Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(4)
I didn’t anticipate being alone with my ex-boyfriend when I signed up to provide medical assistance at the local rodeo. Thank God for the paperwork keeping me occupied. And for the potholed road which requires me to take my time, struggling to keep my printing legible as the rickety vehicle careens down the highway away from Wells Canyon. Without something to keep my hands and mind busy, I might make a stupid choice, like trying to talk to the man lying in front of me.
He looks older, but so many years have passed, it makes sense. When was the last time I saw him? A cursory glance at the café when I was home for Christmas a few years ago, I think. He didn’t see me.
When was the last time he saw me? How much older do I look?
For a long while, the only sounds are rattling equipment and our driver, Johnny, singing along to a Creedence Clearwater Revival cassette tape. The way his voice cracks during “Fortunate Son” is very unfortunate, but I welcome the distraction.
Denver’s eyes are boring into the top of my skull long before he speaks. “So, you’re back in town.”
“Seems so.”
“Since when?”
I shrug one shoulder. “Few weeks.”
“For how long?”
I sigh. “Don’t know.”
I didn’t want to move back to my hometown in the first place. In fact, I’ve avoided Wells Canyon as much as humanly possible for the last decade. But now, thinking about leaving means thinking about my mom’s Alzheimer’s disease progressing beyond what my dad and I can handle ourselves. It means thinking about moving her into long-term care or hospice. So, as much as I don’t want to be here, I can’t stand the thought of what the end date of my stay means.
“Are you capable of answering with more than two-word sentences?”
I glance up to catch him smirking at me. I tap the pen against my clipboard and consider telling him I have much more than two words I could say to him. There are so many unorganized thoughts in my brain, I don’t know where to begin.
“Yeah, no.” I count the words on my fingers, shaking my head as I return to the incident report on my lap. Filling out the paperwork only serves as a reminder that I used to know every single detail about this boy. Now my knowledge is restricted to full name, birth date, and blood type.
“Is your girlfriend your emergency contact?”
“So you are capable of more than two words. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Does the blonde you were with behind the chutes know that?”
“Blair Hart, were you spying on me?” He flashes a lopsided grin, complete with his famous dimples. Dimples that stole my heart so many years ago. A smile I refuse to let envelop me again. “Nah, I ended things with her after my ride today.”
“You…broke up? After your ride?” I squint at him, looking for any indication that he’s suffering a brain hemorrhage. “You definitely need a CT scan when we get to the hospital, because I haven’t left you alone since you hit the ground. When did you have time to break up between then and now? I think you’re confused.”
“Not confused, and we didn’t break up because we weren’t actually together. Colt handed me my wallet and phone before you whisked me away in this dilapidated hunk of metal.” He holds up the phone and wallet, trying to disguise the pain he’s clearly feeling in his shoulder. “I sent her a text while you were busy ignoring me. Terrible bedside manner, by the way.”
Some things, like the flirtatious teasing, seemingly never change. Other things, like the fuckboy attitude, are painfully new to me. Of course, I’ve heard snippets about his dating life since I moved away. It’s a small town—everyone is dying to let me know what my ex-boyfriend has been up to whenever I come home to visit. As if I give a shit. It’s been almost fourteen years, for God’s sake.
“Wow, dumping her over text is a dick move.”
His nose scrunches and his head rocks side-to-side as much as the neck brace allows, like he’s weighing my words. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Or you’re concussed and making poor choices.”
“Never thought this clearly in my whole life, Hart.” He winks.
Jesus Christ, he is a total douche now.
“Anyway, is your ex-girlfriend your emergency contact?”
“Nah, Red is. Usually he’s with me at rodeos, but he’s a little preoccupied these days.”
“At least one of you grew up,” I mutter under my breath, pulling my phone out to text Red.
“Overrated…growing up, I mean. I’m happy for him and Cass—don’t get me wrong. Hazel’s adorable, and Red’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him. But I don’t want that.”
An involuntary puff of air leaves my nostrils, and I do my best to play it off as a sniffle by running a knuckle across the tip of my nose. My phone buzzes and I glance down at the bright screen. “Well, Red’s busy with the baby, but he says Austin will come pick you up when the hospital discharges you.”
“You mean I don’t get to ride all the way back to Wells Canyon on this uncomfortable-as-fuck gurney?”
“Fortunately, no.” I tap my fingernails against the clipboard, checking my watch for the fortieth time. I swear this drive is taking significantly longer than usual.
“You could ride home with us, if you don’t want to be trapped with Mr. CCR.” He hooks his thumb in Johnny’s direction, who’s currently banging out a drum solo on the steering wheel. No, I don’t want to spend another full hour listening to his singing, but I’ll take that over another hour with Denver Wells. “Plus, you’d be saving me from a lecture. Austin’s gonna want to skin me for this.”