Heading Out

Landry’s POV

The phone’s been ringing so long I swear I can hear it even when it’s not. It’s this shrill little echo that’s basically become the soundtrack to my twenties. I pinch it between my shoulder and ear, smile like I’m not on hour eight of a ten-hour shift, and say,

“Stonebrook Inn, this is Landry. How can I help you today?”

The woman on the other end is furious. About a pillow.

Not dirty sheets. Not a bug. A pillow.

Apparently it’s too fluffy.

I press my lips together to keep from sighing and scribble something on a sticky note just to make her think I’m writing it down. “I’m so sorry to hear that, ma’am. I’ll make sure housekeeping knows.”

Behind me, Darcy hollers from the office doorway, “Tell her next time we’ll stuff it with rocks!”

I turn around just enough to glare at her, mouthing, stop.

Darcy just grins, one hip propped on the frame, silver hair piled in a messy knot and a coffee mug in her hand like it’s a permanent extension of her arm.

“What?” she says. “Some people only feel alive when they’ve got somethin’ to complain about.”

I cover the receiver with my hand. “You can’t say that when I’m on the phone.”

“I didn’t,” she says, sipping. “You did.”

The woman’s still talking, so I quickly apologize, end the call, and set the phone back in its cradle. I rest my palms on the counter and exhale. “That’s the fourth pillow complaint this week.”

“Full moon,” Darcy says like that explains everything.

I shake my head. “I’ve been here since six thirty and haven’t even had lunch yet.”

“Because you never sit still long enough to eat it,” she fires back. Then, a beat softer, “You gotta stop workin’ yourself to death, Landry girl.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, typing in a new reservation and scanning the weekend notes. Two wedding parties, one cattle buyers’ convention, and a lady who travels with her humidifier and a therapy cat named Winston. It’s shaping up to be another circus.

Darcy leans closer. “You ever think about takin’ a break? Maybe lettin’ Summer drag you out for a night?”

I laugh under my breath. “Darcy, I’m the kind of tired that naps can’t fix.”

She points her mug at me. “That’s exactly why you need to go. Life’s not gonna come knockin’ on that front desk.”

I hum, pretending to think about it, but we both know I won’t. I’ve been working here since high school, saving every spare dollar, telling myself I’d travel once I had enough. That was five years ago.

Now I’ve got the money…and no clue where to go.

The phone rings again.

I pick it up. “Stonebrook Inn, this is Landry.”

Darcy just shakes her head, muttering, “One day, girl. One day you’re gonna stop answerin’ that phone and start answerin’ life.”

I smile, because she says that every week. But this time, I don’t tell her she’s wrong. 

Darcy disappears back into her office muttering something about invoices, and I take the rare quiet moment to just breathe.

The front lobby smells like lemon polish and old carpet. The air conditioner hums in the corner like it’s the only thing holding this place together. I lean against the counter, eyes on the door, and wonder what it would even feel like to have somewhere else to be.

Maybe that’s why I’ve stayed here so long. This inn was the first place that ever felt steady.

I don’t remember much before foster care. Just flashes. A pink blanket. A woman’s voice singing off-key. Then nothing. All I know for sure is my mom handed me over when I was two. Drugs. Neglect. The kind of story that happens too often and still never feels normal.

After that it was a lot of different houses and different last names. Some of them kind. Some not so much. I learned early to stay out of the way and keep quiet. Make good grades. Pack light because I probably wouldn’t be staying long.

The closest thing I ever got to stability was a group home I landed in at fifteen. It wasn’t perfect. Nothing about foster care ever is. But it was steady. Rules. Chores. Lights out at ten. I could breathe there. I could think about something other than surviving.

College was supposed to be my escape plan. But good intentions don’t pay tuition, and foster kids don’t have parents waiting to co-sign loans. So after graduation I walked into the first business with a Help Wanted sign in the window.

Darcy took one look at me. Nervous. Broke. Holding a résumé that barely filled half a page. She hired me on the spot and said, “You can learn the rest.”

I started in housekeeping. Scrubbed bathrooms and changed sheets for honeymooners and cattle buyers. Five years later I’m assistant manager. Still here. Still answering phones.

It’s not glamorous but it’s mine.

And after twenty-three years of not belonging anywhere, that’s something.

The bell above the door nearly gives me a heart attack.

