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My turn to swallow hard. Unless Mom is traveling or super busy, she and I talk on a regular basis multiple times a week.

“I miss you too. But I’m starting to think…” My eyes burn. I squeeze them shut. “I like it here. A lot. I know you didn’t, and I understand why. But I can’t let that keep me from giving Lucky Ranch a chance.”

“Oh. Well, okay. Just as long as you come back to Dallas.”

I’d roll my eyes if they didn’t hurt so much. “I should go. Supper will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Be careful with the food. I don’t want your stomach becoming more of an issue.”

“My stomach has actually felt so much better since I’ve been here.”

“Really?”

I laugh, the sound hollow. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m happy for you. Wonder what it is that agrees with you.”

Fresh air? Less stress? Hot cowboys?

All of the above?

“I’m not sure what it is, but I want more of it.”

Awkward silence.

“Remember, you said you’d do your best,” I say at last.

“I will. And remember, you’re coming home. Good night, sweetheart.”

“Bye, Mom.”

I cowgirl most of the week.

The weather is cooling off ever so slightly now that we’re approaching October. One morning is even close to crisp. I can’t get enough of it. The sun, the action, the way the cowboys rib each other while tossing lassos and caring for injured cows.

Maria and I finally bond. I’m more confident in the saddle with each passing day.

We’re so in tune, I even eat like a horse, devouring Patsy’s excellent cooking. One night, she makes these melt-in-your-mouth ribs, slathered in sweet, tangy barbecue sauce that’s so good, I practically finish a rack of ribs myself. I can’t get enough of the cheesy grits she makes one morning or the homemade chicken salad she pairs with croissants she bakes from scratch for lunch.

My stomach hasn’t hurt in…wow, a week now. Makes me think my problem isn’t food or any kind of allergy. It’s something else entirely.Canfresh air cure stomach pain? Was there something in the water in Dallas that was killing me?

Or do I just like life on a ranch more than life in the city?

I try not to dwell too much on that last question, because the implications are…alarming, to say the least. I’m not staying on Lucky Ranch. Not for the long haul, anyway.

But I do love how wrung out my body feels at the end of each day. I dutifully take my Epsom salt baths and then fall into bed.

I’ve never slept so well in my life.

I’ve also been struggling to juggle my responsibilities. I’ll squeeze in some Bellamy Brooks stuff after supper in the evenings, but needless to say, I don’t last long before I’m nodding off.

By the time Friday rolls around, I’ve missed so many calls and have so many emails and invoices to catch up on, I decide to take the whole day off from doing my cowgirl thing to do my cowboy-boot-designer thing instead. Palmer isarriving this afternoon, too, and I want to take a long shower so I can shave everything and wash my hair.

Cash blinks when I inform him at breakfast that I won’t be joining him and the other cowboys today. “Oh.”

My heart somersaults. “If y’all need me?—”

“Do your thing. We got it handled.”