Page 75 of Promised to the Cowboy

Chapter 19

Evie

Gabriel is out in the barn checking on the rescue mare when I find his phone waiting on the kitchen counter.

I mentioned wanting to call my mom over breakfast. He left his phone for me before heading outside because mine is still with Ethan.

I stare at it for a long moment.

It’s been... months. Not because anything happened. Because that’s how we are.

Mom follows horses instead of calendars. One month she’s helping gentle mustangs in Nevada. The next she’s rebuilding the trust of an abused gelding at a rescue in Colorado, or working with a ranch horse in Wyoming that everyone else has written off. If there’s a frightened horse everyone else has given up on, sooner or later someone calls Marlowe Gale. She stays until the horse doesn’t need her anymore. Then she moves on.

But somehow, we always find each other again.

I scroll to the contact Gabriel added for me earlier.

I press call. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

By the fourth, I’m starting to think she’s somewhere without reception again.

Then—

“Hello? Who’s this? I almost didn’t answer,” she says cheerfully. “Didn’t recognize the number. I figured it was either a telemarketer or someone trying to sell me an extended warranty on a truck I don’t own.”

Her voice hasn’t changed. Incense and sunshine and the open road.

A laugh catches in my throat. “Hi, Mom.”

I can hear the wind where she is. Birds chirping. Somewhere outdoors.

“Evie?” The brightness disappears, replaced by instant concern. “Baby? Are you okay?”

“I am.”

A pause. “You sure?”

I smile. “You always did hear the truth before I said it.”

“I grew you. I’ve had practice.”

The lump in my throat loosens. “I’ve missed you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I've missed you too.” She laughs softly. “I was actually thinking about you this morning.”

“Were you?”

“I found a turquoise ring at a little trading post outside Taos. I almost bought it.”

I glance automatically at the one she gave me on my finger. “You would’ve hated it.”

“I absolutely would’ve.”

We both laugh.

It feels… easy. Like slipping into an old sweater.

“So,” Mom says. “I know that voice.”