“Landry Jameson!”

I don’t have to look up. I’d know that voice anywhere. Summer Driggs sounds like a glass of sweet tea on a ninety-degree day. Too much sugar, too much energy, and impossible to ignore.

She bursts through the doorway like she owns the place. Floral dress. Boots. Wind-tangled hair. Her smile hits first. Then her perfume…something warm and floral that doesn’t belong anywhere near disinfectant or front-desk paper.

“Lord help me,” I mutter under my breath.

“Don’t start with that,” she says, grinning. “You’re off in two hours. The rodeo’s in town, and we’re going.”

I blink. “We’re what?”

“Going,” she repeats. “As in outside. As in sunshine and noise and fun.”

“I work in the morning,” I say.

“You always work in the morning.”

Darcy’s voice drifts out from the office. “She’s not wrong.”

I close my eyes. “Et tu, Darcy?”

Darcy steps out with her mug, smirking. “You’re twenty-three. You look forty. Go make some bad decisions while your knees still work.”

Summer claps once, triumphant. “See? She gets it.”

“I don’t do crowds,” I say.

“You don’t do anything,” Summer shoots back.

That one lands harder than I expect.

I look around the lobby. The same walls. The same air conditioner hum. The same life. I’ve been standing behind this counter for five years, saving money for a dream I’ve never bothered to define. Maybe this is what growing up in foster care does, makes you so good at surviving that you forget how to live.

Summer leans over the counter. “It’s one night. No one’s asking you to ride a bull.”

“Thank God,” I say.

She laughs. “I’ll be here at six. Wear something cute.”

“I don’t own cute,” I tell her.

“Then I’ll bring options.”

And she’s gone. Just like that. A tornado in boots. The door slams behind her and leaves the room too quiet.

Darcy doesn’t say anything right away. She just stares at me over her mug. “You gonna go?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to.”

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

When she disappears back into her office I lean against the counter and stare at the front door. I can already feel the argument starting in my head.

People. Crowds. Noise. Sweat. Beer. Bad music. Small talk.

But I’m young. I’m supposed to like those things. Right?

The thought alone makes me tired.

Still, I can almost hear Summer’s voice in my head, bright and relentless. You never do anything, Land.

I sigh. Maybe she’s right.

Maybe a few hours won’t kill me.

In the staff bathroom I lock the door and stare at the mirror. Same face. Same ponytail. Same tired eyes. I try to imagine what fun looks like on me. Nothing comes to mind.

I splash water on my face. Wipe mascara smudges. Pull my hair down and let it fall loose. It looks weird. Like I’m trying to be someone I’m not.

I study myself for a long minute. Then I grab my purse and my keys before I can change my mind.

If I’m gonna regret something tonight, at least it’ll be for trying.

Headlights sweep through the lobby glass. I peek out the window. Summer’s truck is parked crooked across two spots, music thumping through the doors.

Of course.

My stomach twists. I could still back out. Pretend I got called in. Pretend I’m sick. Pretend anything.

But I don’t.

Instead, I head for the back. The locker room smells like laundry soap and cheap perfume. My work shirt sticks to my skin. I grab my bag from the hook and stare at it for a full minute.

I should just go home. Eat leftovers. Watch a movie. Be safe. Quiet. Invisible.

But I can almost hear Summer outside, laughing, shouting, living.

And I’m tired of feeling like life’s something that happens to other people.

So I unzip the bag and pull out a pair of jeans I haven’t worn in months. Tight denim. Faded knees. They still fit. Somehow. I dig deeper for the white crop top I bought on clearance last spring and never had the nerve to wear.

I change fast before I can talk myself out of it.

My reflection in the little mirror looks wrong at first. Hair in a flat ponytail. Work fatigue clinging to my face. I grab my curling iron from my tote and plug it in beside the sink. The light flickers on.

I curl loose waves, one strand at a time. It feels stupid, but also kind of good. I swipe on mascara, some blush, and a little tinted balm that smells like strawberries. My hands shake the whole time.

When I’m done, I take a step back.

Still me. But softer. Maybe even pretty.

Ready? No. Not even close.

Ready-ish.

I toss my work shirt in the hamper and pull on my boots. They’re old and scuffed, but they’ll do. I grab my purse and take one last look in the mirror.

“Don’t be weird,” I whisper. “Just… try.”

