Love Me Again, Cowboy

She shrugs. “For a while.”

The excitement grows in my chest. “Do you think . . . that is, could we go for coffee? There are some things I’d like to explain if you’ll allow me.” It’s strange how with any other woman I feel confident, and yet watching Malia think about my invitation has me fumbling like an idiot. I hold my breath, waiting for her answer. I’m not sure if I’m anticipating her turning me down or throwing out a remark about whether or not I’ll show up. I’d deserve both. But I’m still hoping that she’ll just say yes.

She bites her bottom lip as she contemplates. “Um, yeah. Okay.”

I let out my breath and give her my winning smile. “Great. Coffee it is. Monday, nine-fifteen at the Bisbee Coffee Shop?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” She gives her own smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I think some closure is exactly what we need.”

Her words are like a cold bucket of water over my head. I don’t know what I thought would come of coffee, or of explaining things to her. Did I think we could maybe pick up where we’d left off? A new beginning, a second chance? I’m a special kind of fool. She hates me— told me as much in her last messages—and she didn’t exactly give me a warm welcome today. And I know what the tabloids and magazines say. She’s with Trey Wentworth, even if he is a cheating sack of crap. Of course, she’s not looking to rekindle things with the ex-boyfriend who stood her up on their future together.

“Um, yeah. Sure. Closure.” I at least owe her that.

“Thanks again.” She turns to go. I watch her get into her fancy car and everything in me is screaming not to let her go again, but I do nothing as she drives off. I kick a rock and rub the back of my neck. Of course, all she wants is closure.

“Dad!” Audrey calls out from the truck. She is holding my phone out, and it’s playing the credits song from her favorite show. “My show’s over. Can we go now!”

“Yeah . . . okay, baby girl. I’m comin’.”

Chapter Nine

MALIA

When I finally make it to the hospital, I find out that Ala did go into premature labor. Fortunately, the doctors were able to give her some drugs to stop it. They’re keeping her at the hospital for observation, and since they don’t know for how long, it is a good thing I over-packed for Ala. When they see my smudged clothes, I explain that I got a flat tire, but I don’t tell them about my run in with Jax. It just isn’t the right time to bring it up.

JulieAnn calls to let me know that she found an extreme adventure tourist company near Bisbee and has me booked up for the next few weeks to learn everything I’ll need to know for the role. My first lesson starts Monday afternoon. She also arranged to have my tire fixed while I visit Ala.

I head to the local Target in Sierra Vista to get some more appropriate clothing and shoe choices. My Hollywood attire just isn’t going to cut it here. I have a scarf around my head and over-sized glasses in the hopes that no one recognizes me. I’m not really in the mood to snap pictures with fans right now.

While I look for some sturdy boots, I can’t stop thinking about my run-in with Jax. It’s a strange juxtaposition when one part of me wants to punch him and another wants to kiss him. I wonder what he’s going to tell me at the coffee shop on Monday.

I want to understand why he broke up with me with a text message the morning we were supposed to start our life together in California. I want to know why he wouldn’t see me when I refused to accept his text-break-up and banged on his door. I want to know why one day he could tell me he loved me with all his heart and then the next could ignore me completely. I think half of my anger is in the not knowing. Maybe he has a viable explanation, a perfectly sound reason for doing all those things. Did he have a case of some horrible airborne disease and was really just saving my life? Or maybe he saw a horrific crime by some drug lord and had to go into witness protection. It’s obvious that I’ve had my head in too many scripts lately. I grab a pair of boots and throw them in my cart.

A woman behind me gasps. “Malia Kalama, is that you, hon?”

Really? Someone actually recognized me? The scarf and glasses usually work.

I turn around to see Mrs. Bassencherry, an old local, smiling at me. She’s around my parents’ age and lives just two streets over. Her son, Isaac, was one of Jaxon’s best friends. She always had cookies in the oven, a smile on her face, and gossip on her tongue. Her greying brown hair is braided to one side. She wears large glasses and oversized hippie clothes that hang loose on her petite frame.

“Mrs. Bassencherry,” I say.

She throws her arms around me and pulls me down into a strong hu

g, rocking me back and forth. She smells like incense and chocolate chip cookies and, under it all, a little bit of marijuana.

She backs up and takes my face in her hands. “Oh sweetie, I’ve missed seeing your pretty face.”

I give her a smile. “It’s good to see you too.”

She releases me. “You visiting your folks and sister?”

“Yes, I figured Ala could use some extra help with the new baby on the way.”

“Well, aren’t you thoughtful.” She leans in close. “I’ve seen you on TV, you know. You’re so good at being the bad girl. Especially since I know you’re not.”

“Thank you.” It’s always strange when I get complimented for my expertise at being horrible on the screen.

“Have you seen Jaxon yet?” She asks it in a whisper, even though there’s no one near us to overhear.