Page 24 of Broken Roads
Tessa looks up then, surprise briefly overtaking whatever careful distance she's maintaining. "You remembered that? He's been searching for months."
"Hard to forget when he talks about nothing else." Beckett's smile is genuine but cautious, like he's not sure how it will be received. "Figured it might help with his collection."
"That's... really thoughtful." Tessa takes the package, her fingers brushing against Beckett's for the briefest moment. She pulls back quickly, tucking the package into her apron pocket. "He'll be thrilled. Thank you."
She turns away to prepare Beckett's order—some kind of pastry wrapped in wax paper, a coffee in a to-go cup. Her movements are efficient but somehow stiffer than before, the easy flow of her body replaced by something more controlled.
"Feed's all loaded up," Beckett says to me. "Ready when you are."
Tessa hands him his order, a smile on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "On the house. For Dylan's card."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to."
Another loaded silence, another exchange of looks I can't decipher. Then Beckett nods, accepting both the coffee and pastry.
"I'll wait outside," he tells me, then with a final nod to Tessa, he's gone.
She watches him go before she turns to me with a brightness that seems slightly forced. "Well, that's your chauffeur sorted."
I hesitate, tempted to ask about whatever just happened, but something tells me it's too soon, the friendship too new for such probing.
Instead, I say, "Thank you for everything today. The coffee, the boots..."
She waves away my thanks, her natural warmth reasserting itself. "That's what friends are for." She reaches across the counter and squeezes my hand. "Don't be a stranger. My door's always open for coffee, pastries, or just to talk."
The offer settles warm in my chest, a tether in this new place where I've felt adrift since arriving. "I'll be back soon," I promise.
As I turn to leave, Tessa calls after me, "And Hailey? Don't let Bradley get under your skin. Unless, of course, that's exactly where you want him."
Her knowing wink sends heat rushing to my face as I hurry out the door, nearly tripping over my new boots in my haste to escape her too-accurate observation.
Chapter 10
Bradley
The western saddle weighs heavy in my hands as I lift it for the Miller kids to see. Max stands patient and solid beside me, his chestnut coat gleaming from the brushing I gave him earlier. Horses, leather, the sweet smell of hay, and me showing the next generation the proper way of things should be enough to hold my full attention. It always has been before. But today, my eyes keep drifting to the road beyond the stable yard, searching for a truck that isn't there yet.
“This here is what we call the pommel and this is the horn," I explain to the Miller twins who stare up at me with identical expressions of wonder. They're maybe eight or nine, all gangly limbs and freckles. "And this part here is the cantle."
"It's heavy," the boy says—Tommy or Timmy, I'm not sure.
"Has to be," I reply, setting the saddle on the wooden rack beside Max. "Horse weighs over a thousand pounds. Saddle needs to be sturdy."
My gaze slides past the children to the empty drive beyond. The sun hangs low enough now that it'll be casting long shadowsacross the town's main street. I wonder if Beckett's already taken her to get those boots she needs. The thought of him helping her try them on, his hands near her feet, her ankles—
"Mr. Walker?" The girl—Sarah, I think—tugs at my sleeve. "How come Max doesn't run away when you put the saddle on him?"
I drag my attention back where it belongs. "Because he's trained. And because we have trust built between us." I run a hand down Max's neck, feeling the warm, solid muscle beneath his coat. The steadiness of him anchors me, as it always has. "Horse has to know you're not going to hurt him. Has to believe you know what you're doing."
Unlike people, horses don't judge based on your past mistakes. They judge on how you treat them in the moment. They forgive, but they don't forget. They're simple that way. Unlike city girls with secrets in their eyes and berry-scented shampoo that lingers in the bathroom long after they've gone.
I clear my throat, forcing those thoughts away. "Alright, watch this." I lift the saddle again, demonstrating the correct angle and placement. "You see this pad underneath? Makes it more comfortable for the horse. Like the difference between sitting on a wooden chair or a cushioned one."
The boy nods seriously. "Dad says we have to take care of things that take care of us."
"Your dad's right." My hands move automatically, positioning the saddle pad on Max's back, smoothing it out with practiced motions. Max shifts his weight slightly, familiar with the routine. "Stand back so you can see."