Out in the lot, Summer leans across the cab, honking twice.

I lock the door behind me and breathe in the cool evening air. My heart’s beating too fast, my palms slick, my brain screaming at me to turn around.

Instead, I climb into the passenger seat.

The truck smells like vanilla and dust. Summer’s already singing along to the radio, eyes bright, windows down.

“Look at you!” she squeals. “You have hair! You have jeans! You’re alive!”

I laugh despite myself. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late,” she says.

And as we pull out onto the main road, I stare at the fading light and tell myself this is fine.

Just one night.

I can survive one night.

By the time we hit the fairgrounds the sun’s half gone and the sky’s all orange fire behind the arena lights. Dust hangs thick over the parking lot. Trucks line every direction. Tailgates down. Radios blasting. Someone’s grilling. Someone’s already drunk.

The smell hits first. Hay. Sweat. Beer. Dirt. It’s loud and alive and nothing like the quiet corners I live in.

Summer parks crooked between two trailers. “You ready?”

“No,” I say.

She grins. “Perfect.”

I climb out slow. Gravel crunches under my boots. The air feels heavy, warm, a mix of diesel and barbecue smoke. I tug at the hem of my top, already regretting every choice that led me here.

Music spills from the speakers near the main gate. Some country song about whiskey and heartbreak. People laugh like they’ve never had to clock in at seven a.m. The crowd moves as one, boots, hats, fringe, denim.

I follow Summer through the entrance. She’s waving at everyone. I keep my eyes on the ground.

She buys two wristbands, shoves one toward me, and starts talking a mile a minute about the lineup. Barrel racing. Team roping. Bull riding. I nod like I know what any of that means.

Inside the arena the noise hits harder. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. Kids run between bleachers with snow cones melting down their arms. A woman in tight jeans and rhinestones is yelling at a vendor for the wrong beer.

I grab the railing and watch dust swirl in the floodlights.

I don’t belong here. I can feel it in my chest.

But then the gate clangs open and a horse bursts out. The crowd roars. I can’t help it—I flinch. The rider swings his rope with a smooth, sharp motion. The calf runs. The crowd gasps. He ropes clean and fast. The flag drops. Cheers rise again.

Summer whoops beside me. “That was clean! He looks kinda familiar!”

“Who?”

She nudges me. “The header. The one with the gray horse. God, he’s so good.”

I watch him circle his horse back to the gate. Hat low. Shoulders broad. Movements easy. Confident. There’s a steadiness to him that’s almost quiet, even in all this noise.

He looks our way for half a second, just enough for the lights to catch his face.

Something stirs in my chest. Not quite interest. More like awareness.

Then he turns, rides off, and the noise swallows him.

Summer’s still talking, words blurring with the music. I nod, pretending to listen.

The lights flash across the stands. Dust sticks to my skin. Somewhere in the chaos, I catch myself smiling. It’s small, barely there. But real.

Maybe Darcy was right. Maybe I do need a little trouble.

Summer tugs on my arm so hard I nearly spill my drink.

“Come on. Jenna’s running barrels tonight. She’s back behind the warm-up pens.”

“Do I look like I know where that is?” I ask.

“Nope. That’s why you’re following me.” She grins like it’s obvious, then disappears into the moving wall of people.

I follow her through the maze of trailers and stands. Every step kicks up more dust. It clings to my jeans and sticks to the sweat behind my knees. The smell back here is stronger. Horses. Leather. Sweat. Diesel. Someone’s radio is playing something low and bluesy, fighting with the crowd noise.

Summer’s braid bounces ahead of me for a minute, then I lose it in a tangle of strangers. A cowboy backs a horse out of a trailer and nearly clips my shoulder. I step sideways fast, muttering a quiet apology.

I turn one way. Then another. Nothing looks familiar.

The announcer’s voice booms again from somewhere far off. I can’t even see the arena anymore. Just rows of stock trailers, folding chairs, and men in starched shirts leaning on fences. Everyone looks like they belong. I look like the lost kid at a family reunion that isn’t mine.

I fish my phone from my pocket. No signal. Of course.

The sky’s darker now. The lights from the arena flicker through the gaps in the trailers, dust floating like smoke. I start walking again, trying to find the sound of Summer’s laugh or even her bright dress. Nothing.

