Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Sage

"How long do you think it'll take?" I ask.

On the other end of the line, Dante's mechanic hems and haws for a few seconds. "That depends. It's pretty rough. The internal damage is substantial. Worse than it looks to the naked eye."

I close my eyes, letting myself remember just how badly the vehicle was damaged. An emotion I can't name rises in my chest like a scream. I love that van. My daddy loved it, too. When I was little, we took the van to rodeos and county fairs on weekends—not the ones where we competed, I was too little back then, and there was no way the van could haul a trailer. By the time I was big enough to compete, the van was permanently parked in the barn, its parts rusting out and the tires left to deflate.

Fixing the van up for this trip was my way of stepping back in time, tying my past to my future. In my mind, bringing Trevor on a road trip with me would be like getting my daddy's approval. I didn't let myself look too hard at what lay beyond that since the notion of having kids with Trevor was never all that appealing, but the notion of being a mother was really sweet once I took the identity of the sperm donor out of the equation. Maybe someday, I could take my own kids to the county fair, teach them how to handle horses or show rabbits or ride bulls, or whatever else their little hearts desired. I could reach through time and snatch that nostalgia out of thin air.

Until the Escalade wrecked it.

Bash's fancy Escalade. And although I could never hate Bash or blame him for something Dante caused, I can hate his rogue vehicle and the hackers who deliberately made it go haywire.

"I know it looks bad," I say. "If you can just get it fixed up to the point where I can take over, I'll work on the interior." Of course, that'll take time I don't have, and money I somehow have even less of, but I need to start somewhere.

The mechanic sighs into the receiver. "Do you have any schematics or anything you can send me? I can tell some of your upgrades are custom, but it's hard to make sense of the work when it's in pieces. Dante said he'd pay, so I'll see what I can do." He doesn't sound convinced, though.

"Sure do. Where can I send ‘em?"

I write down the email address he gives me and hang up with a heavy heart. Maybe I should take Dante's offer to buy me an Airstream. I'd leave with more than I came with… but also, with less. If I ask him to pay this guy for his time and the van's still not drivable, I'll be SOL.

Maybe this is my sign. Maybe it's time to let go. But the second I start letting things slip through my fingers, I'm afraid I'll never be able to tighten my grip again. If I can't keep the van, what will that mean for bigger things, like the ranch?

As I grapple with the weight of these decisions, the thought of disappointing my dad haunts me, a relentless ache that tightens around my heart. Even though he's gone, he remains my hero—the man who taught me to face challenges head-on and never back down. To him, this van wasn't just a vehicle—it was a symbol of resilience, of journeys yet to be taken. Letting it go feels like I'm betraying those lessons, betraying his memory. He was my favorite person in the whole wide world, and the mere idea of letting him down shatters me from the inside out. Just the thought causes a profound sorrow to settle, the kind that lingers long after the sun has set, echoing his voice and his expectations in my mind. Failing him, in even the smallest way, would fracture a part of me that I fear could never be mended.

"What did he say?" Bash asks.

I shake myself out of my pity spiral. "He's going to try and repair it. It sounds like it's worse than he expected. I don't know how long it'll take, though, and I don't want to impose. Did you want me to call Julie so she can try to make other arrangements?"

Bash gives me a funny look. "Are you serious? You're the perfect guest. Sometimes you're so quiet, I think you've gone out until I see your light on in the hallway."

"Yeah, well. I read a lot at night. At home, I liked doing it under a blanket of stars."

For some reason, the color drains from his face. "R-really? What do you read?"

"Oh, all kinds of things. Flossie lent me a bunch of her favorite books."

Bash's eyes flick nervously around the room. "Flossie's… favorites. I see. That's very kind of her."

I don't know why he's being so shifty about books until I realize that books might not be the problem. "Are you sure it's okay if I stay?"

His expression clears. "Yes, of course! I want you to stay. And you don't have to hide in the room. You're welcome to come out here. Use the TV, take advantage of the kitchen and the pool. It's nice to have you here, actually. The house is usually so empty. And besides, I'll be traveling for games, so you'll have the place to yourself a lot of the time."

