Chapter Seven

Not Your Hallmark Card

Clinton: Should I be concerned about your mental state? You’re asking some dark questions…

I laugh when I see his notification following my very detailed inquiry about cyanide. Since finding out that Clinton used to be a cop I’ve been asking things from the homicide perspective rather than from a security mindset. I guess this shift makes me sound unhinged.

Me: Maybe?? I’ve been in a mood lately and this is where my plotting has taken me.

Me: Good news is I’m burning up my keyboard writing this thing. I might actually finish it.

Sending that text feels so freaking good. The fact that I’m on such a roll and know where I’m going with this story is a major milestone for me. The kinetic energy I have seems to snowball with every page I write. What took me so long to do this?

Oh. Right.

Patented dismissal by every person I’ve ever told about my dream.

And really, the only person I truly unloaded to was Ross, my boyfriend at the time. Who rolled his eyes while laughing and told me I was dreaming.

Well, yeah. That’s how futures get their start. By dreaming.

I’m only now coming to the conclusion that Ross must not have dreams. At least not the kind to inspire goals and effort. His dreams are probably x-rated.

How strange that my negative self-talk was finally broken by taking a random trip to Hollywood. And realizing how small minded Ross is was the kicker.

Sitting up straight and stretching my neck, I relish the ache in my back from hours hunched over my laptop. If only I didn’t have to interrupt my writing time with work. Which I’ll be late for if I don’t step away from the keyboard and get into my gear; denim overalls and my Seed and Grain t-shirt.

So glamorous.

Just as I save my progress, close the document and shut down my device, another text from Clinton comes through.

Clinton: of course you’ll finish it.

My stomach flips in the best way at his unquestioning confidence in me. The man doesn’t even know me. Not truely. But he’s more sure I’ll complete this book than I am. This is devastating for my attempts at squashing the crush I have on the guy.

Hot and encouraging? My heart is in trouble with this one. He’s his own hot mess with a recent divorce and becoming a single dad. I shouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. Not now.

But my brain only hears…not yet.

There is serious power in the word, “yet.” So many possibilities. So much potential. Adding those three little letters changes everything.

But crushing on Clinton is not something I should be trying to change. As in, I should not be trying to make it more than a simple crush. That’s all it is. He’s a handsome devil and I’m a small town girl. Of course I’m crushing on him. Who wouldn’t be?

Me: thanks for the vote of confidence.

Pocketing my phone after sending off my reply, I hop to it and get ready for eight hours of stacking and sweeping grain. Maybe cutting some wire fencing or helping load an order of wood. The possibilities are endless.

Oh, the joy.

My dad’s been trying to get me to start working on the ranch, which my mom thinks is a grand idea. Tie myself even further to the Johnsons? No thanks. My parents don’t see it. Wayne is nice enough. But Jillinda is as bad as her son. She carries her position as a rich ranching wife like a title rather than a basic fact. She married well. That doesn’t make her queen of Silver Valley. Her entitlement certainly rubbed off on Ross.

I still want to kick myself for not seeing it sooner than I did. I broke up with the guy before leaving for college but the few years we dated in high school seems to have cemented my role in his life in his mind. And his mom’s. And anyone in town without two brain cells. Even my parents still shrug when I tell them I’m not interested in being a life long rancher. At least they’ve finally backed off trying to get Ross and I back together.

No more ambush dinners or rides from the airport for me. Woo hoo.

What a sad reason to celebrate.

Rolling my eyes at my own semi-pathetic reality, I hop down the front steps to my car. I take in the view, green fields dotted with half-a-century old trees in the distance. Horses graze on the horizon to my left, heffers to the right. The breeze carries their scent mixed with the sweet grasses they’re chewing. It’s not as stinky as it was the day I got back. My nose has settled into the ever-presesnt aroma of ranch life.

There is a certain comfort to the peaceful scene in front of me. The quiet isn’t for everyone but it does create a bubble away from the rest of the world, I’ve realized. Most people who build their lives here could never handle the frantic pace of a bigger city. Heck, most of them wouldn’t be able to deal with a medium sized town considering how sleepy this one is. The most excitement we see most days is an escaped cow or the groanings of the Grab n’ Go rumor mill.

I laugh thinking about Hollywood drama in comparison. And as I pull down the dirt road toward town, I keep laughing while picturing Marjorie or Betty trying to keep up with the rumor train I got wrapped up in. They could never.

I have to give myself credit for the personal growth it’s taken to get as thick of a skin as I now have. High school me would pass out. I hated the times my name was included in whatever people were talking about. Which is another reason Ross was my go-to guy. No one would dare talk about him, let alone his girlfriend. Not because he was protective. He wouldn’t dare bruise up on my account. But because he was rich. He was one of the owners' sons. There were few enough of them that most were untouchable. They stuck together and got away with murder.

Not literally. But they pulled enough crap that they should have at least been detained by the local cops. Their crew was untouchable and everyone knew it.

Zack could have been among them, as an owner’s son himself, but he was never in the club. He was the target. I never understood it before but now I realize those entitled pricks recognized Zack’s character outshined theirs. He’s the best one of them by a million miles. They couldn’t compete so they never allowed the chance. Ross and his buddies kept him down as long as they could.

