one in the cupholder and hand one to Jessica. She looks like she could spit nails.
"How many of these has she sent you?"
"Since Jackson Hole? Maybe six."
"Six." Jessica's voice is flat. "And you haven't blocked her, because…?"
"Evidence. If I'm going to get a restraining order or press charges, I need documentation." I lift a shoulder like it’s not so bad. At least Brittney is just taunting me. My anonymous texter has gotten a little more aggressive and abusive. He or she is quick to point out my lack of status and efforts to pretend I’m more important than I actually am. At least I know this is Brittney—not knowing the identity of the other stalker makes him or her that much scarier.
Jessica keeps scrolling, her jaw tight. "This woman is unhinged." She looks up at me. "Does Wyatt know?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Because telling him means admitting she's gotten to me—and I don't want to give her that power.
Because it means admitting I'm not as confident as I pretend to be.
Because I should be able to handle this.