Page 48 of Huckleberry Hill (Saddles & Spurs #1)

A couple months later

Salem

I closed the door to the apartment and raised two brown bags to chest height. “We’re celebrating.”

Wyn and Poet were both on the couch underneath a shared blanket. Wynn dragged her eyes from the TV to look at me while Poet hit the clicker and paused the screen.

“Celebrating?” Wyn asked with a wide smile. “What are we celebrating?”

“Me.” I grinned.

“I thought you were supposed to be out to dinner with your boss,” Poet said in confusion. She set the book manuscript she was currently reading aside and thrust the blanket off her. “We didn’t expect you home for at least another hour.”

I placed the bags down onto the small kitchen table and pulled out to-go containers from the restaurant.

“Boss forgot about his daughter’s ballet recital, so when his wife called him to ask where he was, he left.

He gave me an apology and said I could take all of our food to go.

We hadn’t even gotten our appetizers when he got the call. ”

Wyn came and inspected the bag. “What did you order?”

“Burrata. And the bucatini with guanciale.”

Wyn moaned. “Gimme.”

“Not without Prosecco,” I said.

“I’ll get it,” Poet said as she wandered to the refrigerator.

“Did your boss get a chance to tell you what he wanted to discuss?” Wyn asked. She pulled out the plastic silverware and held it up.

“No, let’s use real silverware,” I said. “And yes, Jack told me the reason for our meeting.”

Poet brought three champagne flutes to the table, along with the bottle. She opened it quickly. The cork popped and she poured out the Prosecco.

She handed us glasses. I held mine up to make a toast, my two best friends waiting eagerly for an explanation.

“He told me he wants me to be the creative director of the Rudolph Lancaster project.”

“No!” Wyn gasped.

“Yes!”

Poet clinked her glass against mine. “Congratulations!”

“This is huge!” Wyn said.

I took a sip of Prosecco. “It is huge. I can’t believe it. Who would’ve thought speaking without thinking would result in a promotion?”

Rudolph Lancaster was a young, hungry fashion brand that was interested in expanding their clothing line.

At the moment they were heavily focused on the nautical, sailing theme in their lineup.

Their equestrian and western line was promising, but the marketing firm they’d hired had completely botched their vision and they were looking for a fresh start.

They’d come to us—Beckett and Bastion—for a different direction.

I’d sat in on the meeting with Jack Beckett, one of the owners and the Creative Director of the firm.

He’d shown Rudolph Lancaster’s current marketing plan for the equestrian, western line and before I even realized what I was doing, I’d spoken up and blurted out that nothing about it was authentic.

I’d grown up on a ranch—I knew authentic western styles, and I was in tune with wanting to look good and be comfortable while working a thousand acres of property. They were shocked at first, but after asking me a few questions it was clear I’d piqued their interest.

“Did you call Hadley and tell her the good news?” Poet asked.

I shook my head and popped open one of the to-go containers. “I’ll call her after we eat.”

The three of us devoured the food.

“No dessert?” Wyn asked with a pout as she finished the last bit of her meal.

Poet pushed up the nose of her dark glasses. “We can walk to the bodega and get some sweet treats.”

“Oh, good idea,” Wyn said. “What do you want, Salem?”

“Anything chocolate,” I replied. “I’ll clean up and call Hadley.”

A twinge of sadness spread through my chest. Normally, she would’ve been the first person I called when I had news, good or bad.

But she was at the ranch with her fiancé and they a had baby on the way. And I was in New York living a different life.

We were moving in two opposite directions for the first time in our lives. It scared me, but I wasn’t sure there was anything I could do about it.

Wyn grabbed her phone and her wallet, and she and Poet were out the door.

I began to clean up, chucking the empty to-go containers into the garbage and setting the dirty silverware in the sink.

I’d wash them later. We didn’t have a dishwasher in our pre-war apartment, but that wasn’t uncommon in New York.

I was wiping my hands on a dishrag when my cell rang. I dug through my purse, finding it at the bottom.

Hadley’s name flashed across the screen and I grinned, pressing answer. “Good timing, twin. I was just about to call you.”

“Salem,” she said, her tone grave.

My spine snapped straight. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s—you’ve got to come home, Salem. It’s Dad. There’s been an accident.”

Thank you so much for reading!