I cruised down the winding road on the way to my new home, the sunlight bright even through my dark tinted lenses. The hills rose up from the road on either side, covered in sagebrush so green it looked like it had been painted on the landscape. I rolled down the window so I could breathe in deeply the smell of freshly cut grass, and felt my heart rate immediately decrease. It smelled like home. It reminded me of being a kid, running through the meadows behind the house for hours. Getting lost with Cade in the clusters of aspen trees. That memory sent a shiver up my spine.
I came back to West Bend because it’s where I had to go. It was a part of me. Even after all that had happened, all the pain and heartache, this place was where I belonged. It was never a question of whether I would return. It was only a question of when. Even if it dredged up painful memories, this place was where I had to be.
That possibility only became real after I decided I was not going back to surgery. Practicing medicine was behind me now. It’s no longer who I was. I didn’t care if I was running away or not. At least I wasn’t breaking out in cold sweats at the thought of holding a scalpel.
At least by running a bed and breakfast I wouldn’t have blood on my hands.
I sat outside on the porch with a cup of coffee, drinking in my surroundings as I sipped from the mug. The warmth of the liquid was soothing, and I desperately needed the caffeine. I wasn’t even fully unpacked yet, but this house already felt like home. My border collie, Bailey, wandered around the field in front of the house. She was already at home here too, much more content with the open spaces in Colorado than she'd been in Chicago. Country life suited us both.
I hated thinking about the future. If there's one thing I had learned in my life, it's that everything was fleeting and unpredictable. But as much as I could think about my future, West Bend was the only place I could see myself living.
I looked across the pasture to Stan Austin's ranch, where Mr. Austin was outside, slowly making his way around the deck with his watering can, touching it to each of the hanging plants. Even from this far away, I could see that his hair was white now, and he walked slowly, taking his time with the flowers.
I suddenly felt fourteen again, watching him, like it was the summer before high school. At any moment, I expected Cade to walk outside, dressed in jeans and his cowboy hat. He'd walk up to me, dip his head down so that the hat covered the top part of his face, and then look up at me with those dark brown eyes, that stupid half-grin covering his face.
Mr. Austin looked up and waved, breaking me out of my reverie.
I should go talk to him.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself, then gulped down the rest of my coffee. As I strode across the pasture that separated our houses, I watched the dust kick up around my boots. It was nice to put a pair of cowboy boots back on again. The familiarity felt comforting.
I was nervous as I approached the house. It had been a long time since I'd been here. A lifetime, in fact. I'd been intentionally avoiding coming by since I'd moved in last week.
“June.” Mr. Austin set down his watering pitcher and put a hand up over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight. Walking down the front steps, he greeted me in the dirt driveway. “Welcome back. So you’re my new neighbor now.”
He brushed his hands on his jeans before awkwardly reaching out to shake my hand, then pulled me toward him in a hug.
“Hi, Mr. Austin.”
“Oh, stop with the 'Mister' bit,” he said. “You’ll make me feel old. It’s Stan.”
“Stan.” It sounded funny to say it. He'd always been Mr. Austin to me.
“Come on up, we’ll have a glass of - lemonade? Coffee?" He paused for a beat. "Beer? It’s probably too early for beer, huh?”
I laughed. “Coffee would be great.”
“Here, we’ll stay out on the porch. It’s a nice day for some porch-sitting. I’ll bring out the coffee.” He gestured to the rocking chairs on the deck, and I sat, the rhythm of the rocking peaceful, hypnotic even. Bailey meandered across the lawn, finding her way over to the porch and making herself comfortable in a patch of sunlight.
Closing my eyes, I reveled in the silence of this place. No honking horns, no hum of cars passing incessantly. Just birds chirping, the hush of the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, and the tinkle of the wind chimes on the porch. It was idyllic. I wanted to believe that this place could be my refuge again, like it was when I was growing up. It was a silly idea, the realist in me knew that. But I wanted to hang on to that fantasy as long as I could.
“Here you go, dear.” Stan handed me a cup. “I’m afraid it’s not the best. Molly used to say it was more like jet fuel than coffee, but I’m old, so there’s no use changing it now.”
“No, I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, taking a sip, then choking. “Oh. You’re right. That is awful.”
Stan laughed, the sound deep from his belly, and I couldn’t help but join him. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you. Although, if you were in the Navy, your tolerance for piss-poor coffee should be better than that.”
I took another sip. Nope, still bad. “It is. And that should tell you exactly how bad this coffee is.”
He bellowed. “I reckon that’s about right. Well, goes to show you how much company I’ve had lately, since Mrs. Crawford passed on.”