Page 55 of Awaiting the Storm
It’s not that I don’t want to see him. I do. I haven’t stopped thinking about him. But something in me keeps second-guessing. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s that bone-deep self-preservation skill I’ve been sharpening for years.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “It’s been a lot. Getting Daddy settled. This sale. And I’ve still got a mountain of work to catch up on.”
“Matty,” he says, soft and low.
My eyes close, my head resting back against the post. God, just hearing him breathe my name has my whole body remembering the feel of his hands, the weight of him over me, the warmth of his mouth.
“I know you have more important things to worry about right now, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About what happened between us.”
“I haven’t either,” I admit. “But I’m not sure I can juggle anything else right now.”
“I’m not asking you to juggle anything,” he says gently. “I just want to see you.”
I don’t reply.
He doesn’t push.
“Tell you what. You let me know when you’re ready,” he says, and I hear the understanding in his voice. The patience.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I will.”
I click off the line and stare at the phone for a long time before setting it down beside me and wrapping my arms around my knees.
Perhaps saying yes to the land sale was the easy part, and the harder decision—the one I’m still not ready to make—is whether I can risk putting my heart on the line again.
The sun hangs low over the west pasture, casting a warm late-afternoon light across the ranch and giving it a golden glow. Luna and I rode the boundary one last time this morning while it all still belonged to us, and Cabe and I have spent the entire afternoon in the stables with a farrier, tending to most of the horses. We’ve trimmed and balanced the hooves of both our working horses and the ones we board. We’ve also added winter shoes with extra traction to our personal horses, which we will be riding throughout the winter months.
I follow the farrier to her van, helping carry her equipment before heading out to find my sisters. The wind is brisk, and I pull my jacket tighter around me as I walk toward the arena.
I spot Charli first, sitting on the top rail of the arena’s fence. She grips the steel with both hands, her eyes focused on the action below. Giles stands near the first barrel, arms crossed and brow furrowed in concentration as Shelby and Jupiter make a loop. Shelby is in the saddle, her braid bouncing against her back as she tugs the reins and turns Jupiter around the second barrel in a tight, dusty arc.
However, they don’t clear the barrel—at least not cleanly. Jupiter stumbles slightly, hesitating, which costs them speed, and his back inside leg brushes against the barrel. I can see it from here, even before Giles raises his hand to call her off.
Shelby slows, reins him in, and trots over, cheeks flushed and jaw set in frustration.
I climb up next to Charli, and we sit in silence, watching as Giles points toward Jupiter’s hind leg. He talks with his hands, and it’s as if I can understand him just through his gestures.
“Trouble at the second barrelagain?” I ask.
Charli nods. “Same as yesterday. She asked Giles to come out and have a look.”
“Hopefully, he can figure out the problem and correct it.”
“Yeah, and quickly,” she says. “The rodeo’s this weekend, and if she’s gonna win that purse, she needs that horse running clean.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. That’s exactly what I came out here to talk about.
Shelby dismounts and walks Jupiter over to cool down. Giles follows along at her side, and they’re still deep in conversation. Jupiter tosses his head a little, but Shelby keeps her voice calm and her movements smooth as she leads him to the gate.
I hop down from the rail as they approach, pet Jupiter’s nose, and give Shelby a smile. “Hey, you got a second?”
“Sure,” she says, looping Jupiter’s reins over a post before joining me at the fence.
I fold my arms, watching the horse paw the ground and toss his mane. “I’ve been thinking about this weekend. About the rodeo.”
She gives me a sideways look. “What about it?”
“You don’t have to enter, you know. Not now.”
