Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Sage

"Hello, everyone! It's nice to see you again. If you like what you see, tap the screen for likes, it helps more people find the livestream! Let me see, what's happened since the last time you saw me? If you follow me on the ‘Gram, you've seen the photos of Annie's little adventure at Red Rocks… that spider sure freaked you out, didn't it, bud?"

Annie Oakpaw, my TikTok costar, chirps at the sound of her name and stretches, spreading her toes as she yawns luxuriously.

"Look at those beans!" I exclaim. Likes flood the screen, and a handful of people drop gifts; for a few seconds, it looks like Annie is wearing a cowboy hat and sporting a huge mustache.

I adopted Annie back in Montana before Trevor and I started dating. I wasn't planning to get a serval, but a friend who works at a rescue in Bozeman called to tell me that someone wanted to surrender, and none of the rescues in the area could help them. I'm adamant in my posts that people shouldn't buy wildcats like her, even in states where they're legal, unless they're prepared for the commitment.

There's no denying the fact that Annie is a particularly low-key critter. Unfortunately, when I decided to leave Montana for a bit, I had trouble finding anyone who could take her for me.

She's a better travel companion than Trevor would have been, anyway. Annie's loyalties can't be bought, and she'd never choose Jessie over me.

I smile for the camera and recount the story of Annie's run-in with the tarantula at Red Rocks. I have to imagine other people's responses… being the only person on camera for a livestream is such a surreal experience. Despite being pretty much isolated during my trip, I've talked for at least an hour every day, along with sharing posts that detail my adventures under the hashtag vanlife.

"Anyway, so we've made friends with the local wildlife, we've driven through the Strip, and now it's time to refuel. Let the Britney quest continue!"

A few questions pop up, and I have to read fast before they're swallowed in the stream of emojis people keep sending.

"Gosh, yes, there are photos of us at the Vegas sign. I've pinned the video at the top of my profile for now, and there are a ton of pictures on the ‘Gram! That's right, @4real4real, viva Las Vegas! I'm still figuring out how to keep Annie safe while I'm touring around, but I totally want to visit the Strip. Yes, send recs if you've got ‘em, I don't want to miss a thing!" A few worried notes pop up, and I snort. "Some of y'all are asking if I'm worried about Trevor finding me. Nope, not a bit. He's old news, and I've got nothing to hide. He's left in the dust, and I'm out here finding myself. On that note, it's time for me to find some snacks, so I'll see y'all later. Stay tuned. Until next time, friends!" I blow kisses to the screen before logging off.

Without a livestream to perform for, I can finally relax, slumping back against the little booth as I let out a weary sigh.

"Time for some more snacks, Annie," I say. "Maybe they'll have Churus for you."

Annie chirps again.

"You don't know how good you've got it, girlfriend. You get all the good stuff." I scratch behind her ears until she purrs. It's the truth: most days, Annie eats better than I do. I would never skimp on quality when it comes to my critters, but I've been living on crackers, peanut butter, and fresh fruit when I can get it. And snacks. So many snacks. If you are what you eat, I'm at least fifty percent Doritos at this point.

When it comes to cheap food, there were pretty slim pickings on the way from Montana to Idaho. I've talked myself into the notion that V8 counts as a vegetable, but Las Vegas has more to offer than nightlife. There is also, holiest of holies, an honest-to-Pete Walmart in this swanky suburb. Maybe I'll splurge on sandwich fixings. I'm wary of filling the minifridge with things that can spoil too quickly—I learned that lesson the hard way—but at the very least I can get some fresh fruits and veggies.

Inside the store, my eyes soon prove to be bigger than my stomach. I tell myself that if I can't fit it in a shopping basket, I probably shouldn't buy it right now. On the other hand, years of working on the ranch means that I can carry a pretty darn heavy basket overflowing with all kinds of goodies.

I'm about to leave the grocery section in search of more dry shampoo, since I'm running low, when I pass the display of TicTacs. I could really go for some of those, maybe in… strawberry? Mint isn't my favorite flavor, but they do make my breath smell better as well as keep my mouth moist when I find myself on a long livestream. I waffle between flavors before deciding, what the heck? Multipacks exist for a reason, right? I reach out to grab one, only to collide with a stranger.

"Geeze, sorry." I step back, laughing to myself. "I got a little carried away there."

"I too am often carried away when it comes to TicTacs." The big guy next to me grins and waves me forward. "Please, after you."

"Thanks." I don't reach for the box right away, though, because the operating system running my brain just crashed. The man standing next to me is tall, scruffy, blue-eyed, and built like a lumberjack. Chiseled jawline. Broad shoulders. Sinewy forearms. I'd pay to watch him chop down a tree wearing nothing but coveralls. And his hair. It's black, thick, and styled in a very masculine way. Did he just step out of a shampoo commercial?

I realize that I'm staring and grab my TicTacs before I make a fool of myself. Mr. Lumberjack waits until I'm out of the way before taking a package of the orange kind.

"You're a citrus-only kinda guy, huh?" I ask.

"They're the best flavor." He eyes my basket with the variety pack perched on top. "The others are… acceptable, but I am partial to the orange."

"Never hurts to know what you like. By the way, love your accent." It's subtly French.

Mr. Lumberjack smiles, and oh, lordy, he's gorgeous. "I love yours, too. It is very…"

"Corn-fed?" I supply.

