I couldn’t help my grin. “Trying to make me feel better. That’s nice but not necessary.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Sometimes you can avoid the conflict and sometimes it’s just necessary.”

I smiled at her.

When we finally arrived at the ranch, I was incredibly relieved and incredibly exhausted. I couldn’t believe how much work it took to run a ranch. I was definitely earning my keep.

We fed and watered the herd, then cleaned up before sitting down to a big lunch courtesy of Bridge and Ellie and two other house workers, one they called Cookie. I assume because she could cook the crap out of a good meal, and the other I overheard someone call Roberta the first day. Roberta was more on an assisting level Bridge had told me. She said the kitchen ranked herself at the bottom, then Roberta, Cookie and Ellie. She also said it was pleasant working with the women, as they were all cheeky and hilarious. The only drawback was that the main house didn’t have air conditioning and the kitchen could turn stifling.

I sat next to Bridge at lunch. “I heard about what happened,” she said.

“How in the world?” I sat, bewildered.

“Jonah ran up to the house after he’d put away the horses.”

“Is that so?” I asked, looking for Jonah, but he was nowhere to be found. Lucky bastard.

“Listen, I like Jonah and all, but you’ve got to nip this thing in the bud, Bridge,” I spoke quietly. “I mean, for gosh sakes, does he not realize that you’re pregnant with another dude’s baby?”

“You’re so clever, Spence,” she bit sarcastically. “Let me check you because apparently you think I’ve forgotten why we’re here. Stop reminding me that I’m pregnant. The constant nausea is reminder enough. Got me?” I nodded, feeling guilty already. “And furthermore, I’m being reasonably kind to Jonah because he’s kind to me. I don’t know where you’re getting this idea that he’s interested in me. He’s aware I’m harboring a fugitive.”

“You’re right, Bridge, again. I’m sorry, but I want you to make it very clear to Jonah that you’re not interested.”

She shook her head at me. “I don’t care how screwed up you think it is. This is going to be my last opportunity to feel like a normal girl because in a couple of months I’m going to be smuggling a basketball up in here,” she said, gesturing wildly at her stomach. “Let me just have this normal friendship with Jonah. Just...let me, Spencer,” she added quietly.

I sighed. “Whatever, Bridge. Just don’t set yourself up for disappointment, because as soon as you start showing, that guy is going to want nothing to do with you.”

Her eyes turned glassy and she shrugged, looking defeated. “He’s a very sweet guy willing to be my friend, Spencer. Don’t make me feel any more an outcast than I already do.”

I let it lie there, partly because I felt like an asshole and partly because I was worried about her and didn’t know how to fix it. I wished my mom was there to help. I felt so alone, like there was a weight upon my shoulders and I had no one else to share the burden with.

I looked around the table and spotted Cricket. Despite everything, despite the fact I knew I couldn’t have her, that I shouldn’t have her, I still felt a desperate need to know everything about her. I never had that feeling for anyone else. Not even for Sophie Price. Huh. Sophie. I hadn’t given her a second thought since L.A. Funny, that.

The day went by quickly. Jonah and I worked side by side when Ethan took Cricket into town for some reason. There were two new things I learned that day. One, Jonah was, despite loathing to acknowledge it, a pretty nice guy. He was more innocent than any other guy I’d ever hung with, and he actually made me want to be a better person. Go figure. And two, I hated Ethan. Yes, I promised myself that Cricket would be my friend and only my friend, but that didn’t mean I was going to pretend I wasn’t violently attracted to her, and it sure as hell meant that I wasn’t going to like when Ethan touched her, kissed her or took her into town. I couldn’t watch them when he took her into town and that thought, selfish as it may be, bugged the shit out of me. I hated him for no other reason than he got to do those things with her.

That evening, after dinner, I walked back down to our trailer. I was beyond irritated because Ethan and Cricket didn’t show at dinner. I wondered where the hell they were but was too afraid to ask because I didn’t want her family reading too much into my interest.

The sun had long ago set, and the little dirt roads on the ranch had begun to ice back over from lack of use. I peered down my lane to see, what else, Jonah’s four-wheeler setting at the base of the trailer.

I popped up the steps and blew through the door in attempt to discover something but, instead of the debauchery I expected, I found both of them on opposite ends of the banquette, laughing at something altogether innocent.

“Hello there, idiot,” Bridge greeted.

“Nice,” I said, rolling my eyes. “What’s up, Jonah?” I asked him, raising one brow.

He startled. “Uh, I better get going. See you tomorrow,” he called toward me and opened the door, but before he left, he turned toward Bridge. “Same time?” he asked her.

“Yup, see you then,” she answered, smiling.

I shook my head and decided to ignore it. I was exhausted and sore and dirty as shit. I wanted a shower. I shut the accordion door to our “bedroom” and tore off my clothing, tossing it into the corner I kept my dirty stuff.

