Alphas of Red Moon Ranch(6)

A wine opener. Because nothing says you’re going to die alone like a rabbit-shaped wine opener for your thirty-ninth birthday.

“It’s supposed to be super easy to use,” he said. “I know how you wrestle with corks.”

“Great,” she said plainly. “Now I can spend my nights getting drunk even when arthritis kicks in.”

“Yes,” he laughed. “Exactly.” He didn’t have the empathy required to understand the punch line. She imagined gouging his eyes out with the easy-open lever.

“Thank you,” she said and started to put it away.

“Oh, Holly.” She glanced up at the sound of her name of his lips.

He smiled at her. She’d loved that smile, once, and there were times, few and far between, when she saw a shimmer in him that reminded her of better times. “I’ve got to take Lacey out for a celebration meal tonight…can we do a rain check for your birthday dinner?”

And then there were the more common, more frequent reminders of just how much she despised his smile. She smiled back at him. “Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

Fifteen minutes later at her desk, she pulled up the MeetYourMate app and wrote:

To: Bitesalot35

From: Apples4Days

Subject: Reply

So if I took you up on your offer, would that be okay?

She laced her fingers together, cellphone trapped between her palms, and pressed the plastic to her lips. Said a silent prayer.

Her phone buzzed.

To: Apples4Days

From: Bitesalot35

Subject: Yes. Of course

I thought you’d never ask. Send me your details and I’ll book a ticket.

She smiled and felt a quiet, secret thrill course through her.





Chapter 5


It was a nine-hour train ride from Sacramento to Etna, but Holly still couldn’t sleep. She spent the first couple hours putting the final touches on her end-of-the-year reports, then reading, then listening to the woman next to her tell her all about her son on his way to college (Oh, you don’t think you could put in a good word for him at Sacramento U, do you, dear?).

Sporadically, when she wasn’t lulled by the thickening wall of trees blurring past them, Holly would break into a sweat and dash to the bathroom. She compulsively checked her legs for stray hairs, straightened her skirt (a faded purple, matched with an off-white long-sleeve top), and white-knuckle gripped the sink, trying to breath. It’d been years since she’d been on a first date—twenty, to be exact—and wasn’t sure she remembered how to do this.

She was crazy, right? Insane. She was going through some midlife crisis; that had to be what it was. Chris had bought a new car and a new pair of tits for his twenty-eight-year-old girlfriend. She was travelling 282 miles to meet her potential future husband face-to-face. Could be worse. She could’ve bought a motorcycle.

Pull yourself together, Holly. What did she tell her students when they were cramming for a test? Take a breath. Put pen to paper. Write down any questions you have.

By time she exited the coffin-sized restroom and shuffled back to her seat, her travel companion was, blissfully, asleep, with a therapeutic sleep mask around her eyes. Holly squeezed into her window seat, unlatched the tray, and took out her notebook. Where to start? She began scribbling:

Needs:

- Employed

- Good relationship w/ family

- Faith

- Not an alcoholic

- Loyal

Holly chewed the end of her pen and then circled loyal five times. She added:

Questions:

Who is your favorite author?

Do you talk to your parents?

Church on Sundays?

What does a regular Saturday look like for you?

How many children do you want?

What do you look for in a woman?

Tit or ass man?

She snorted a laugh at her last question and nearly woke up the woman beside her, who grumbled in her sleep and turned over. Holly’s gaze found the window again. Dawn was breaking over the tips of the sugar pines and cedar trees, making the forest blush. Quietly, in back of her mind, where she kept unrealized dreams and guilty-pleasure reads, she thought: I could get used to this.

After wishing her train-sister all the best with her son’s hunt for colleges (the woman was sweet, after all), Holly stepped onto the platform and felt a warm breeze sweep under her skirt, making it dance around her legs. She rolled her bag out and glanced around, feeling her throat tighten with nerves. What if she’d made a huge mistake? What if he didn’t show? Worse, what if he did show, took one look at her, and turned around and made a dash for his car—?

“Holly Wright?”

She whipped around like a startled deer and her breath caught. Oh.

A tight grey t-shirt stretched across the muscles of his chest and red flannel hung over his broad shoulders. Faded black denim pants ran into well-worn work boots. The cherry on top, however, was the cowboy hat that rested on his head and, when he tipped it back, she could see him fully. His sun-tanned skin was framed with long salt-and-pepper hair that ran like wildfire down his jaw. His face had stayed young, sharp, but he wore his years in his eyes—dark and unending. Eyes that locked on Holly’s and made her insides flip.