“Clementine Ryder, I swear to god, if you’re going to mope all night, I’m taking you back home,” Teddy said.
“I’m not moping!” I protested, even though I was definitely moping. Being home had that effect on me. So did Teddy’s usage of my full name. Seriously, who named their only daughter after a fruit?
When it came to a night out, Teddy meant business, and when Teddy meant business, there was no arguing with her. Usually, I didn’t mind. Teddy was my best friend. She knew me better than I knew myself, and knew what I needed before I even did. When I made the decision this morning to pack up my apartment, break up with my boyfriend using a Post-it note on the fridge, and leave the barrel racing circuit, I drove 300 miles straight to her house in our small hometown.
I hadn’t even unpacked my truck yet—it was sitting in Teddy’s driveway.
I recognized the dirt road Teddy was driving us down, and immediately wished I was back with my truck.
“The Devil’s Boot? Really?” I asked. I knew we didn’t have a lot of options in Meadowlark, but The Devil’s Boot was one place I would like to avoid. The chances that I knew every single one of its current occupants was dangerously high.
My dad and brothers didn’t know I was home yet, and I needed them to stay out of the loop for a little bit longer.
“Yes, The Devil’s Boot. It’s fun and mindless,” she explained. “And you need fun and mindless, Emmy.” Honestly, I probably did need that, but Teddy’s definition of fun had historically been a little different than mine.
“You know what’s fun?” I asked. “Wine and—”
Teddy interrupted me and finished my sentence. “Wine and Sweet Home Alabama is fun. You’re right,” she said. “But, Emmy. You’ve been sitting in your apartment in Denver doing wine and Sweet Home Alabama for a month. Literally, every time I FaceTimed you, I could hear Patrick Dempsey getting dumped at the altar, and then I could see his teary blue eyes in my mind—there’s only so much of that I can take.”
“That’s the best scene in the whole movie,” I argued. “It breaks your heart and puts it back together.”
Teddy placed her hand over her heart. “I am not undermining the merits of Sweet Home Alabama,” she said. “I would never. I’m just saying, there’s a reason you came home instead of watching it for a thirty-second time.”
Damn. I hated it when she had a point.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But you’re getting every round.”
Teddy laughed. “You’re thinking too small. Why should I pay for your drinks—or my own—when I know there are at least a dozen men in The Devil’s Boot who would love to buy them for us?”
“You’re overestimating my powers of male persuasion,” I said.
“And you’re underestimating mine,” Teddy said with a wink. “Plus,” she added, “you’re Clementine Ryder, champion barrel racer and member of Meadowlark’s most beloved family. People will probably be fighting over who gets to buy you, and me by association, a drink.”
I huffed in annoyance.
Teddy gave me one of her winning smiles. “Between college and racing, you’ve been gone almost a decade, and when you do come back, you only see your family and me,” she continued. “You went from Meadowlark’s sweetheart to Meadowlark’s mystery. People will be happy to see you.”
Teddy’s truck rolled to a stop. I looked out the passenger side window at the familiar dirt parking lot. It was full. Of course it was—it was a Friday night in Meadowlark, Wyoming.
Why couldn’t the episode that led me to pack up my life in Denver and hightail it back home have waited until Monday?
The Devil’s Boot was one of Wyoming’s oldest bars, and it sat almost directly on the Meadowlark county line. It was far enough out of the way that its occupants were almost always exclusively local. From the outside, it didn’t look like much. Hell, it didn’t look like much on the inside either. It was an old wood built in a classic saloon-style. There were patches of faded paint, an excess of neon signs, and a piece of plywood that hung above the front door that had a spray-painted cowboy boot with a devil’s trident inside it. It didn’t actually say “Devil’s Boot” anywhere in the place—not on the door, not on the pint glasses, not on anything. It was always just the lonely boot and the trident.
Even though we were still in the truck, I could hear the band. They were playing a Hank Williams cover. It was only nine o’clock, so the country classics would continue until the crowd demanded some newer hits they could dance and sing to. I had my fingers crossed Teddy and I would be out of here by then.
But I wasn’t holding my breath.
“Hey.” Teddy’s voice was soft from the driver’s side. “If you really don’t want to be here, then we can go, but I can’t think of anything I would rather do than spend my best friend’s first night home at a place we both secretly love.” I did love this place, albeit begrudgingly. “We always have a good time here. It’s low risk, high reward.”
I sighed. There was a small part of me that was…excited to be at The Devil’s Boot. To be home.
And an even smaller part that knew Teddy was right. We would have fun, people would be kind, and we probably wouldn’t have to pay for our own drinks. That was the thing about Meadowlark–it was predictable. Comfortable, even. Two things I needed right now.
“What do you want to do, Emmy?” Teddy asked.
I looked over at her. “I want to stay,” I said. And I meant it.
The megawatt smile on Teddy’s face could’ve powered Meadowlark and all the surrounding counties. Teddy reached for my hand and squeezed.
“That’s my girl. Let’s do this.”
Deep breaths, Emmy. I pulled on the handle to open Teddy’s passenger side door and gave it a heavy shove. Her 1984 Ford Ranger had some quirks—barely functioning doors were one of them.
As soon as my boots hit the dirt, the knot in my stomach started to untie itself. There was something comforting about that sound. The way the rocks felt under the soles of my boots reminded me that I was okay. It was familiar. Everything was so unfamiliar lately, but not this. Not home.
After I spent so much time plotting my escape from Meadowlark, I didn’t know how I would feel coming back. I came back for holidays, birthdays, and some weekends, but this felt more permanent. I thought I would feel trapped, like I did years ago.
But I didn’t. I felt blissfully normal.
I took a deep breath of the cool night air. It felt like the air entering my lungs was starting to push off the weight sitting on my chest.
I heard Teddy’s boots coming around to my side of the truck as I pushed my door shut. “Damn, Ryder,” she said. “I almost forgot how hot you are.”
I smiled. A real one.
Compliments from Teddy were the best because I knew she meant them. Teddy was earnest, fierce, and loving. She never said anything she didn’t mean.
“I’m already going home with you tonight, Andersen. No need to shower me with compliments,” I said as I looped my arm through hers. “We make a good pair.”
And we did.
Teddy and I had been inseparable since her dad started working on my family’s ranch over twenty years ago. Even though we spent the last four years after college in different cities, we’d talked almost every day, and Teddy had made the eight-hour drive to Denver at least four times a year. I was lucky to have a friend like her, the type of friend most people could only dream about.
When I showed up in her driveway earlier today, I had my entire life in my truck. She didn’t even bat an eye. She didn’t ask about the apartment, the boyfriend, or the career I had left behind. She just fed me cheese and Diet Coke and let me sulk on her couch for a few hours. Then, she clapped her hands together, her signal that we were moving on, and told me to go find something in her closet to wear because we were going out.
I ended up in a simple white tank top, currently covered by my beloved shearling-lined denim jacket, and a black satin skirt from Teddy’s closet. The slit went a little higher than I was used to—right above mid-thigh—but I loved the way it made me feel. Sultry. I was wearing black cowboy boots that should never be within a ten-foot radius of a horse, but they were perfect for a night at the bar.
Teddy was wearing a black, short-sleeved crop top and light-wash blue jeans that looked like they were literally molded to her body. Her copper hair was pulled into a high ponytail that bounced with her every move.
“You ready, babe?” she asked.
Another deep breath of cool Wyoming air. You’re okay, Emmy, I thought to myself. Your boots aren’t in the stirrups anymore. You’re on solid ground.
“I’m ready.”
