Page 64 of Head Over Spurs

“Why not stay?” Maddie asked gently. “I mean, go to Argentina still. You went a year apart from one another before; this is only a few months. And he understands your job. But then after that, come back here.”

Jules turned away from them, staring out the window at the dark ranch beyond. It was a clear night, the moon illuminating the sky and causing the jagged mountains to stand out with their magnificent presence. It was about more than Riley. It was this place.

“What if I can’t settle in after everything with my family?” she whispered after a minute.

Her best friend waited patiently for her to turn back around. When she did, Maddie offered a soft smile. “I hope I get this right. You’re usually the one that gives me the empowering speech. But bottom line, you can’t decide your life based on what your parents did. And they shouldn’t have put you in the middle like they have, making it feel worse, I’m sure.”

“If I do stay and it doesn’t work… I end up losing another home—whatever that word means anymore. And I mean, do you even think I could belong here?” Jules asked quietly.

Maddie’s smile widened, replying without hesitation. “I think you already do.”

Hope flickered in her chest like a worn-down light bulb that refuses to stay dead. “Could you imagine? Us together again?”

“Already have,” her friend replied, eyes sparkling with delight.

It was a nice dream. This breathtaking ranch, the team that feels like a family, Lucky, Maddie… and Riley. She ached for it all. A persistent ache that had taken root long before she realized what the feeling meant.

“Me too,” she admitted, sinking down on the sofa and pulling her knees to her chest. “Me too.”

28

JULES

She was whiskey in a teacup. A tornado in a pretty package—blowing into Sterling Ridge and turning the most patient man jealous and frustrated. And it was time she stopped spinning.

Lifting the coffee mug to her lips, Jules watched the sun rise over the mountains, painting the ridge line in shades of gold and purple. She should call the magazine back, but that would require knowing what she was going to say. Could she leave and come back as Maddie suggested? Did she want to?

There was one person she knew she could have a real conversation with about this. One person who would have the right perspective—if she could get some time with theoldhim.

“You have today off at the clinic, right?” she asked, turning to Maddie in the rocking chair beside her.

“Sure do.”

“Do you think you could take my place as Riley’s second today? I think it’s time I go have a chat with my dad.”

Familiar white fenced pastures sailed by as her Mustang charged up the dirt drive of Graham Equestrian. The rows of white PVC glowed bright in the sun, offset by the lush green fields stretched out behind them. It was beautiful, pristine. But not the wild west of Hayes Ranch.

Parking in the turnabout of the main house, she climbed out and took a deep breath. Growing up, her dad seemed to have found the perfect balance between his passion for the equine center and his love for his family. If she could just get past the walls he built from grief, maybe that dad would still be there. And he would certainly know what she needed to do.

As she climbed the porch steps, the front door opened, and Miles Graham stepped outside with a furrowed brow. “Juliette? Cut your trip short?”

“Not exactly. Have some time for a coffee with me?” she replied, cresting the top step and allowing him to pull her into a one-armed hug.

“Sure, yeah. Just let me call down to the arena and tell them I’ll be delayed.” His voice was marred with confusion. Apparently, the element of surprise was enough to catch his attention.

She followed him inside, moving about her childhood kitchen to put a pot of coffee on while he made his call. As she scooped out the coffee grounds, she could feel his eyes on her. A father’s assessing gaze was a potent thing, and she felt like she was in high school again getting caught sneaking home from a party.

When she turned back around, she met his gaze where he sat on a barstool, his hands folded on the island’s granite countertop. “What’s going on, kid?”

She slid a cup over to him along with the creamer and remained silent as he poured it into his coffee, stirring methodically. The spoon went round and round, creating a tiny whirlwind in the cup, same as the feeling in her chest.

Finally, he looked up at her through his thick brows. “Well?”

“I haven’t gone to Argentina.”

His mouth pressed into a hard line, but he remained silent.

“I’m not sure if you recall, but I came in to tell you I had to head out of town, and you assumed it was for Argentina. And that’s kind of what I’m here to talk to you about.”

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