I was beyond pissed when the door wouldn’t close to the bathroom. With more force than necessary, I slammed the thing closed. I started the water and waited for it to start steaming before attempting to get inside. A few days before, I jumped in without thinking and almost froze to death.

Stepping into the tiny stall didn’t add to improving my mood, as the water was barely warm. I ducked as usual to wash my hair and considered plugging the damn tub just to get some semblance of normality.

I washed quickly and dried just as quickly. I was feeling incredibly restless. You need to get out. I dressed warmly and decided to walk the property, maybe check out the family’s original buildings. I rummaged underneath the kitchen sink and found a flashlight.

“Where are you going?” Bridge asked.

“Out. I need to get out.”

She nodded, accepting this.

I bounded out into the snow and almost turned back around. I trudged forward and came to the top of our lane, hooking a left toward the old buildings. It was a good mile walk, but I needed to rid myself the terrible itch I could feel rising in the pit of my stomach. That itch I got whenever I wanted to run away from something I didn’t like. Except this time I had no idea what I wanted to run from. Bullshit, I told myself. You know exactly why you want to run. The difference this time is you want to run toward the main house, up those stairs and into the room of that incredible girl. I outwardly cringed, unable to hide how I really felt, especially not from myself.

I got lost in thought. Internal arguments demanding I get the hell over myself, that I forget her, distance myself from her only to turn around and ask what was the worst thing that could happen and asking myself if I could steal her away from Ethan. You’ve done worse, I rationalized. And I had. I had done terrible, awful, incredible things to people. People I didn’t even know. Maybe this is one person you should let be.

I’d made my decision, convinced I wouldn’t even try to become her friend. Too complicated, I thought. And before I realized, I’d stumbled upon the first small building. I noticed there was light inside and flipped off my flashlight before circling the front, curious. I found a window, but the glass was so old and cloudy, you could hardly see into the lit room. I pressed my face against the glass.

Oh...no. No.

Cricket was inside, blasting a few tunes in a light denim button-up that fit so snugly I almost fell over. The sleeves were rolled up to allow her to work, and the shirt was tucked into a pair of high-waisted denim shorts with two rows of brass buttons down the front panel. My gaze followed down her short but beautiful legs to knee-highs. Her hair was wrapped in a bright red headscarf. Like a modern day frickin’ Rosie the Riveter. And so unbelievably sexy. I could not compare her to anyone. When I looked on her, I couldn’t even tell you that other women existed.

My hand tugged down my face. Suddenly, I felt stifling and had to pull off my knit cap and scarf. I swallowed. Turn. Turn and run and get out. Turn, I ordered myself.

But that’s not what I did. Oh no. No, I was a glutton for punishment, it seemed. Instead of doing what I should, I did what I couldn’t help, and knocked. I watched her reaction through the window. She dropped the pieces of scrap metal she’d been rummaging through and came to the door.

I stood upright once more and checked myself. The door swung open and the scented candle she was burning bowled me over. The smell of baking chocolate cake swarmed around me, and all I wanted to do was taste Cricket.

My mouth gaped open, ready to speak, but no words would come. Her face flamed red.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her hands going to her naked thighs. “I thought you were my grandmother. She checks on me sometimes.”

“I-I was taking a walk and saw the light on.” I swallowed, my gaze raking her body. She was covered pretty much from head to toe, but no matter how hard Cricket tried, she couldn’t hide her curves. “I’m not disturbing you, am I?” I asked.

“No,” she said, taking a deep breath. She opened the door wider and invited me in.

Careful. Be careful, Spencer.

Inside, it was incredibly warm. In the corner sat a wood burning stove and it looked like she’d put on a fresh log. I absently noted that she intended to stay for a while. I removed my jacket and placed it along with my cap and scarf on a table near the door. I studied my surroundings and discovered there were shelves and tables scattered in disarray around the room and were full of fascinating sculptures. My eyes lingered on one. The head of Winston Churchill.

I turned to Cricket. “Your work?”

Her cheeks flushed an enticing vermillion. Oh, Cricket. You would be so smart not to blush again.

“Yeah,” she answered simply.

She seemed embarrassed, adding to how attractive I found her, and studied the ground with her hands tucked behind her back. She fought a smile while I fought to keep my hands at my side.

She made herself busy by clearing a stool covered in scrap metal. She cleared her throat nervously and presented the stool to me before rounding the table she’d been working at when I discovered her.

I sat, my legs spread and hung both my arms over the back of the stool. Her eyes widened when she turned my direction and I almost laughed out loud. I unnerved her. Click.

“Cricket Hunt, show me your stuff.”

Her head whipped my direction. “Excuse me?”

“Your sculptures?”

“Oh,” she giggled, “sure. Uh,” she began and stiffened her back, “but first you have to promise not to laugh at any of them.”

“Cross my heart,” I told her, making the motion my thumb.