Page 6 of Love Is a War Song

I looked up to the parking lot again as the clouds parted and the setting sun’s rays shone down on a cute little old lady wearing cowboy boots and decked out in silver-and-turquoise jewelry. I jumped up, dropping the terrible book on the ground, and ran to her, wrapping my arms around her neck.

“Grandma!”

The lady froze, her arms did not wrap around me. I pulled back to look at her face to see if I could find a family resemblance.

I found none.

“Grandma?” I asked with less confidence.

“Get off me, you crazy bum!” She pushed me away. “I got a gun in my purse.”

“It’s me, Avery?”

“I don’t care if you’re Mother Teresa, you don’t just grab people. This generation.” The lady grumbled as she stalked away and into the bus station.

I hated today. I picked up the book, brushing off the dirt and pebbles that stuck to the old, discolored pages.

A thick and throaty laugh hummed around me.

Great. I had an audience. That was the final straw. I whipped around to meet the owner of the laugh and my breath left me. The man laughing at my misfortune was tall, dark, and handsome.

Just what I needed.

I rolled my eyes and focused on the book. I was covered in grime from the floor of the bus and running on empty. Flirty Avery was dead.

“You doin’ all right there?” he asked in a voice as rich as leather.

“Yeah, great.” I raised my voice but didn’t bother to look at him again. I just threw a thumbs-up over my shoulder and continued to wallow in my misery.

At least when I did meet my grandma, it couldn’t be worse than getting threatened with an armed weapon.

So, there was that for silver linings. I sat back down on my trunk and stared at my feet.

I was wearing Golden Goose sneakers and was disgusted with myself.

I had spent $600 for a pair of artificially distressed shoes to make it look like used street wear.

Now they were indeed dirty with real dirt and grime and a piece of an old gummy bear stuck to the bottom of one.

The tabloids were right. I was a fake. Everything about me was curated, even down to my fake-dirty now real-dirty shoes.

A pair of dusty cowboy boots entered the space below the pages I was attempting to read.

I lowered my book, looking at those boots.

Covering the tops were a pair of light-wash boot-cut jeans also covered in dust. My eyes followed the toned line up, to an equally dust-speckled black T-shirt, then up to the tanned face of a god.

It was the handsome man who laughed at me.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

“You Avery Fox?” he asked, his voice gruff with a slight twang.

Oh shit. He recognized me. I’d been found out.

“Who’s asking?”

“Lottie Fox sent me.” At my blank stare he added, “Your grandmother.”

“Oh, right. Yes, Lottie.” I said her name like I said it all the time, letting it roll off my tongue. I knew her name was Loretta. I had no idea Lottie was short for Loretta, though I couldn’t say I knew anyone with either of those names.

“Is she in the car waiting?” I got up from the curb, looking over his shoulder, trying to guess which car was his.

“Nope, just me. Gotta get going if you want to make it back for food. With our luck, Red and Davey won’t save nothin’.”

I watched in stunned silence as this man took the handle of my biggest suitcase and one of the smaller ones and began wheeling them to an old white pickup truck.

“Unless you want to keep reading ,” he said, not even bothering to turn around.

Ugh. I so did not want anyone knowing I read any part of that trash, let alone a hot guy. At least I had been found and I would not be stuck alone in this random city with no phone or money.

“Could you be careful with my bags, please? They’re new,” I said as I grabbed my remaining two smaller suitcases to quickly follow him.

He walked with such authority; it was like I was on autopilot doing as he said.

I really tried not to look at his ass, but the denim fit him perfectly.

Then I had a very worried thought. “Are we…related?” I asked.

He huffed a laugh and threw over his shoulder, “No,” and kept walking.

Phew. I did not want to be having any of those types of thoughts about a potential cousin or something. Now I could say as an impartial party that this guy had a fine ass.

He pushed the handle down into the suitcase, then his tan, corded muscles flexed as he lifted the hefty thing and threw it into the bed of his filthy truck.

“Hey! Don’t do that!”

He stopped to give me a strange look. “I have rope to tie them down.”

“Okay, but don’t throw them. These are really nice and you’re gonna scuff them all up and get them dirty.”

“It’s luggage.” He said it simply and gave me a blank stare.

“So?”

“Luggage is meant to get chucked around. Will they crack open and ruin your clothes if they’re tossed around?”

“No, these are, like, top of the line, really high quality.”

“All right then,” he said with a grunt as he chucked the other one in.

“They’re Rimowa!” I gripped the edge of the truck bed, looking in, and could see scuffs already. I hadn’t even taken the brand-deal photos with them yet. Now I was going to have to pay for these.

“You!” I turned on him. “I don’t know who you think you are, but today is not the day to try me.

I’ve been on buses for nine hours, have had no food, had to drink water from the faucet in the disgusting bus station bathroom, been threatened with a gun by an old lady, my purse and phone were stolen, and this has gone too far!

My own grandmother couldn’t even be bothered to pick me up herself!

Instead, she sends some…some…dirty cowboy in her stead and you’re ruining all I have left even when I asked you nicely to be careful! ”

Tears started falling down my face again, and honestly, I was a little impressed.

If I still wanted to act, I now knew I could literally cry for hours on end with no problem.

All I had to do was be pushed past my limits, humiliated on a global scale, have nothing left to my name, and be at the mercy of an Oklahoma cowboy.

“Lucas,” he said. He just stood there weathering all I unleashed on him and barely batted an eye. “I work for your grandmother.”

“And how can I verify that? You could be some obsessed fan.”

This got a reaction out of him. He snickered and said, “Not a fan, trust me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I crossed my arms.

“I live on a ranch, not under a rock, lady.” He brushed past me and got the other bags and threw them in. “You’re welcome to stay here. But if you want to come to the ranch then get in.”

He walked to the driver’s door, disappearing inside.

I ran to the passenger window that was rolled down. “You said you had rope!”

“That was before you called me a dirty cowboy.” He turned the key in the ignition and nodded with his chin to the passenger seat. “Get in.”

I threw open the door and plopped down with a huff.

“How far away is the ranch?”

“?’Bout twenty minutes or so.”

“Great.”

“There’s a PowerBar in the glove compartment.” All I could do was stare at him, which was a mistake, because I noticed his dark thick brows and his nose hooked a little in a hot, hawkish way. “You said you were hungry.”

Our eyes were stuck in a standoff. I didn’t want to accept anything from this asshole. My stomach grumbled and it broke the moment.

“Fine. I’m sorry I threw your bags,” he mumbled.

“Thank you, and I’ll ignore the eye roll that went with the apology.” I crossed my arms, looking out my window.

He chuckled. “Eat the PowerBar. I don’t want to have to carry you into the house if you pass out.”

Then he shifted his truck into drive and drove out of the city. I’m ashamed to say I ate that PowerBar in three bites.