1109 Cowboy Way

With that, I step on the brake before putting the truck into drive and head over to Rosie’s. The drive is slow and easy, and the breeze flowing making my hair fly feels good. Makes it a little easier to breathe. The drive isn't too bad. Only a couple of cars and trucks pass me on the road as I turn into Rosie’s and park. Taking the key out of the ignition, I look out at the feed and tractor supply store. There are only a couple of vehicles in the lot, and that helps soothe my nerves a little. Not much but some. That means there aren’t that many people there.

“I can do this,” I remind myself again, fixing my baseball cap, making sure my brown hair covers as much of the left side of my face as possible.

I hate my scars. I know they are superficial. What matters in the big picture is that I survived.

I am still alive.

Breathing.

Living.

It is silly to be ashamed of the scars on my face, but I can’t help it. I may not have been a model before, but I was pretty once. I haven’t felt pretty in a very long time. Not with the stares I have received or people pointing when they think I’m not paying attention. I feel like a monster of sorts. It is one of the main reasons I keep to myself. Why I stay to myself on the homestead. The animals don’t judge me or the way I look.

I glance at myself in the rearview mirror, my eyes diverting down to my nose and to the right. I can still see some of them on my jaw and cheeks. Thin, silverish lines that wisp this way and that. Those aren’t so bad. The ones I have on my back and legs are worse, not to mention the one by my ear down to my jaw by my hairline. That one is jagged and angry.

My fingers trace the spot, and I close my eyes. Breathing in and out, I drop my hand and clench the denim of the overalls on my thighs.

“Shake it off,” I whisper, mentally preparing myself to go in.

I am crazy. I know it.

Rosie probably thinks I am certifiable with how I sit out here like a weirdo, mentally preparing myself like I am about to go into battle instead of shopping. She’s always so nice when I come in, and I’m usually not. Always hurrying around, never looking her in the eye. You have to try, a small voice whispers. I’m not good with people anymore. Once upon a time I had been a social butterfly involved in the community and groups. Now I'm more of a hermit.

I’ll find a way to make it up to Rosie. Maybe once my apples are ready to be picked, I can make her an apple pie and drop it off in the morning? Out of everyone I have met, she has been the kindest and the most helpful. I'm pretty sure my animals wouldn’t have survived this long without her.

Exhaling slowly, I try to brush away the nerves.

“I got this,” I repeat to myself before arranging my hair one more time, making sure my baseball cap is secure.

Hopping out of the truck and shutting the door, I have my keys in my hand. I pat the right pocket of my oversized overalls to make sure I have my wallet and list of things I need. Once I know I have everything and my face is as covered as possible, I make my way to the front door, my head down, never meeting anyone’s eyes on my way there.

Not that anyone would ever look at me.

Not anymore.

2

Grayson

I should be halfway to Amarillo by now. Not sitting outside of Rosie’s Tractor and Feed Supply like some kind of stalker.

I work a month in one place and move on. I’ve been traveling for some time now and have enjoyed getting to see new places. I’ve never thought one time of staying longer, and if you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I would have said the same thing. But now, I’m wavering. There’s no doubt that Cherry Falls is something special. Even though I’ve been here a month, there’s no way I could tire of the place. I’ve been downtown and seen the sights there, I’ve eaten the famous pie at the Virgin Diner. I’ve been out to the bay, and even though I’m not really the type of guy that relaxes, I definitely enjoyed watching the ships come into the marina. I’ve even been out to the Wild Ridge Mountains and went hiking. It was hard to do in my cowboy boots, but I made it happen. There’s still plenty I haven’t seen and done, but it’s more than that.

I just finished up at Cherry Blossom Ranch, and the next ranch I’d planned on moving to is in Amarillo. It was a solid plan. I’ve had it all figured out and scheduled for months, but after I met—or I guess I should say saw Hadley because I haven’t technically met her—my plan went to shit.

The few times I’ve seen her at Rosie’s, she’s always had the same baseball cap on, and it was pulled down, covering most of her face. Whatever it wasn’t hiding, her hair was. She is always in and out, and she doesn’t talk to anyone—well, anyone except for Rosie. One time, I stood to the side of the aisle and stared at her. I just needed a glimpse of her. I know it was rude and it probably made her feel uncomfortable, but I had to somehow have her eyes on me. But one glimpse of her honey brown gaze did it for me. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of her since. She’s literally been in my dreams every night.

It’s obvious there’s more going on than any of us know. She’s been hurt, and it’s the kind of hurt that shatters a person. She seems like she’s barely holding on, barely keeping it together, and my heart aches just thinking about it. I’ve known hurt. My wife of ten years cheated on me and left me, so I know what loss is. But I know it’s more than that for Hadley. She looks as if she’s had her soul crushed, as if she can barely breathe walking around and trying to function in day-to-day life.

I’ve tried to speculate, and I made up stories in my mind. I knew it was going to be bad, but nothing prepared me for what I learned from Rosie. Now Rosie is not one to gossip. She’s more of a tell it like it is person, but I had to get the scoop, and luckily, Rosie likes me or else she wouldn’t have given me anything.

I discovered that Hadley was in a terrible car accident, she lost her mother, she’s completely alone, and she handles all the responsibilities on the Hickory Homestead. I’ve also heard people talking about her face. Some of them have been concerned and only wanted to help, but there have been a few that were downright mean. I put word out that I wouldn’t tolerate anyone disrespecting her, and most people don’t mess with me, so if anything is being said, it’s not being said around me. And no one would risk saying it to her.

I flick my gaze to the dashboard, knowing it’s about that time. I turn in my seat and watch the street in front of me. I know that she’s going to be turning off of Twilight Road onto Bittersweet at any moment. Almost holding my breath, I don’t blink and watch the road as if I’m afraid I’m going to miss something. I’m going to talk to her today. I know by the way she carries herself that she doesn’t want to have a conversation with anyone. The only person she’s been slightly talkative with is Rosie. But I can’t let this continue. Every time I see her, she looks more tired and more burned-out. I know I could help her. I can handle her ranch without even thinking about it because it’s what I've done my whole life. I’m a cowboy, through and through. And I truly believe when one of your neighbors needs help, you give it to them.

Yeah, I think she’s attractive. Yes, she brings out a protective side of me that is like nothing I've ever felt before. I’ve tried to tamp it down because I know she’s not going to want to deal with my overzealous, protective instincts. As a matter of fact, she seems the type to run from me if I started acting that way. But she brings it out of me. And I don’t know how much longer I can just stand by and watch her destroy herself.

Where the hell is she? I ask myself. Just as I’m about to get out and start pacing the parking lot, I see her old Ford truck driving slowly down Bittersweet. I hold my breath until I see her turn signal that lets me know she is turning into Rosie’s. She parks a few aisles over and is facing the door. She looks around the almost deserted parking lot and back to the front door of the feed store. Even from here, I can see that she’s nervous.