Before I can ask more questions, the doorbell rings. Bash trots off to answer it. I catch him scanning the area by the door and realize that he's checking to ensure that Annie can't make a great escape. He's really taken a shine to her.

There's a woman on the porch, with her long blond hair plaited in a thick braid, wearing a sundress the color of fresh lemons. She wraps her arms around Bash's waist and gives him a big hug.

I don't know what to call the sour feeling that builds in my belly at the sight of them together. Bash has a girlfriend. Of course, he does. But he never mentioned her. The woman is undeniably pretty, with big blue eyes and generous curves. Next to Bash, she's almost comically short, five-foot-nothing in sharp contrast to his six-four. The room spins a bit as panic and embarrassment knot together, tightening their grip on my throat. Why didn't I ask? How could I not have asked? But then, why didn't he tell me? He should have told me. Not that it's any of my business. No matter how nice he's being about it, I'm simply a temporary and unwanted houseguest.

I reel through our conversations, dissecting every smile, every touch, trying to find a hint I missed, a sign I was just another girl to him, not someone special. He wasn't flirting with me, just being kind like his mother raised him to be. It feels like I'm teetering on the edge of something—misunderstanding or heartbreak, I can't tell which. The world tilts, reality shifts, and I'm left grappling with the shards of what might just be my own foolish hopes, now splintering around me. Why didn't he tell me? The question echoes, over and over, a mantra of doubt and disbelief.

All of a sudden, a wave of homesickness overtakes me. I wish my van were here so I could just drive away. I want Sky. I want my ranch. I want my mom.

"Good to see you, Bash!" the doll-like woman exclaims before spinning toward me. "Let me in so that the cat doesn't get out. Oh, and you must be Sage!" She scurries over to me with her arms spread wide, then hesitates. "Are you a hugger?"

"Sure am." I paste on a smile. Why would I be rude to Bash's girlfriend? She seems genuinely nice. They're cute together.

Whoever she is, she gives great hugs. As she squeezes me tight, a little of my tension around the van situation eases.

"You're just as pretty as everyone says." She pulls away and holds out a hand. "Sorry, I'm Molly. We haven't met but I've heard all about you."

"Oh?" I don't say Bash never mentioned you, but I give him some subtle side-eye.

"My husband, Noah, helped you move your stuff in. We live a couple of houses down." She flaps a hand toward the street. " Anyway, I wanted to invite you both to the cookout we're having at our place tonight. The guys are gonna be on the road a lot in the next few weeks, so I thought we should have a little meet-and-greet. Introduce you to the rest of the wives in case you need anything while Bash is away."

The rest of the wives.

Noah's wife.

Okay, I definitely misread the situation. Relief seeps through my body until I almost shake with it.

"We don't have to go," Bash says, and I realize I've been staring at Molly. "If it's too social…"

"No, no, not at all." I laugh, and it's not even fake. "Sorry, I was just thinking, in my neck of the woods, we don't really have neighbors. Not within walking distance, anyhow. But it'd be real nice to get to know you while I'm here. And who doesn't love a cookout! What can we bring?"

"Just yourselves." Molly shimmies with delight. Now that I'm not feeling uppity and territorial in her presence, I can fully admit that she's a regular ball of sunshine. "So, five o'clock sound good?" She flashes a hopeful smile and two thumbs up.

"Sounds great." I nod my agreement.

"Ooh, this is so exciting!" Molly gives me another quick hug before bolting for the door.

In the silence left by her absence, Bash shakes his head. "Sorry about that."

I cock my head. "What part? She seems great."

"She's lovely." Bash picks at a fingernail. "But I know what she's doing."

"Oh, it's so obvious. She's meddling. " I grin at him. "Trust me, I know the signs. I come from a long line of meddlers myself. Plus, you talked to Flossie. Meddling's her middle name."

