“That’s not happening,” he said. “I’ve been precisely where you are, and you’re just on the top of the roller coaster right now. There’s another dip coming, unfortunately.” He glanced at her as he pulled up to the highway. “How long have you known about your mother?”
“I just found out this weekend,” she said, her voice pitching up on the last word. “She’s a fighter. She’s going to be okay.”
Slate liked the optimism, but he also knew that sometimes things were not okay. He said nothing, though, because Jill deserved to cling to that hope and positivity if she chose to.
After a couple of minutes, he said, “I can bring someone to get your car any time.”
“Thank you, Slate,” she said, and he did like the way his name rolled out of her mouth.
“How long have you worked at the ranch?” he asked.
“Seven or eight years,” she said. “Are you going to stay? Ginger has mentioned that you’re up in the air.”
“Yeah,” Slate said. “That about sums up my whole life right now.” It had all gotten tossed up into the air, and he had no idea where all the pieces would end up falling. He looked at her and found her with her head leaned back against the rest, turned toward him.
She had pretty blue eyes, even watery as they were, and her hair was a messy kind of short style she could muss up with her fingers and it would look better than before.
“Have you ever felt like that?” he asked, looking out the windshield again so he didn’t drive them into the gulf.
“Like what?”
“Up in the air.”
“No,” she said quietly. “That’s probably why I’m handling this diagnosis so badly.” She half scoffed and half sobbed. “That’s what my sister says, at least.”
“How old is your sister?”
“The oldest one is forty, and she’s, you know, perfect. Perfect husband, with the perfect job. Two perfect kids, perfectly balanced with a boy and a girl.” She exhaled and wiped her face with the napkin again.
“I know the type,” he said, seeing the family perfectly in his mind’s eye. “That was my family growing up.”
Jill sucked in a tight breath. “Oh.”
“I’m not offended,” Slate assured her quickly. “I just…know the type.” He looked out his window at the gulf again, wishing he had the guts to call his parents and let them know he was out. The fact that they didn’t know spoke volumes about their relationship, but Slate wondered if the new version of himself could try again to be the son they wanted.
The miles passed in silence after that, and after a few minutes, Slate looked over to find Jill leaning against the window, fast asleep. His heart went out to her, because he understood what it felt like to go through trauma and the sheer exhaustion that caused.
He wanted to protect her from the tumultuous times ahead, but he knew he couldn’t. He’d learned to release the things he couldn’t control in prison, and he couldn’t control her mother’s health.
When he turned onto the ranch and bumped from a smooth road to a dirt one, Jill jostled and woke.
“We’re back,” he said softly. “I’m sure they still have breakfast going in the West Wing if you want to eat.”
Jill wiped her hair back again and glanced around. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
“Don’t be.” He pulled into the gravel lot and parked. Neither of them got out of the truck. “You should probably eat something.”
She looked at him, and Slate turned his head toward her. She was a beautiful woman, and his pulse performed a weird flip in his chest. He had no idea what it meant, only that he couldn’t look away from Jill, almost like her gaze had become a tractor beam, and he’d gotten stuck in it.
“Will you come with me?” she asked. “I don’t want to go in alone.”
Slate didn’t understand why. She’d lived here for years, and with one look at her, all of her friends would rally around her. They’d provide the support she needed, and Slate would disappear into the background.
He knew, because he’d seen the women here at Hope Eternal Ranch do that for each other several times in the short time he’d been there.
“Okay,” he said anyway. “But I can’t stay long. I have to get out to the….” He let his sentence die, because it was Sunday, and