“You must be Riley,” she says with a smile. I’m about to extend my hand for a shake, when she just ignores it and pulls me into a hug. “Lake’s told us about you.”
“Not a whole lot,” Kaylee says as she hugs me too. “Cause as you know, my brother isn’t one much for words. But it’s all been good.”
“I don’t know that it’s really all good, but it’s nice of you to say that,” I say with a chuckle. “And, yes, I’m Riley. You must be Mom to the clan.”
“That’s one way to put it,” she says with a chuckle. “My name is Robin.”
“Well, thank you for lending me your boys today. We really appreciate it.”
“Yes, we do,” Mom says, cooing to the little girl she’s holding. She has white-blonde curls, a halo around her head. She looks like she’s just over a year old.
“And who’s this?” I ask as I reach out and shake her little pudgy hand.
“That’s Quinn,” Kaylee starts introducing. “And Mom has Afton. They’re eighteen months old. And that little monster trying to help the guys out is Lucian. He’s almost four.”
I look after him. He’s got a hammer and is chasing Kale around with it. Kale screams dramatically and runs away. Lucian then turns on Julian. He’s got the lot of them laughing.
“And this is Paisley,” Kaylee introduces the young lady standing at her side.
“I’m six,” she says quietly, like she’s shy, but wants to be a part of our adult conversation.
“Would you like to see my horse, Paisley?” I ask, because her eyes keep darting toward the barn.
Her face breaks out in a huge grin, and she nods vigorously.
We cross over to the barn. I look over my shoulder once as we go and see Lake watching us from the entrance to the new barn. He gives me one wink before going back inside.
Something gives my heart a quick, little kick.
“This is where you work, all the time?” Paisley asks as we walk between stalls. I introduce her to each horse as we go.
“Yep.”
“Lucky.”
We all have a laugh at that.
“And this is Lady,” I introduce her to the stout little mare. “She’s getting a lot better. I bet in another two weeks, you could ride her.”
“Really?” the little girl asks, her eyes brightening up. “I’ve always wanted a horse. I asked Santa last year, but all he brought was a stuffed one.”
“Aw,” I say sympathetically as I look up at Kaylee. She barely resists rolling her eyes and gives a little shake of her head. “Well, I’ll be sure your Uncle Lake gives you a call the second Lady is ready for you to ride her.”
“Can I sit on any of the other ones?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say, leading them all back to the end. “This is Radio. I’ve had him since he was born. Come on in.”
Paisley is nervous at first, unsure of where to hang on or what to do with her feet. But soon she’s comfortable and patting his neck as she talks to him.
“I’ll never get her to come home now,” Kaylee says with a laugh. Outside, we hear Lucian give a terrible, barbaric yell. It startles some of the horses, but never Radio.
“Little girls and horses just go hand-in-hand,” Mom says as she lets Quinn pet Trapper’s nose.
“That they do,” I say.
Everyone heads home around seven. What has been a ruckus chorus of saws and hammers all day, is now a quiet ranch again. Mom feeds Lake and I dinner before heading to her room to call Lynda.
The two of us walk back out to the stalls. It’s simple. It stretches wide and there are little windows opening in to each stall from the overhang. We used wood arches as braces to make it look nice and higher end. On one end is the main entrance. Lake opens the door for me, and we walk down the aisles slowly.
Warm wood lines every wall. It’s all so fresh and new and smells of cedar and straw. Just this morning, we got a call from someone looking for a place to board their two quarter horses.
Silently, Lake and I work together to get the straw lain out in the stalls. The sun shines through the door, casting us in a golden glow.
“This place turned out really amazing,” I say when we’re finished as I lean against the wall, one booted foot flat against it.
“It all came together pretty nice,” Lake says, observing the space around us. It’s all finished, except for the shingles on the roof. We’ll finish that on Monday. “It was nice so many people showed up to lend a hand.”
“Yeah,” I say. The back of my throat feels tight. It’s easy to forget that people in this world still have kindness in them. Being on the receiving end of it is humbling.