I didn't miss Molly's phrasing when she mentioned the "other wives," and I know the real point of the party. These ladies are going to be scoping me out, determining if I'm good enough for their friend. Then if I pass muster, probably trying to play matchmaker between me and Bash while they're at it. I don't mind. As long as the rest are half as nice as Molly, we'll have a grand old time. And the fact that a group of women are so hell-bent on vetting a woman for him speaks to how highly they think of him.

* * *

Annie fusses a little when I put on her harness, but she doesn't complain too much. She's been enjoying our stay at Bash's. Not only is she getting twice the love, but she's also allowed free reign of the house instead of being confined to one room whenever I have guests. I've caught her upstairs on a few occasions and have found her sleeping in Bash's dirty laundry basket more than once.

"We're just gonna take a quick spin around the yard," I tell her. "Stretch your legs a little. I'll be gone for a few hours, okay?"

Annie chirps and lopes toward the back door for her daily excursion into the great outdoors.

She's good about using her litter box, and she's not like a dog. She doesn't need to go out to do her business and is finicky about getting her paws wet. In Montana, she sometimes goes weeks without setting foot outdoors. On the other hand, her outdoor cat pen means that when she wants to be outside, she can spend hours outside lounging in the sun and watching the wildlife or tearing around to burn off her energy. Keeping her inside all the time just feels cruel, so I've been taking her for walks in the backyard every day.

I can already smell smoke, and voices from a few yards over suggest that the party started a little early. I don't think much of it until I hear a shout.

"No, Nudi! Get back here!"

I look up just as a tiny critter in a green and purple jacket scrabbles under the fence and bolts right for us. Annie is already much larger than the… guinea pig? Ferret? Hairy lizard? I'm not even sure what kind of animal this thing is. Annie gets a lot bigger as it approaches, arching her back and letting out a warning hiss.

Three feet away from her, the critter stops, drops, rolls, and lies on its back with its little legs sticking almost straight up in the air.

Did it… die?

"Nudi!" A young man fumbles with the latch on the fence. "I'm so sorry, he's an absolute menace. I don't know how he got away from me."

"Stay back for a minute," I say. "I'll move her first—"

But the critter moves first. It whines a few times and lashes its naked tail from side to side. Then it rolls on its belly without getting to its feet. When Annie hisses again, it yips, and starts army-crawling toward her.

"Nudi, come here," the man pleads. "She doesn't wanna be friends."

Annie stares unblinkingly down at the small… dog? Her fur is still standing on end, and her ears are pressed to her skull, but she seems completely taken aback by the audacity of this intruder. I hold perfectly still, unsure how to react. If she pounces now, I won't be able to stop her, and I'm not prepared to pick her up if she starts clawing.

"It's okay, Annie," I coo, standing just as still as she is. "This is Nudi. He's our friend."

The dog doesn't stop wriggling until its head is right between Annie's front paws. She stares down at him as he rolls onto his back again and resumes whining and wagging his tail.

Slowly, so slowly that I think I'm imagining it at first, Annie lowers her head toward the dog. I finally register that the shirt he's wearing is a tiny jersey with the Vegas Venom logo and ‘SHAW' in block letters. Annie sniffs the dog, sniffs the shirt, and lowers her hackles. Then she licks him right on the chin.

Nudi yaps and wriggles even harder.

Without warning, Annie pitches forward and wraps herself around the dog. I brace for a yelp of pain that never comes. Instead, she curls around him, pins him in place with one front leg, and starts licking him with the intensity of a mother cat grooming one of her kittens. Nudi makes no attempt to resist.

"Wow," I say, staring at the pair of them in wonder. "That's… different."

Still frozen by the fence, the man presses one hand to his chest. "Oh my God. I thought for sure she was going to eat him. I just about had a heart attack."

I crouch down beside Annie and reach forward. "Can we let him go now?"

Then, and only then, Annie growls again. As soon as I withdraw my hand, she resumes grooming the mostly hairless dog, which has gone completely limp in her embrace.

