Chapter 1
Sky
Welcome to Walker Lake, Texas!
Country, Cowboys, and Community.
Established In 1882
The sign coming into town looks the same as when I was a kid, but the original was replaced following a storm when I was in high school.
It's comforting to know nothing has changed because everything has changed in the world outside of my small Texas hometown.
But I can't think about that right now. I have to be the perfect peppy daughter coming home for some vacation time to see her parents, not to tell them she failed at being an adult.
Walker Lake is different from most Texas farm towns. The lake separates two distinct classes of people—the cowboys on the outskirts of town with big ranches, and the wealthy people with fancy lake houses who move here for the small-town charm that’s only an hour outside Amarillo.
My parents own a lake house, but my best friends are on the cowboy side of town. Even my high school boyfriend's family were ranch owners and more down-to-earth than my parents.
That's why I haven’t told them I quit my job. They won’t care that the startup I worked for kept cutting my pay but expecting full-time hours. They won’t care that the company was going under, and I got out while I could. They’ll only care how it looks that their daughter left a job with the big-time tech guy they love to brag about. Because all they care about is appearances.
That’s the life I grew up in, but it's not the life I want. I want a much simpler way of life, like my friends who grew up on the ranches outside of town. Getting there is the hard part.
The comfort of home is sadly lacking as I pull up in my parent’s driveway. Yes, this is the house I grew up in, but it never felt like a home. I grab my purse and suitcase before checking to ensure I didn't leave anything in my car when I loaded the stuff I was keeping from my Dallas apartment into the storage unit a few towns over. I figure it's close enough to get to if needed, but far enough away that word shouldn't get around town.
"I'm home!" I call as I walk through the front door. I know they’re home, and they know I'm here. Seems they can’t be bothered to greet me.
I set my suitcase on the floor by the stairs and head for the large family room in the back of the house overlooking the lake where my parents spend most of their time.
"Hello, darling. We expected you a few hours ago," my mom says without looking up from her tablet.
"I told you I'd be here closer to dinner. I had a few things to take care of before I could get on the road," I tell her as I lean in to kiss my dad on the cheek.
He gives me one of his soft smiles before returning to whatever he was doing on his phone.
I offer my mom a hug, but her eyes never leave the tablet in her hands. I sigh. What was I expecting?
Turning to stare out the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake, I try to release all the stress. I can't tell my parents what’s going on yet. They think I'm here on vacation for a week.
I'm hoping to figure things out this week. If not, I can return to Dallas and stay with my best friend and her husband for a bit. Sarah and Mac have so much space; they said I could stay for months if needed. Not that I would. What I need is a new job before my parents figure out I'm jobless and homeless.
I've never been more thankful that I’m good with money and saved a several-month emergency fund while working. With no rent now, it will last even longer.
"Did you hear me, Sky?" my mom asks.
I turn to see she’s finally set her tablet down and is staring at me. "No, sorry. I was lost in the view. It’s always been relaxing."
"I asked if you could swing by the store and pick up a few things for dinner. There is a list on the counter. Maria won't be back for a few days."
"It’s Martha, Mom. The girl who cooks for you guys is Martha," I remind her.
Mom waves her hand like it doesn't matter. Martha has been with my parents for almost ten years, and my mom never gets her name right. It seems my parents decided what they wanted for dinner and that I’ll be cooking it since my mom never learned. Thankfully, Martha taught me, so I could fend for myself when I moved out.
They'd go out to eat in Amarillo if I weren't here. My parents aren't diner people, so eating in Walker Lake wouldn't work for them.
"Yeah, I can do that. Let me take my bag upstairs and get unpacked."
"Sounds good, dear," Mom says, already engrossed in her tablet again.
I take my bag upstairs to my room. I packed up all my stuff and took it with me, but the decor is still the same. The beautiful blue-gray on the walls took me weeks to choose, and the gorgeous blue sheets with purple and pink flowers I fell in love with are on the bed.
The furniture is familiar, but the posters I had on my wall growing up are now replaced with art my mom has bought over the years.
I quickly unpack and put my suitcase in the closet before texting Sarah to let her know I arrived safely. Then I go downstairs, grab the list from the counter, and head out.
I pause for a moment and stare next door. Mac's family owns the lake house next to my parents. They don’t live there permanently and only use it for vacations. Sarah spent a lot of time at my house growing up, and during the summers, we swam in the lake. Mac and Sarah met one summer when his family was there. They had an instant connection, though they were friends for many years before either acted on it. Spending time with them doesn't seem half bad the more I think about it.
Walker Lake is a typical small town. One grocery store and a main street—only our main street is more of a town square leading to the lake and is the heart of the town.
Then there’s the rumor mill that comes with a small town. One visit to the store and everyone will know I'm home before the end of the day.
The grocery store hasn't changed much. The post office is still attached, so you can get all your groceries, bait, and tackle in one place—live bait, at that. You can't get anything too fancy, but they place bulk orders for the cowboys who stock up and don't have time to head into Amarillo for supplies.
I head up and down the aisles, lost in thought. The layout hasn't changed since I was in school, so I know exactly where everything is. Thankfully, Mom doesn't want anything too extravagant tonight. She settled on chicken parmesan and garlic bread.
Easy enough, but the list also says to grab any breakfasts or snacks I want, so I do that as well. I'm trying to make a game plan for sending in resumes while staying with my parents when I turn and bump into a cowboy.
"I'm sorry," I say, grabbing his arm to steady myself. I look up, expecting to know who I ran into, but while there’s an air of familiarity, I have no idea who this man is.
His hair is long, and his beard conceals his face. His eyes are hard to see under his cowboy hat, and when he turns his head, the scar down the side of his face is hard to miss. I'm sure without all the facial hair, it would be jarring. I guess that's why he grew out the thick beard.
I take a step back and trip over my feet. The cowboy reaches out to steady me with his hands on my arms, ensuring I'm stable before he lets go. Sparks erupt on my skin where he’s touching me—sparks I haven't felt since my high school boyfriend, Corey.
I wrote those sparks off as teenage hormones and the flush of first love. I never thought I'd feel them again. Did this mysterious cowboy feel them, too, or was it a figment of my imagination?
He releases me suddenly, but his hands hover over my arms as if he's ready to catch me again should the need arise.
"Thank you. I'm sorry, I'm not usually this clumsy. I've been driving all day and just got back into town, so I guess I don't have my land legs back yet,” I joke.
He still stays silent, but my words earn me a small smirk. That small rise at the corner of his mouth does things to me I'm not sure I like. His intense gaze settles on my face as if he’s searching for something, and his lack of conversation has me shifting uncomfortably.
"Okay, well, I better get this stuff back to my parents. I'm in town to see them this week," I tell him, reaching for my cart. "Thank you again."
This time, he nods and touches the front of his hat before walking down the aisle.
I wrap up my shopping and head for the cashier to check out, sensing his eyes on me the whole time.
Who is this man?
