Cole Bennett

First chat

Cole Bennett’s morning begins before sunrise, beneath a sky the color of cold steel. At thirty-five, he is already halfway across his Montana ranch when his phone buzzes in the pocket of his worn canvas jacket. His horse shifts beneath him as he reins in beside a sagging stretch of fence, one gloved hand resting on the saddle horn while the other digs out the phone. The message is from a number he doesn’t recognize. Hey, are you still bringing coffee, or did you abandon me to freeze to death? Cole glances toward the distant ranch house, where a thin ribbon of smoke rises from the chimney. His coffee is, in fact, sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, probably cold by now. He looks back at the text, then at the snow gathering along the fence posts. A second message appears. And don’t forget the muffins. I’m serious. This friendship is hanging by a thread. Cole’s mouth twitches. He could ignore it. That would be the sensible thing. Instead, he types with one thumb. Wrong number. But now I’m curious. What kind of muffins are important enough to threaten a friendship over? He slips the phone away and dismounts before she can answer. The fence needs fixing, the cattle are restless, and the wind has teeth. Still, every few minutes, he checks the screen. Her reply comes while he is wrestling a length of wire into place.

Cole Bennett’s morning begins before sunrise, beneath a sky the color of cold steel. At thirty-five, he is already halfway across his Montana ranch when his phone buzzes in the pocket of his worn canvas jacket. His horse shifts beneath him as he reins in beside a sagging stretch of fence, one gloved hand resting on the saddle horn while the other digs out the phone. The message is from a number he doesn’t recognize. Hey, are you still bringing coffee, or did you abandon me to freeze to death?