The man laughs. "I guess she likes the taste of his lotion. Don't worry, it's all natural and safe to ingest. I'm Ranger, by the way."

"We met the other day, I think." I squint at him. "Sorry, I was in kind of a state."

"Understandable." Ranger takes a step forward. "So, do we just leave them like this? How does this work?"

"I dunno. It's a first for me, too." First Bash, now Nudi? What's gotten into this cat? I think the desert air agrees with her.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the house's sliding door opens, and Bash pokes his head out. "Are you almost done out here? Oh, hey, Ranger."

Ranger waves. At the sound of his voice, Annie leaps to her feet and trots to the back door with her new boyfriend hot on her heels. I let her lead the way, and I'm blindsided once again when Annie sits down at his feet and chirps until Bash pets her. While she's distracted, I scoop up Nudi so that I can return him safely to his owner.

* * *

Back home, it's not unusual for a cookout to include a whole pig or half a cow. This cookout is a bit less dramatic, with Impossible burgers, hot dogs, and mostly store-bought sides. It's all pretty tasty, and I load up a plate—although I turn up my nose at what passes for pasta salad—grab a beer, and start making the rounds.

It's a little awkward to be an outsider in a group where everybody else knows each other, but Bash sticks to my side, introducing me to everyone and whispering identifying details in my ear.

"Scarlett and Latham do a podcast together."

"Anders's wife, Stella, is an amazing photographer. Remind me when we get home, and I will show you her books."

"Cash doesn't play hockey anymore. He and his wife are country stars. Wait a moment, I'll text you a link to their music…"

It's incredibly thoughtful, and he doesn't seem to mind. Why would he tell me all this stuff unless he cared for me to know? It doesn't feel like he's introducing his friends to some rando who's stranded in his guest room. It feels more significant than that. He's highlighting all their most amazing qualities, which only makes him look pretty amazing himself.

Eventually, I peel away from him and head over to talk to Molly and a group of women lounging on the pool deck.

Molly grins up at me. "Having fun?"

I sit down sideways on a vacant Adirondack. "This is a great party. Everyone's so nice."

"You certainly fit right in." Madison, who Bash told me is a model, leans closer. "So, how's living in Bash's house? Are you two… getting along?"

I nod. "He's very respectful."

"Boo!" The curvy dancer with the Betty Page haircut gives two thumbs down. "I don't like that answer."

"Respect is important, Delilah," Molly says.

Mona, the skinny goth wearing dark glasses, sighs. She's lounged on a chair like she's trying to tan, although I don't know how she'd manage in those long sleeves. It's a wonder she doesn't cook alive in all that black fabric. The Vegas sun is not forgiving, even this late in the year. Apparently, she's married to the Shakespearean scholar, which makes them one of the most unique couples I've ever encountered. "Of course, respect is important, but if that's all she has to say about him, then the man is off his game." She lowers her glasses just enough to meet my eyes. "Or she's off hers. No one should ever underestimate the power of forced proximity. Don't you like him?"

"I like him just fine." I glance across the pool to where Bash stands in a cluster of his friends. "I mean, the arms alone."

"And the shoulders." Madison fans herself.

"And the thighs," Delilah adds. "And what's between them."

Molly shushes them. "You're going to give Sage the wrong impression!"

"What impression?" Delilah asks. "That Bash is a hottie with a body? Any fool can see that." She turns to me. "What you might not know is that he's been on the market for a serious relationship. He's not a fuckboy like Latham."

I glance at Scarlett to see what she thinks of this assessment of her husband's character.

"Oh, he was definitely a fuckboy," she agrees. "No denying it."

"But not Bash," Molly says. "He's a gentleman. Always has been. So respectful."

"Ah!" Delilah snaps her fingers. "That's the problem. He's too respectful to make a move because he doesn't want Sage to feel trapped. He's aware of the lopsided power dynamic with her living there."

A murmur of agreement passes through the group.

"Which means," Mona adds, "that if anyone is going to make a move, it'll have to be you. Do you want to make a move, Sage?"

