Slow Burn Cowboy

He was essentially a local celebrity, even though he was from Gold Valley. But when it came to rural areas like this, being from a neighboring town meant every other community in the vicinity claimed you as their own.

“I do like a view with my drinking,” Lane said, smiling even more broadly.

“Oh,” the woman in the scarf said, “as sexy as he was, he doesn’t have anything on that new senator.”

Lane just about gagged.

And when she found a phone being shoved in her face, a video already playing, she was pretty sure she did. Because there he was, wearing a suit and a red power tie, clutching an armful of ferrets like a little furry bouquet.

What the actual fuck was a politician doing with an armful of ferrets? More important, why did this man insist on being both across the country and in her face constantly?

“It’s at the zoo in DC,” the blonde said. “It’s a whole montage of him holding baby animals while he hears about the various breeding programs. He is just such a nice man. And handsome. Not just for a politician either.”

Suddenly, the woman lowered the phone, and Lane knew she must be registering her disgust in her facial expression. Except, she was still smiling. She realized when she tried to widen it, that her mouth was stretched as far as it could go. But she had a feeling there was a murderous light in her eye. She must look terrifying.

Yet she had no idea how to fix it.

“Are you not a fan?” the phone woman asked.

“I’m a Quaker,” she lied. “I don’t engage in politics. I conscientiously object.”

She had no idea if Quakers voted or not, or if she was remembering that wrong. However, she could see that the slightly tipsy women didn’t know either. In spite of her near apoplexy—or maybe because of it—they ended up buying several packages of crackers and a pound of Laughing Irish cheese.

But by the time they left, Lane felt spent. Wrung out.

This was her life. Until the internet picked a new golden boy. Until his fame subsided. Unless he decided to run for president.

She spent the rest of the day engaging in busywork around the store. When the steady stream of tourists abated, she went into the back and started to cook some dinner for the night. There would be no harm in cooking for Finn again. She wouldn’t have to cross the threshold of his house if he was going to be a weirdo about it. She could just hand a casserole to him and scamper off into the night.

She snorted. What was the deal with that, anyway? Him being cranky with her. She hadn’t moved into his house and taken over a quarter of his ranch.

She’d gone over this morning with the idea in mind to establish some kind of normalcy. And okay, her bringing breakfast unannounced wasn’t normal. But random gestures of kindness were normal for them, and surely croissants were a gesture of kindness?

Then he’d been cranky with her.

Sure, she was applying a little bit of pressure on him to alter his business plan, but she wasn’t wrong. And it came from a place of love. And she hadn’t even mentioned it in a couple of days.

She huffed around the back kitchen, coming out periodically to check on the store, just in case someone had managed to walk in without setting off the bell.

The afternoon passed without incident, and by the time she turned the closed sign she was more than done. She sighed, sitting down in her chair behind the counter.

She should do something. Something pertaining to the subscription boxes, probably. She hauled herself up out of the chair for a moment, leaning forward to fetch a notebook and a pen. She wrote a header on top of the page: Box Things.

Then she stood again, wandering slowly from behind the counter and through the narrow aisles of the store. She started to write down various items she thought might make good representations of Copper Ridge goodies.

Suddenly, she saw a muddy brown blur flash across the floor, and over her foot. She screamed, jumping backward and knocking into a shelf, sending a box of scone mix tumbling onto the ground.

“Rodents!” she growled. “I am beset by small mammals.”

Between the potential attic possums and this, it was getting ridiculous.

Her heart thundering hard, hands shaking, she went back to the counter and, without thinking, dialed Finn. “Where are you?”

“I was just about to head back up to the ranch,” he said. “I was in town grabbing some hardware.”

“Come over to the store,” she said, knowing that she sounded desperate, and not caring. She didn’t know how to catch a mouse. And she could not have mice chewing holes in her things and making nests in various corners. She sold food. It wasn’t hygienic.

“Is everything okay?”

“No! Just... Agh! Get here now.”

“I’m on my way.”

The mouse made another mad dash over the floor and she shrieked and hung up the phone. “Gross!” she shouted at the mouse.

She didn’t know why. The mouse didn’t care that it was gross.

She ran to the door, turning the locks so that Finn would be able to get in. Then she wrapped her arms around herself, pacing back and forth. She muttered under her breath while she waited.

Only a few minutes later Finn burst through the front door, his hat on, his expression intense. “What’s going on?”

“A mouse ran across my foot,” she said.

The features on his face seemed to lower slowly, the intensity morphing into something else. Anger? “A mouse.”

“Yes. A mouse. It was horrifying. I’m emotionally scarred.” It had startled her, enough to call him feeling vaguely hysterical, because what the hell was she going to do about a mouse? But she was feeling calmer now, her heart rate returning to normal.

“Dammit, Lane,” he said. “You said that everything wasn’t okay. I thought maybe there was a knife-wielding maniac in your store.”

“You did not. Or you would have called the police.”

“I thought the odds were you were probably okay, but it doesn’t take much to imagine the worst, Lane. I came as quickly as I could. And it’s a mouse. It is not a knife-wielding intruder.” He was actually mad at her about this. And she didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t know what to do with how off-kilter their every interaction had been for the past few days.

“Okay, yes, but it is a razor-toothed pest. Which is also alarming.” She did her best to try and lighten the mood with humor. He didn’t take the bait.

“You aren’t in danger,” he said, clipped. “You let me think you were.”

“I did not.”

“I was worried about you, Lane. And you’re brushing that off.”

“I am not! But it wasn’t nothing, and you’re being ridiculous,” she said, some of the initial surprise from her earlier mouse shock beginning to burn away, the quivering in her stomach taking on an entirely different quality. She had to look away from him. From his blue eyes, which were burning with anger and intensity. She ground her teeth together, deciding then and there that she was going to dig in on this. He had been so surly with her lately. He had been treating her like she was one of his invading family members, and she wasn’t.

She had made him food. She was taking care of him. And he was treating her like... Like this. Well, she wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

“What were you going to do?” she continued. “You burst in here with no weapon. If I was being held at knifepoint you wouldn’t have been able to help.”

The intensity in his eyes took on a dangerous glint. “Is that what you think?”