His laugh resonates through the aisle. "I was going to say beautiful. But is it okay to call a woman's voice beautiful? Perhaps that is too much."

Damn, are we flirting? I can't possibly pick up a stranger in the candy aisle of a Walmart. Time for a reality check: I'm not going home with a stranger, and I'm not going to hit it in my van in the parking lot with Annie watching from the sidelines. Besides, I'm not that kind of girl. But for him…

"It's just right," I tell him, because I can flirt even if there's no way in hell I'm going to do anything about it. "Enjoy your TicTacs." I sashay off, feeling confident as all get-out despite the fact that I haven't taken a real shower since before Red Rocks and the tarantula incident.

I find the rest of the stuff I need and haul my overflowing basket up to the self-checkout. Wouldn't you know it, Mr. Lumberjack is just strolling up with his much smaller basket of supplies.

"You again," I say with a grin.

"I could say the same. Please, you first." He waves me through again.

How am I swooning over some hottie I met in a Las Vegas Walmart after two chance encounters? And, by the same token, what business does he have looking so damn good? The man's a total snack. Why couldn't I have to marry him to save the ranch?

I wouldn't have made it to the altar without my panties dropping.

Mr. Lumberjack ends up at the machine beside me, and we shoot each other a few sidelong glances as we scan our stuff. I mean, this is Vegas. My lady bits are all a-tingle. And I'm totally rebounding from a failed engagement. Would it be so wrong if I…?

Nope, not even thinking it. I'm here to find myself, not to fall into bed with a man who probably tosses the caber on the weekends. Or, no, that's the Scots. What's the French equivalent of throwing tree trunks for fun?

I wrangle my supplies out of the store and force myself to focus. I only make it to the sidewalk before my phone starts ringing. Since I'm in no rush to load groceries into the van while body-blocking Annie from taking an impromptu run around the parking lot, I set everything down and catch my breath before answering my phone.

"Hey, Flossie. What's up?"

"Just checking in. I saw your updates. You're in Vegas, baby! Any plans to get married? Shave your head? Are you at a strip club?"

"Settle down." I have to laugh at her nonsense. I love Flossie, but she can be a real pill sometimes. "No, I'm not shaving my head, and I'm at a Walmart at the moment."

She chuckles. "But no comment on the wedding, huh?"

The words are hardly out of her mouth before Mr. Lumberjack exits the Walmart. "Um," I say.

" What? " Flossie shrieks so loud that I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

"No, no, nothing like that." I wave to Mr. Lumberjack, and he slows his pace. "I did just run into a guy."

"At the Walmart?"

"Mm-hmm." I maintain eye contact with the man in question.

"Ugh, sounds like a meme. People of Walmart is a whole-ass hashtag."

"He was a gentleman." Can Mr. Lumberjack read lips? Does he know that I'm talking about him? Even if he can't, it's obvious that I'm ogling him.

"Just like Ted Bundy. What was he wearing? You know what? Don't tell me. Just take a pic."

"He's leaving." It's true. Mr. Lumberjack has finally moved on and is making his way deeper into the parking lot. I keep pretending not to check out his sculpted ass with the thighs that resemble the tree trunks he probably throws to keep in shape. He keeps looking back, though, and I catch him fiddling with his key fob.

"What are you waiting for?" Flossie asks. "Go get him! And then text me his photo, license plate, and time, date, and place of birth."

"You don't think that's overkill?"

"I'm going to run his deets, but I want to do his natal chart, too. Why bother if you're not celestially compatible? Or at least sexually compatible."

"I'm hanging up now."

Flossie is still trying to talk to me when I end the call. There's no way I'm going to be able to gather up my bags in time to catch up with Mr. Lumberjack, and even if I did, what would I say?

"Do you need a hand?"

I pause, still crouched among my new supplies, and look up. He must have doubled back. "Oh, it's you."

"Me again," Mr. Lumberjack says. "Three times."

"Seems like fate. And yeah, I could use a hand, Mister…?"

"Bash," he says.

"I'm Sage."

"Sage," he repeats like my name is a fine wine, and he wants to remember the flavor later. "How can I help?"

I can think of a few things he can help with, none of which are appropriate to suggest in the parking lot of a family-friendly establishment. Maybe I can ask him to show me around Vegas. He must know a good place to get a drink or go dancing. I wouldn't mind swaying in the dark, with my body pressed against his…

A blood-curdling scream rings out from the cart corral. An Escalade has lurched into motion and is accelerating across the lot. Is the driver drunk? It's late morning, but we are in Vegas, so it's a possibility. But when I squint, I realize there's no one behind the wheel.

Bash shouts something in French, which I recognize as a curse even if I don't know the words. A few people tumble out of the way of the vehicle just in time, but there's no way to stop it from colliding with its next solitary target parked underneath a shady palm tree.

My van.

I catch a momentary glimpse of Annie in the passenger seat with her front feet on the dash, ears swiveling as she watches the SUV bear down on her.

There's an explosion of shattered glass, crumpled metal, and a series of car alarms that sound off all around the lot. I don't wait for the dust to settle before dropping everything and running toward the wreckage of my home on wheels.

The van was my dad's, and I've put a ton of work into it, but I'm not thinking about any of that as I sprint toward the crash.

"My baby! My baby!" I scream.

"Baby?" Bash screeches. " Sacré bleu !"

"Annie! Are you okay?" Is this my karma for leaving Trevor? Because if it is, I should be the one to pay.