Page 5 of A Cowboy Holiday

“’Cause there’s a real job there, and the idiot cattle owner I’ve been working for just sold his herd to a local rancher today.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yeah, I can get by with being part-time at the vet’s office, but it’ll be tight, and…” I scrubbed my hand over my face and slipped deeper into the sofa. “That’s a tomorrow problem.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Can you get a bouncer job?” she asked.

“I’m a trained veterinarian, Kit.”

“Sure, but?—”

“And even if there were nightclubs nearby, I have a kid. I can’t take graveyard shift and pay a babysitter. I don’t even know a soul yet, and I wouldn’t trust just anyone with Phee.”

Kitty hummed on the line. “I know.Ugh. Why can’t life be easy?”

“Great question.”

“You know what you should do?”

“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” I said matter-of-factly.

“I am, because I’m your best pal, and I give a shit.”

Her tone was light but tinged with a familiar hint of frustration. She cared. Not for my sake so much, though. I wasn’t her best pal, but years ago, we’d had a best pal in common, and that bond meant something to Kitty. Which was why I didn’t brush her off or disconnect the call so I could watch TV and turn my brain off for a precious fucking hour.

“I know you do.”

“Good. Then ask the rancher for a job. You know those animals. He’d be stupid not to hire you.”

I’d literally been thinking the same thing all afternoon and all evening, but I argued anyway. It was my default.

“That’s not how it goes.”

“Bullshit. It’s exactly how it goes,” Kitty snapped. “If he says no, tell him to keep you in mind. It’s that easy. And maybe he’ll say yes and you can buy some time and find a job that’s not in Texas.”

“I’m taking that job. I have a kid to think about, Kit. And she needs some stability. I can’t keep uprootin’ her. It’s not right.”

“And you have a score to settle.”

“Maybe,” I conceded.

Kitty was quiet for a long moment. “Have I told you lately that you’re a hardheaded dickwad?”

“Not lately.”

“Well, you are,” she huffed. “Just talk to the other farmer and?—”

“Rancher,” I corrected.

“And…be nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

Kitty burst into laughter. “You’re horrible! The worst. If it wasn’t for your winning personality—oh, wait. You don’t have one of those, either.”

“Fuck off,” I huffed without heat, smiling in spite of myself.

She snickered merrily. “I’m kidding, doll. I think you’re the bee’s knees. Maybe one day you’ll give yourself some credit and realize that you’re also kind of a rock star.”