Page 57 of Revelry
I limped home, my ankle actually not bad thanks to his care, and finished getting ready before heading over to the ranch. Jack was on paperwork duty due to his thumb so August and I rode out to finish checking the fences from yesterday.
On the way back, I glanced at her, auburn hair flailing behind her under her sage green Stetson. Her hands light and relaxed on Marshmallow’s reins and I was pleased she was riding him again. She was the softest Cartwright sister. The dreamer. The romantic. The nature lover. And sometimes I found a peace in August that I couldn’t find with anyone else. She made me ponder, made me think existential thoughts and get deep with myself.
I had been thinking about my ex recently. About not wanting to love again. I didn’t want to but I also didn’t think Icouldbe loved again, if I was ever truly loved in the first place.
Tate popped into my mind and I shoved him away. I didn’t love Tate. I just wanted him for his body. But being around him and seeing the reaction my body had to him gave me pause. I never felt alive with Gary the way I did with Tate.
“Do you think people can love again after trauma?” I asked abruptly.
August blinked, coming out of her trance. She hit me with a gentle smile.
“Of course. The best loves come after trauma.”
The soft lilt of her voice hit me in the chest and I almost gasped for breath. There was something ethereal about her. Like she could see things you couldn’t and know things you didn’t. If she said it, I believed her, simple as that.
“But you’ve got to be ready for it. And don’t turn your back on it when it comes for you again, Gertie. Because it will, sooner than you think.” She smiled softly before turning back to Marshmallow. “Tate’s here. Let’s get them back to the stables for shoeing. Race you!” she shouted before taking off.
“No fair!” I called after her but loving the rush of the race again.
I galloped along with Sunshine, the caramel-colored mare who knew exactly how fast I liked to go. I ended up overtaking August, but I had a feeling she slowed Marshmallow to let me win.
“Nice try, Dreamer,” I chastised, nudging August when I walked past with Sunshine in tow.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied demurely but the twinkle in her amber eyes didn’t lie.
Then I lost my breath for a second time. Tate stood in the stables, black chaps, black Stetson and blue denim shirt stretched tight across his sculpted chest. A chest I had been within licking distance of only a few hours ago.
He looked up, his eyes lingering briefly before he turned back to the forge. “Who wants to go first?”
My vagina screamedI do, I do!before I told her to shush it.
“Fitzwilliam has been looking forward to it,” August said, and Tate didn’t bat an eyelid at what she said or disagree, he just nodded. August took Sunshine’s reins off me, and I reached Fitzwilliam’s stall, the grumpy fool huffing at me as I stroked his nose.
“Don’t give me any ’tude, boy. Tate wants to make your shoes all shiny and new so come on,” I whispered to him. He flicked hisears at me and I sighed, reaching into the bag hanging next to the stall and pulling out a couple of sugar cubes.
“If you get cubes, are you gonna behave for Tate?” I shit you not, Fitzwilliam nodded. The cubes were hoovered off my hand with a brush of his lips and a tickle of whiskers. Then I was bringing him out and walking him to the spot Tate indicated.
“I’ll leave you to it, if that’s okay?” August called. I nodded and then she was gone, leaving me and Tate alone with the horses.
And his leather chaps.
And those slutty little glasses.
I took a seat on an upturned bucket and watched as Tate said hello to Fitz. The stallion didn’t flick his ears or tail in warning, if anything he welcomed Tate’s touch. I watched, amazed as Tate lifted his hock smoothly and pulled it between his knees, inspecting the shoe.
“He’s not an asshole with you,” I blurted out.
Tate shook his head, a snort slipping out and the sound filled me with joy. “Grumpy recognizes grumpy I guess.”
I shook my head. “You’re not grumpy, Tate.”
“Oh no?” He began tugging off the old shoe, muscles clenching in his forearm at the strain.
My mouth ran dry. “Uh, nope. I think you fake it.”
No response.
“You want people to think you’re grumpy so they leave you alone. But I’ve seen snippets of the real you.”
