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“Just making sure some idiot cowboy isn’t putting idiot thoughts in your head.”

No, that’s not what my cowboy’s been doing.

What would Mom think of Cash? She’s clearly biased against cowboys. I understand why she feels the way shedoes. But Cash is different. He’s not an idiot, and he’s definitely not full of shit.

He’s kinder and more capable and more intelligent than any guy I’ve dated. Ever.

But he is still a cowboy. And being with him means being in Hartsville, something Mom doesn’t understand and wouldn’t approve of. She believes there’s no opportunity here, especially when it comes to a career outside of ranching.

Would she hate me if I stayed? Resent me, even, for making a different choice than she did? I’m right around the age Mom was when she packed up our things and drove off the ranch for the last time.

How do I make her see that Cash is different?I’mdifferent? Mom and I are alike, sure. But we’re also opposites in so many ways. Ranch life wasn’t for her, and that’s fine. For so long, I assumed it wouldn’t be for me either. Her story was the only one I knew.

But now that I’ve started my own story, I’m questioning everything.

My stomach starts to hurt. It’s the first time it’s done that in weeks.

“Not all cowboys are shitheads, you know.” I dig my birth control packet out of the vanity’s top drawer. “The people out here are different, yes. But in a good way.”

Mom is silent for a full beat. “You’re coming back to Dallas, Mollie.”

The way she says it is matter-of-fact. A statement. But I hear the question in her tone. The hint of vulnerability.

She’s scared.Join the club.

“Don’t I have to sign some paperwork for the will? I’ll be back.”

“My lawyers are ready to meet as early as tomorrow.”

“Um, well, I’m not sure I can get there so quickly. But I’ll try.”

“Good. And then you’ll sell the ranch.”

I press my thumb against one of the pills on the bottom row of the blister packet. I’m going to get my period any day now, which is a bummer. I have a feeling it won’t keep Cash away, but it will definitely make things messy. I don’t exactly feel sexy while I’m on my period either.

“Listen, Mom, I haven’t made any decisions yet?—”

“What the hell are you going to do with a ranch, Mollie? This isn’t like you. I haven’t had a real conversation with you in two weeks. More than that.”

Has it really been that long? Looking down at my birth control, it hits me that, yes, it has been more than two weeks.

Also, I’m on day three of the last row of pills. I usually get my period on day one. Day two at the latest.

An icy blast of panic bolts through me as I blink. Count. Blink and count again.

“I miss you, sweetheart,” Mom is saying. “We all do. I ran into Wheeler the other day, and she said the same thing.”

Oh, God. My period is late.

It is never ever late.

Memories flash through my mind: Cash coming inside me in bed. In the shower. In the tub. In the kitchen.

Yes, I’m religious about taking my birth control every day, usually at the same time. But since I’ve been on the ranch, my schedule’s less predictable. I’ll take my pill an hour early here, a couple of hours late there. Is that enough of a change to make it less effective?

Holy God, did Cash get me pregnant?

I’m shaking. But weirdly enough, the panic I felt a second ago is fading. I don’t know what rises in its place, but the emotion isn’t nearly as icy. In fact, it feels kinda warm. Nice.