Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55305 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
My phone has become both a blessing and a torment.
The messages that started the same day I arrived home haven’t stopped.
Brookes: Hope the drive wasn’t too rough on you. Those bumpy back roads can be brutal after a long night.
I smiled despite myself and answered honestly.
Me: A little sore, but I survived.
I wanted to ask about how they were. Do men get sore after sex? I’m sure they overused some muscles in the process of manhandling me, but then again, they’re used to wrangling bigger animals. But I was so wary of making this what it isn’t supposed to be, I sent a smiley face emoji and walked away from my phone for a while.
From there, Brookes set up a group chat. An actual group chat. He definitely didn’t get the memo on how to walk away from a one-night stand.
The messages were consistent enough that I started looking forward to the buzz of my phone and found it impossible to leave them unanswered.
Mason: Finished moving cattle to the north pasture. Dusty as hell out here. What about you? Are you working today?
Me: Clinic in the morning, then heading out to the Thompson ranch to check on some pregnant heifers.
Brookes: You deal with a lot of ornery animals, don’t you?
Me: More than you’d think. The human ones are the worst. Some of the animals are sweeter than others, though.
Mason: Sounds like our kind of work. Except ours usually weigh a thousand pounds and have horns.
Brookes: Mason got kicked by a yearling yesterday. Swears he’s fine, but he’s limping like an old man.
Mason: Traitor.
I find myself laughing alone in my truck more than once.
They ask small questions that slowly paint a picture of who they are outside of that barn.
Brookes: What kind of music do you listen to when you’re driving between calls?
Me: A bit of everything, but I love old country and folk. Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, and some Chris Stapleton when I want something newer. What about you two?
Mason: Classic rock for me — Zeppelin, Eagles, Willie Nelson when I’m feeling sentimental.
Brookes: I’m more into bluegrass and old outlaw country. Music with real storytelling. Fits the long days out on the ranch.
Another afternoon, while I was waiting for a farrier to finish trimming hooves, Mason asked:
Mason: Did you grow up around animals, or did you decide to become a vet later?
Me: Both, I guess. My grandparents had a small farm. I was always following my grandpa around, helping with the horses and goats. But veterinary school was my choice. I liked the idea of being useful to the animals when they couldn’t speak for themselves.
And my mom approved. I don’t tell them that part.
Brookes: That’s a good reason. Respect that.
Mason: So you’re used to the big outdoors. We might make a cowgirl out of you, yet.
They kept the questions gentle, as if slowly peeling back layers.
Brookes: Sunrises or sunsets?
Me: Sunsets, definitely. There’s something peaceful about watching the day end. Like the world is exhaling. You?
Mason: Sunrises. Nothing beats that quiet moment right before the whole ranch wakes up. Feels like the day is full of possibilities.
Brookes: I’m with you on sunsets, Janey. Especially after a hard day. Feels like permission to slow down.
Later that same night, when I was finally home and exhausted, Brookes sent another.
Brookes: What do you do to unwind after a long day?
Me: Honestly? I make a cup of chamomile tea, put on some quiet music, and read. Sometimes I bake if I have the energy… nothing fancy, just cookies or bread. It helps me get out of my head. What about you two?
Mason: Cold beer on the porch, usually. Sometimes I tinker with old engines in the barn if my hands need something to do.
Brookes: I like sitting out by the creek when the weather’s decent. Listening to the water. Clears my mind. You any good at baking?
Me: I’m decent. My cinnamon rolls are pretty popular when I bring them to parties.
Mason: Cinnamon rolls? Now you’re trying to torture us.
The conversations feel easy. Natural. They ask questions like they actually want the answers, rather than making small talk before steering things back to that night in the barn.
They share pieces of themselves, too: stories about growing up on the family ranch, the trouble they used to get into as kids, how they ended up running their own spread together after their father passed. Little details that make them feel less like the larger-than-life cowboys who had wrecked me so thoroughly, and more like real men.
By the end of the week, I realize I’m checking my phone compulsively, waiting for that familiar buzz like an addict seeking a fix.
And the scariest part is how much I’m starting to enjoy this softer version of them, because the more I let them in with these small, everyday truths, the harder it becomes to convince myself that our night together was a fling.