Bachelor Swap, Lacey Black [best short novels txt] 📗

she goes over today’s list, but my focus keeps returning to the empty kennel. I don’t know why I’m so saddened by Hattie’s departure, but I am. I didn’t even know her very well. I mean, she’d only been here a week before she was taken to her forever home, but her exit feels like a bullet hole-sized wound in my chest.

Maybe it was because the last time I saw her, she was curled up on Mason’s lap, playing with a ball. It could be the correlation connecting that particular dog to a time when my heart wasn’t broken, and things made sense. She was a link to Mason, or the man I once knew as Matthew. Before the gala and everything unraveled like a ball of string. When I was still happy and in love.

Now they’re both gone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mason

4 weeks later

I’m headed to the barn to check on a new calf as the sun starts to creep up over the tree line. My faithful companion is at my side, ready to take charge in the barn and let the animals know she’s there.

I work through morning chores peacefully, with no complications. Once I have them completed, I head to the chicken pen I’ve been rebuilding and finish repainting the old coop. The old structure was in good shape, just needed a little TLC. I’ve already replaced the run fencing, including adding a top to ensure hawks and other predators can’t get them. At least they can’t while they’re in the run, but outside the protective fenced in area is another story. Hopefully having some other animals around will keep the hunters at bay.

I’ve been home a month. Leaving Boston was the easiest, yet hardest thing I’ve ever done. I was ready to get the hell out of there but hated the thought of actually leaving. Mostly I hated leaving Kyla, but I knew I needed to go, to give her time to think. To come to terms with what my brother and I had done, if she would ever really be able to do it. I just want her to be happy, with or without me. Of course, I’d rather it be with me, but if that’s not in the cards, I’ll be okay.

I almost went to her penthouse that Sunday morning. I wanted to explain once more, to tell her pretending to be Matthew was the most difficult lie I’ve ever told. I wish I would have told my brother to take a flying leap off a tall building, but since there’s no way to redo the past, I just have to live with the damage I’ve done.

Every single day I’ve wanted to call her. I’ve picked up that phone and pulled up her contact. One night, in a desperate attempt to stop the hurt in my chest, I even clicked send. Before the call could connect, I touched the end button and slammed the device onto the counter.

What would I say to her anyway? I’m sorry still doesn’t feel like enough and the right words have yet to come, even four weeks later.

Matthew closed his business deal that Monday after everything blew up. Honestly, I’m surprised. I would have thought Jerald would have told my twin to shove the deal straight up his ass without any Vaseline. I think Matthew was even a little surprised by the outcome. Pleased as hell, but a bit shocked.

I’ve actually talked to Matthew more in the last month than I have the last two years. Even though he’s crazy busy with the transition at Evolution, he’s called me weekly to check in, seemingly somewhat interested in how the operation is running at the ranch. In fact, he even offered a few key pieces of financial advice that I took and implemented immediately. We may not be the best of friends, but we’re at least cordial and are working on bridging the crater between us. My brother even promised to come out and see me before the end of the year.

I actually hope that happens.

By the time the bright blue sky starts to darken and the horizon streaks with vivid oranges and reds, I have everything completed that I wanted to get done. I let out a whistle and start to head toward the house. It’s been a long day and a shower is in my very near future. Then I’ll be able to make a sandwich, grab a beer, and enjoy them both on the front porch. When the walls start to close in, usually late at night when I can’t sleep, that’s where I find my solace.

Just as I round the side of the barn and head for the back door, a pair of headlights flash through the trees along the lane. I stop in my tracks and watch the vehicle approach, not recognizing the headlights. This late in the evening, I don’t have too many visitors, so I definitely take notice of an unusual vehicle heading my way.

When the lights finally stop near the house, I take a few steps in that direction. The dog at my feet starts to bark, running a few feet ahead and standing between me and the unwanted visitor.

The car shuts off, and when the driver’s side door opens, someone steps out into the night air. I hold my hand up to my forehead to help see until the headlights finally turn off. It’s just dark enough I can’t see specifics or a face, just a short stature. It’s a woman.

The dog barks again, spinning in circles. “Hat, enough!” I holler.

“Hattie?”

I know that whispered voice. I hear it nightly, when I’m sitting on the porch and the wind blows through the trees. It’s hauntingly beautiful, but right now, I’m a little worried about my mental status. It’s probably not good when you’re hearing the voice of the woman you love, who just so happens to live thousands of miles away.

The dog takes off like a bullet, charging toward the visitor, and I’m