And I was the idiot who stood by and watched.

Guilt hits me with the force of an angry bull. Smack. Right between the eyes. In fact, I rub them, trying in vain to swipe away the sick feeling of responsibility. I didn’t bully him. I didn’t target him. But I also didn’t say anything knowing Ross did.

I don’t want to be that girl anymore. I won’t stand idle while the world around me turns ugly. Maybe I was afraid. But mostly I was apathetic. It wasn’t my problem because it wasn’t me.

Except it was. Because I let it keep happening.

Gah! Driving down our main street–still only two lanes and the road that leads to pretty much every place a person in Silver Valley could need to go–I shake my head at the irony. We’ve got small town drama up the wazoo. The landscape might make a beautiful Hallmark card, but the people ruin the entire thing.

I relish the dirt kicked up by my tires, me being the only car on the road at this odd mid-evening time. Ranchers are still hard at work. Store owners are still open. It’s only late shifters like me starting their work days. Most of them live on the other side of town in the residential district.

My phone buzzes with a call, startling me out of my musings. Glancing at the notification, I squeal just a little at the sight of Brianna’s name.

I’m totally chill about a pop star calling me.

At least I’m trying to be.

And failing.

“Hey! What’s up?”

“I was thinking about you,” she says brightly. “A little birdie told me you finally started writing that book.”

I’d mentioned in passing while I was visiting that I used to dream about being an author. But the only person I’ve actually confessed to giving it a try is Clinton.

“Would the birdie be a 6 foot 5 bulldozer with a persistent frown?”

Brianna laughs. “It would. He grumbled something about cyanide and I about had a panic attack thinking I had a new stalker. He only told me to talk me off the ledge.”

“Oh, well. I guess that’s a good reason.”

“Don’t be upset with him. I’m so excited for you!”

“I haven’t finished it yet. And no one’s even read it. It could be a dumpster fire for all I know.”

“I doubt that.” She holds a heavy pause which makes my heart race before saying anything else. “Listen. I have a proposal.”

“Oh-kay.” Her tone makes me even more nervous than her pause did.

“I’m trying to overcome my anxiety from the whole creepy letter situation. Char told me I should try immersion therapy and read a thriller to get over the shock of the criminal mind. So…”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you’d let me read yours. Whatever you’ve got so far.”

“But…but…it could be hot garbage, remember? And it’s not done. Don’t you want an ending and someone who knows what they’re doing?”

“What I want is to know I’ll be fine no matter what. I don’t know these other authors. I know you, and I know you’re making all of this up. I’ll feel safer reading it because I won’t wonder about the internal monologue of the author.”

“You’ll probably wonder after you read it. Clinton already asked if he should be concerned. And that was simply based on the questions I was asking.

“Just send it to me. Please?”

I groaned. I can’t say no to her pleading with me.

“Okay, fine. But if it’s hot garbage you have to promise to tell me. I don’t want to waste my life on a dream that’ll never come true.”

“I can’t imagine it’s terrible, no matter what you say. But I’ll give my honest feedback. Deal?”

I inhale deeply. “Deal.”

"Okay, girlie! Thanks! I'm looking forward to it. And if I get scared, Zack can comfort me."

"Yeah, ok. Bye."

What have I gotten myself into?

I guess I’ll find out soon enough. But first I have to get to work.

As I round the bend closer to the main drag and my place of employment, I’m struck by the glow of warm sunlight on the wide open fields surrounding me. There is such beauty to be found here. I recognize it more often than I used to. Which is a huge signal that I’ve taken too much for granted in life. It’s a reminder I should be grateful for the little things, such as this amazing view. And friend’s who believe in me.

Unfortunately, my shift does a good job of reminding me why this town is not the dream. Almost immediately after clocking in, I’m ordered around by a few ranch hands with an attitude. Then I’m covered in dust after moving fifty bags of grain to a new spot on the floor.

Who knows why their old home wasn’t good enough. The wire I cut to order scratched me. I’ll probably get infected.

And to top it off, Marjorie gave me her RBF while strolling by with her son. Who happens to be friends with Ross even though he’s the furthest thing from an owner’s son you could get.

His parents don’t even work on a ranch.

But I’m the outcast now.

I roll my eyes at the thought. Not even a month ago I was basking in the Hollywood sun with a pop star and her entourage. Which doesn’t mean anything about me other than I was included and they weren’t.

Yuck. I don’t even like myself right now. I hate being stuck here and I hate the way this town messes with my mental health.

I need out.

I’ve been saving every penny I can for the last year with that goal in mind, but it’ll take more than working at the Seed & Grain five days a week to get it done.

What if…

What if I finish writing this book and it isn’t hot garbage?

What if it’s…good?

I know it’s a long shot. I know that most people never finish their books in the first place, and even fewer of those make enough money to live on.

But what if it did?

I have to try. I can’t leave the possibility on the table and never find out if it could be something more.

Now more than ever, I’m determined to finish writing this book. Now more than ever I want out of this town.

And if that leads me back to Hollywood, even better.

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEJOdl3cIWE