“Got it.” The young man disappears from the window, and I cock my head to see the direction he’s heading in.
“That’s cool, you give tours in golf carts?” I ask casually.
Brett sighs. “Yeah, we’ve got a couple smaller ones to get around the ranch quicker. The bigger ones, six- and eight-seaters, move tourists or staff when we need to run errands or carry equipment.”
Andnoonethoughttotellmeaboutthis?I want to ask, but I simply shrug. “Good to know there are ways to get around if I need to.”
Brett holds up a hand, his expression a warning. “They’re limited, Rose. We only use them for specific jobs, not for just getting around. Plus, the land’s tough on the carts. They’re not exactly free-for-all vehicles.”
“Right.” I nod. “Makes sense. But if necessary, you do use them for purposes other than driving around tourists?”
“Limited,” Brett repeats, hitting every syllable. “Now where’s that inventory list?” he asks.
With her gaze pinned on me, Ginger hands it to him over her shoulder. He clips it onto his board and disappears into the back.
Ginger lowers her head, giving me a scan over the rim of her glasses. “Don’t even think about it.”
“What?”
“Rose .?.?. he’ll have your head.”
I wave her off. “I’m not. Besides, Brett looks like he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
She starts working on the invoices. “Wasn’t talking about Brett.”
I ate dinner with Wesley back at The Shack. It was the first time I’d seen the kitchen where he’s worked for the last several years. And it was fun watching him run the place—even when he was supposed to be on break.
He offered to come to the cottage, but I still don’t want to tell him I’m staying in one of the cabins instead. He’ll only make a scene of it. Or call me out for being a brat.
We video-called our parents since they love when the two of us are together. Or at least that I’m not alone in the city without his “supervision.” Needless to say, they were ecstatic at the idea of me moving here. I had to remind them it’s just for the summer.
But the idea of staying a bit longer doesn’t feel as ridiculous to me now. It’s only my second night here but this whole open sky and easy silence thing is something I didn’t realize I missed.
I asked Wes if he could take me out on the town tonight, but he said he had to be up early to prep for tomorrow’s tours and events.
Last night, between the smokey air and crackle of the fire, the cowboys were telling me about a place called Bones located on the “it” strip here in Blue River Springs. Curious, I asked a few questions like, “What makes it so special?” and “Has anyone had a drink named after them for doing something stupid?”
The stories I got were all widely different—and very intriguing. The kinds of memories you can only make in a small town like this one.
Which only convinced me of one thing: I need to stop by and make my own.
But how?
The idea of the golf carts has gnawed at me all night. Limited or not, one of those babies could get me out of here, even if just for an hour.
Or, you know .?.?. until something exciting happens.
The faint chirping of crickets is the only sound breaking the silence when I step out an hour later. I scurry behind the row of cabins, heading in the direction of the main office. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there.
I don’t even know if the carts will be accessible.
Like an idiot, I slipped on one of the few sundresses I brought with me. It’s light linen with blue flowers. Note to self: when sneaking around and borrowing without permission, always wear black—and a sweater.
It’s a nice night, but there’s the occasional chilly gust of wind. And I haven’t got much but my adrenaline to keep me warm.
When my cell phone rings, I jump, shushing it like a fool. I glance at the caller ID and swipe to answer.
“Hey, girl,” Willow says in that sweet, deep voice of hers I’ll always envy. She’s only two years older than me but has the maturity of a thirty-year-old.