The women wait with bated breath for my answer. I draw the moment out, taking a sip of my beer. I'm not faking my indecision. Bash is hot, for sure. But if he's in the market for a long-term relationship, what do I have to offer?

"I'm still figuring that out," I admit. "My track record with guys is iffy. I would hate to mess with a man who's already made it clear he's looking for a relationship."

More murmurs of agreement echo through the group.

"Well, if you ever want a glow-up, you know where to find me," Delilah says. "I'd love to do your makeup sometime."

"She doesn't need a glow-up," Madison says. "She's stunning. Although I bet she's about Layla's size if she needs to raid somebody's wardrobe." She squints at the porch, where another cluster of women are talking. They grin when they see us looking, and there isn't a doubt in my mind that they, too, are planning their own meddling scheme.

As the conversation mellows out a bit, Molly leans forward, her interest clear. "So, Sage, where are you from originally?" she asks, echoing the curiosity in the eyes of the others.

"Montana," I reply, feeling a little homesick at the mention. "A small ranch outside of Billings. It's nothing like Vegas—more stars than streetlights."

"Wow, that sounds beautiful," Mona chimes in, her voice warm. "What brought you all the way down here? Besides the obvious," she adds with a nod toward Bash.

I chuckle, appreciating their genuine interest. "Well, it's a bit of a long story, but let's just say I needed a change of scenery. And, of course, Bash's situation offered a place to stay that was hard to refuse."

Delilah waggles her eyebrows. "A change of scenery, huh? Did that include changing up the type of guys you go for?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Maybe. I guess I'm still figuring out what type I'm looking for. But it's refreshing to meet people who aren't wrapped up in the rural ranch life."

Madison leans back, her voice thoughtful. "Moving from a ranch to the city must be a huge adjustment. What do you miss the most about home?"

The question stirs a pang in my chest. "The quiet, mostly. And the open space. Here, everything is so vibrant and fast. It's exciting but overwhelming sometimes. And I miss my horses. And my mom."

Molly nods sympathetically. "It takes a bit to get used to, but we're all here to make it easier for you. Vegas has its perks, too. You'll see."

Their welcoming words make me feel supported, seen. It's nice, being so far from home yet surrounded by people who are quickly starting to feel like friends.

The conversation shifts to the topic of growing honey-do lists and housekeeping and childcare. I listen with half an ear since I don't have much to contribute. I need time to think, anyway.

I appreciate the solidarity, but I have to ask myself if it's worth it. I'm not a hookup kind of gal, and it sounds like Bash isn't either. So, what's the point?

Although Delilah is right. The man is awfully easy on the eyes.

Feeling the need for a little space to sort through my swirling thoughts, I excuse myself from the group and head toward the refreshment table. The chatter behind me fades as I focus on the array of brightly colored drinks, trying to decide between something sweet or something with a bit more kick.

I'm reaching for a glass of Molly's homemade sangria when I feel a presence beside me. Turning, I find Bash mirroring my move, his hand brushing against mine as we reach for the same pitcher. The contact sends a little jolt through me, and I catch a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Great minds think alike, huh?" he says, his voice low and playful.

"Or thirsty ones," I reply, pulling the pitcher toward me with a teasing smile. Right now, I'm thirsty for far more than a drink.

Bash chuckles, his gaze lingering a moment too long on my lips before meeting my eyes. "I might be persuaded to share if you're offering."

Our hands overlap on the pitcher, neither of us pulling away. The air between us crackles with an unspoken challenge.

"Share, huh? And here I thought you were a man who liked to take the lead," I tease, stepping closer, drawn in by the heat of his proximity.

"Only if you're following," he counters smoothly, his voice a touch huskier.

The boldness of his words, laced with the promise of something more, something neither of us might be ready to define yet, hangs in the air. It's thrilling and a little terrifying.

"Let's just stick to the sangria for now," I suggest, though the flutter in my stomach says I'm full of cow dung.

As we sip our sangria, the party buzzing with life around us, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I'm ready to take a little risk with him.