Page 109 of A False Start
I stand and face her as she walks in my direction wearing a simple gray t-shirt dress and leather jacket, head swiveling around the property. She looks older somehow, more mature, more self-assured. More at peace. There’s a security in her movements that wasn’t there before.
She leaves me breathless.
“Griffin?” She finally reaches the top of the hill and comes to stand mere meters away. Her voice quavers as she glances up at me, and I cram my hands into the pockets of my jeans to keep from rushing forward and touching her. I ache to touch her in a way I didn’t know was possible. To slip her hair behind her ear, to brush my nose against the tip of hers, and then tuck her under my chin. “I came as soon as I got your note.”
She fits so perfectly there. And I hope with every ounce of my being that she still feels the same.
“Hi, Wildflower.”
Her lips roll together, her lashes blinking just a little too quickly. “You look good.”
I swallow and let my gaze scour her appreciatively. In a way that makes color streak across her cheeks before I respond, “I feel good.”
She nods. “Are you divorced now?”
“As single as they come.”
A small, satisfied smile tugs at her lips. Giving me a little taste of hope. “What is this?” She clears her throat as she turns away, eyes scouring the field of wildflowers. She only turns back at Tripod’s insistence. He’s pawing at her legs, ready to burst with excitement, and when she finally pets him, his little eyes flutter shut in pleasure.
And I’m momentarily jealous of a fucking dog.
“It’s...um. Well, walk with me. I’ll show you.” I wave a hand over my shoulder and turn away, both hating not seeing her and feeling relieved by not having to look at her for a moment. I’m staring down at my boots when I see her white sneakers fall into step next to them.
Here at the top of the hill, flat green fields stretch out on both sides of the barn and paddocks. It’s the perfect spot to build. Flat and at no risk of flooding.
We walk down the driveway, the silence between us practically brimming with questions. Usually, she would fill this space with adorable ramblings, but I think she might be speechless right now. For the briefest of moments her pinky finger hooks through mine, like she just can’t help herself. But when I turn to look at her, she drops it and pushes her chin down.
“Is this all new?” she finally blurts out as we approach the end of the driveway.
“Yeah. It’s...well, it’s partly therapy. Figured out I’m happiest and healthiest when I’m working with my hands.”
I peek at her again from beneath the brim of my favorite hat. The one my grandad bought for me at my first rodeo. It was too big at the time, and I didn’t find it again until after his death. It’s funny how something you didn’t even know you had can come to mean so much to you.
We approach the front gate along the main road. “I sort of thought you might come through this way.”
She hits me with a nervous smile, palms rubbing against her skirt. “I only remembered that one spot.”
I clear my throat, trying not to blow this. “Right.” I take a few more steps and then turn to face her, waving her ahead to join me. She regards me somewhat quizzically but does as I’ve asked.
“Like I was saying. This place is partly therapy.” She turns to face the sign at the front gate, and her hand shoots up over her mouth on a strangled gasp.
“But it’s mostly for you.”
The sign readsWildflower Racehorse Rescue.
“Griffin.” All I can see is her back, the way her shoulders squeeze up tight around her ears as both hands come to cup her cheeks. I can hear her sniffle, but it’s been so long that I don’t know what’s appropriate. I don’t know if she wants me to touch her.
“Do you like it? I made it at rehab.”
“Do I like it?” She turns on me slowly, looking absolutely floored.
“The sign. I made the sign myself. Art therapy. Carved it. Painted it. I tried to use all the colors of the flowers I sent you.”
Tears streak down her face, and she goes pale, like she’s seen a ghost.Great, she hates it.Figures. I try to do something romantic and fail miserably.
She steps up to the sign where it’s mounted on two thick posts. Her manicured fingers trace the flowers I painted there before she turns to glance back up the hill. “And the barn?”
I scrub a hand across my beard. “Built that too. It’s been keeping me busy, that’s why I haven’t written lately. Didn’t want to bother you.” She stares at me blankly, so I just keep talking. “I wasn’t sure what color you’d want it to be, so I just went with white, because I thought it would be fresh and crisp. But it looked too plain. Didn’t suit you, so I added the blue tin roof and trim. We can change it.”