A horse snorts behind me. I jump.

“Excuse me,” I say to no one in particular, edging around a pile of hay bales. I catch my boot on something thick and heavy.

Rope.

The ground rushes up faster than I can stop it.

I hit hard, hands scraping gravel. My heart slams in my chest. Before I can even curse, someone grabs my arm, strong hand, rough grip.

“You alright there, darlin’?”

I look up.

He’s taller than I thought people actually came. Broad shoulders. Faded denim. Sweat darkening the brim of his hat. His eyes are blue-gray, sharp under the arena light. For a second, everything else—the noise, the dust, the heat just fades.

“I, uh…” My voice catches. “I tripped.”

“I saw that.” His mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.

I glance at the rope stretched across the ground. “Guess I shouldn’t wander where I don’t belong.”

He keeps hold of my arm a moment longer, steadying me. “Looks like the rodeo wandered into you instead.”

The words hit deeper than they should.

“Thanks,” I say, brushing dirt off my jeans. My palms sting.

He tips his hat a little. “You lost?”

“Maybe.”

He studies me. “You with somebody?”

“My friend’s around here somewhere. Jenna. Barrel racer.”

“Ah. You’re with the loud one.” His tone is teasing but warm. “She’s hard to miss.”

I blink. “You know her?”

He nods toward the pens. “She’s over there. Saw her ridin’ earlier.” He pauses. “You should watch your step. Things get wild back here.”

“Yeah. Noted.”

He walks past me, rope coiled over one arm, spurs clinking faintly with each step. I turn to watch him go, dust swirling around his boots.

I don’t even realize I’m still staring until Summer’s voice hits from behind me. “Landry! Oh my God, where did you go?”

I spin back, heart still beating fast. “Nowhere. Just… tripped.”

She eyes me, suspicious and grinning. “On what? A man?”

I don’t answer.

But when we head back toward the bleachers, I can still feel the rough imprint of his hand on my arm.

The night gets louder as the finals wrap up. Music blares from somewhere behind the chutes. Summer’s already pulling me toward the beer tent before I can think of an excuse.

It’s packed. People shoulder to shoulder. The air smells like dust and Coors Light. Someone’s laughing too hard near the bar. A group of guys are trying to two-step in a space the size of a bathroom rug.

We squeeze through the crowd until we find a corner near a tall table. Jenna’s there already, still in her riding jeans. Her cheeks are flushed, hair damp under her hat, but her eyes are bright. She’s riding the post-run high that only people with adrenaline in their veins seem to understand.

“Finally,” she says. “I thought y’all got lost.”

“Landry did,” Summer says, grinning. “Pretty sure she fell over a cowboy.”

Jenna barks out a laugh. “That checks out.”

“I didn’t fall over him,” I say. “I tripped. He just happened to be there.”

Jenna lifts her beer. “That’s what they all say.”

Summer giggles and leans in close. “Was he cute?”

I shrug. “I didn’t notice.”

They both snort.

Liar, my brain whispers.

I take a sip of beer to drown it. It’s warm and bitter and not even close to worth four dollars.

Jenna sets her drink down and nudges me with her elbow. “Who was it, you think?”

“I don’t know. He had a rope. Gray horse, maybe?”

Jenna’s grin sharpens. “Gray horse? Oh hell. You ran straight into Colson McCalister.”

“Name sounds fake,” I say.

“It’s real,” Jenna says, laughing. “Trust me. You don’t forget a guy like him.”

Summer leans forward. “Oh I’ve heard that name. Isn’t he like… big deal big?”

“Pretty much,” Jenna says. “He’s been killin’ it in team roping this season. Heads for Tate Sawyer. They’re ranked in the top ten right now.”

I blink. “Is that good?”

Jenna stares at me like I just asked if the sky was optional. “Yeah, honey. That’s national circuit good. He’s the kind of cowboy people actually travel to watch.”

Summer whistles low. “So he’s famous.”

“Famous enough,” Jenna says. “Been on the road since he was eighteen. Quiet type. Ropes clean. Doesn’t miss much.” She pauses, smirking. “Except the women he leaves behind.”

I arch a brow. “So he’s that kind of cowboy.”

“The kind who won’t break your heart,” Jenna says. “He’ll just make you wish he had.”

Summer grins. “That’s poetry, Jen.”

