Page 19 of Awaiting the Storm
I give a short nod and grab the pitchfork again, turn to the next stall, and stab it into the straw.
She grabs a rake of her own and moves in beside me. We work in rhythm, scooping, dumping, laying down clean bedding. We don’t speak. The quiet lingering between us isn’t angry, just heavy.
Then the footsteps echo down the aisle.
At first, I don’t look up. People wander the stables all day long—boarders, delivery guys, and clients showing up for their riding lessons. But then I hear his voice.
“Hey, Matty.”
My blood chills. I turn around slowly to face him.
Carl’s standing at the barn entrance, sunlight outlining his tall frame, like something out of a damn movie. His hands tucked into his pockets and a contrite look on his face. Rugged as ever—jeans worn in just right, shirt rolled at the sleeves, a week’s worth of stubble hugging that familiar jaw. Same crooked smile.
The same man who left.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, voice flat.
Shelby glances between us, eyes narrowing, but she keeps her mouth shut.
Carl takes a tentative step forward. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was in town, and I ran into Giles. Heard you could use some help.”
“You heard wrong,” I say, then turn my attention back to the stall.
He pauses, obviously expecting or maybe hoping for more warmth than he’s getting. “You’re mucking stalls, Matty. Clearly, you need help.”
I glare over my shoulder at him. “What is it really, Carl? You finally run out of money?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. I’ve been living out in Jackson Hole. Got a job on a farm out past Moose-Wilson Road. But it doesn’t feel right. Nothing does. Not since I left. Not without you. I miss you like crazy. I miss us.”
I drop the pitchfork with a loud clang. “Don’t,” I warn.
“Matty—”
“No,” I cut in, stepping toward him. “You don’t get to show up here and act like we had a little lovers’ quarrel and hit pause. You left. You walked away when I needed you the most.”
“You didn’t need me,” he says, frustrated now. “You didn’t even see me. All you saw was the books, the fences, the bills. You turned into someone else, and I was the last thing on your long list of obligations.”
“Oh my God,” I say, tugging off my gloves. “You’re serious? No, Carl. I didn’t become someone else. I was trying to carry the burden, and as my fiancé, you should’ve loved me enough to help me carry it.”
He flinches.
Good.
“But instead of being the man I needed you to be,” I add, “you quit. You packed your things and drove off in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye.”
“I didn’t know what else to do!” he explodes. “You were shutting me out. I felt like I was just another body on your to-do list.”
“And you think I wanted to be that way?” I snap. “You think I enjoyed watching this ranch fall apart piece by piece while everyone I cared about either walked away or I had to lay them off? I was trying to save something.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I made a mistake, okay? A big one. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought for us.”
“Yeah,” I say, folding my arms. “You should have.”
For a long beat, the only sound is the rustle of Jupiter shifting in his stall, the creak of old wood. Then Shelby suddenly steps up beside me, arms crossed, just like mine.
“You want to help?” she says coolly. “We need manure hauled to the compost pile. Wheelbarrow’s over there.” She points to the other end of the barn.
Carl gives a soft laugh, but he’s smart enough to know she’s not joking.
