Two weeks passed without sight or sound of Colby. By Friday evening, Megan's last strand of hope blew away like a milkweed in the wind. "He's in Florida. What else explains his nonexistence? I hope Gray Cloud and Running Doe are not heartbroken." Her voice quieted as disappointment settled in her stomach. "Colby was worth the heartache, but I wish he had said good-bye."
Brett sauntered by, whistling. He tipped his hat and headed to the barn. Anger pushed aside her frustration. With teeth gritted, Megan stormed to the barn. Her hands rested on her hips, as if ready to draw a gun. "Thanks," she said, with menacing undertone.
"For what?" he said, nonchalantly as he grabbed the rake.
"For running Colby out of my life."
His laugh mixed with the tinny sound of the rake. "You did it again, cuz."
"Did what?" she retorted. Pursed lips and squinted eyes showed lack of appreciation in his enjoyment over her failed love life. Am I not entitled to a boyfriend and happiness too? He leaned the rake against the wall and approached Megan. "I'm kidding." With his hands on her shoulders, Brett said, "Clay and Colby are as different as a horse and cow. Colby didn't leave, he's busy."
"With what?"
"How would I know? He said hi and he'll see you soon."
"Oh." Heat rushed to her neck and face and she hurried to look down. I jumped to conclusions and revealed my true feelings. Once Brett starts teasing me, I'll never hear the end of it. He is more a brother than a cousin, she thought while pushing hay around with the tip of her boot. "Wait, I thought you hated Colby," Megan said. "When did you start talking to him?"
Brett shrugged. "It's an old story from our teenage days. Listen, cuz, he's a great guy. He knows if he hurts you I'll handle it."
An exasperated sigh escaped her throat.
"You like it and you know it," he said, nudging and winking.
"Why is he right again?" she thought, half-smiling. An amusing yet mischievous look settled on Brett's face. "What?" Megan asked, afraid of the answer.
"It was cute how mad you got thinking I ran Colby out of town," Brett said, pinching her cheeks. His expression turned goofy and dreamlike as he rubbed his whiskered chin with thumb and forefinger.
I don't want to know, but curiosity has taken control. "What are you thinking?" Moments passed before Brett moved. "Last summer the kids put on a play about life here at the ranch," he said, grabbing the rake. "Do you think they'd like to make a western? I'll play the sheriff, of course."