“It’s experience,” Jenna says dryly. “Half the girls in this tent have tried to make him settle down. None of them lasted a week.”

I take another sip. “Good to know.”

Summer eyes me over her cup. “You don’t need to ‘know,’ Landry. You’re just here for fun.”

“I am,” I say. “Fun.” The word feels foreign in my mouth.

They go back to talking about barrel times and travel plans. I half listen, half watch the crowd beyond them. Every hat looks the same. Every laugh blends together.

Still, part of me scans the faces, just once, like maybe he’ll be there.

And that thought alone makes my pulse jump.

***

The door shut behind us with a thud that made Summer flinch. She giggled anyway, clutching her purse like it might run off.

“Land, I think the world’s spinning,” she mumbled, wobbling toward the couch.

“I think you’re spinning,” I said, catching her elbow before she face-planted into my thrift-store coffee table.

Getting her settled was second nature by now shoes off, hair pulled back, water on the end table, trash can tucked close just in case. She gave me a sloppy thumbs-up before melting into the cushions.

“Don’t die,” I told her.

“No promises,” she muttered, already halfway asleep.

The apartment was quiet again except for the hum of the fridge and the faint thump of bass still echoing in my ears. 

I stripped down to a tank top and climbed into bed, the sheets cool against my skin. My phone lit up, 2:04 a.m. and I groaned. Three and a half hours till my alarm.

I should’ve been exhausted enough to pass out, but my mind refused to quit. I kept thinking about him. Colson. The way he’d walked like time didn’t own him. Like the whole world was his to cross. He’d be in another town tomorrow, another rodeo the next night, and he’d just keep going.

I used to dream about that kind of life, packing up, hitting the road, never staying long enough for people to expect anything of me. There’s a jar in my closet labeled someday, full of twenties and fives I stash when holiday bonuses are good. It’s never much, but it’s proof that maybe one day I could go see more than these same four walls.

Colson probably didn’t even think about things like that. Freedom was just his normal.

I turned onto my side and stared at the faint glow of the streetlight leaking through the blinds. Somewhere out there, he was probably sleeping in a trailer or driving to the next arena, living a life that made the rest of us feel stuck.

“Must be nice,” I whispered into the dark.

Sleep finally crept in, slow, heavy, and full of dreams I couldn’t afford.

My alarm went off at 5:30, loud enough to make me want to throw it through the wall.

I dragged myself upright, half blind, hair a tangled mess, and stared at the mirror for a beat. The circles under my eyes could’ve passed for bruises.

By six, I was dressed in dark jeans, a tucked-in blouse, and boots that didn’t quite match but would pass. Coffee in a travel mug. Purse over my shoulder. Door locked behind me.

The drive to the inn was quiet the streets still dark, fog rolling off the Snake River and hugging the edges of town. The Inn sat like it always did at the top of Main, its porch light glowing soft and golden.

Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of cinnamon and fresh brew. Darcy was already behind the counter, her blonde hair twisted up, her smile too awake for this hour.

“Morning, sunshine,” she said. “You’re here early.”

“My usual time,” I said, setting my mug down and grabbing the backup coffee carafe. “Figured I’d get the breakfast pots going before the rush.”

She grinned. “That’s why you’re my favorite.”

The first guests were trickling down the hall, the usual ranchers and early risers. I focused on refilling the coffee urn, letting the sound of it drown out the fog in my head.

The door chimed. Boots on hardwood. That same deep, unhurried rhythm I remembered from last night.

Darcy looked up first, smiling her practiced front desk smile. “Good morning, sir. Breakfast is open till nine.”

“Appreciate it,” came the voice low, warm, with that drawl I’d already memorized against my will.

I turned, coffee pot in hand, and nearly spilled it.

Colson McCallister stood at the counter. Hat tipped back, jeans dusted from travel, a T-shirt that looked far too good for this hour. His eyes found mine instantly like he’d been looking for me.

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Mornin’, Landry.”

Darcy’s brows lifted. “You two know each other?”

“Sort of,” I said quickly, setting the pot down before I burned myself. “We met at the rodeo.”

Colson’s grin widened. “More like collided.”

Darcy laughed. “Well, that sounds like a story.”

“Not one worth repeating,” I said under my breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach.

He just kept watching me…steady, amused, like he had all the time in the world.