Lake takes the American flag he brought out with us and hangs it above the stalls. As I look at it, a tear leaks out one corner of my eye and rolls down my face.
Dad would be so proud.
When Lake looks back at me, he freezes, his eyes locked on me.
We stand there for a moment, him looking at me. He’s seeing into a deep part of me, a place I keep hidden and don’t show anyone. And I find myself wishing I could get another rare glimpse into him as well.
“Thank you for this,” I say, my voice small and quiet. “This was all you. You didn’t have to, and no one asked. But you did it. And for that, I’m grateful.”
Lake slides his hands into his pockets and takes a few slow steps toward me. His eyes drop to the ground at our feet. “You know, for a long time, I’ve felt like I didn’t really matter. If that makes any sense. Being in the Marines helped some. But you know that feeling of emptiness?” he looks up at me, his eyes opening up in a way that I can see. And I do know. “It was always there. But being here lately? It’s changed that. I love what we do here. I love working the ranch and the long days and the feeling that I’m doing something good. That I’m doing something important.”
He takes two more steps toward me. He’s close enough that I can smell him now. The sweat of the day. The scent of his shampoo from this morning. And something that is so Lake that it sends my head spinning.
“But it’s not just the ranch and the work, Riley,” he says quietly. His voice is low and warm, just like the day outside. “It’s you, too. When I’m around you, I feel like I matter.”
Something builds inside of me, something that resembles a thousand hooves beating across the fields at sunrise.
One slow, carefully thought out step at a time, he closes the space between us. He places a hand on the wall on either side of my head, boxing me in. His eyes study my face. My cheeks, my nose, my lips. His face is so close.
Something in my blood jumps to life, and I’m staring at his mouth.
“What’s holding you back, Riley?” he finally says. His voice is low and rough. And there’s a mountain of unspoken words behind it. “Why won’t you let yourself go?”
My eyes climb back up to his. We study each other, and everything in me feels fuzzy and ignited.
I want to let go. I want to fly and to break free and to surface and soar.
But.
But.
But that picture of us with the red X over Lake flashes through my mind again.
“Because I’ve let myself go too many times and it’s exploded every one of them,” I say, going against everything in me. “You only take so many chances before you call it quits.”
The moments between us stretch on long and intense as our eyes remain locked. His eyes are guarded, but there is a pinprick of an opening in them, letting me see deep and long.
We’re both standing behind shields. He wants to lay his down, but I just can’t.
Slowly, with control and training behind it, he leans forward. His lips brush over my cheek, lingering long. Every nerve ending in my body goes crazy. Something in me is going to explode. Something in me is going to fly. My eyes slide closed and my breath catches in my chest.
I want to let go. I want to breathe and let my emotions take control.
But.
But.
Without saying any
thing, Lake backs away. He brushes the back of his fingers across my other cheek, holding onto my gaze for just a moment longer.
And then he turns and walks out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
We work up a new schedule.
Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are for training. I work all the horses. Saddle training, work with problem areas, exposure to touch. Whatever they need.
Tuesdays and Thursdays are for riding lessons. I’m up to five clients in just a few days. At an hour each, they eat up half my day. After that, it’s teaching Lake more horse skills. Riding, how to saddle, bridles, anything and everything. He’s an amazing student. And there’s also helping Mom in the yard.
By the end of the first week, we’ve already filled half the boarding stalls. It’s a beautiful thing that I don’t have to do a thing with them, other than making sure that Lake gets them fed every morning and night. Not that I have to make sure he does his job.
Within two weeks, we’ve already brought in more money than we did all of last month.
By the time July first rolls around, I’m confident that we’ve got this.
We had to change our game plan. We had to step it up, and I had to put in a whole lot more hours, but we’ve got this.
I head inside after another fifteen hour day, my body tired and sore. I take some leftovers from the fridge, warm them up and am about to head up to my room when I hear Mom call for me.
“Can I talk to you for a while?” she asks when I walk inside the office.
“What’s up?” I say around a mouthful of casserole.
She looks nervous, but there’s also another emotion behind her eyes that I can’t quite decipher. “I wanted to talk to you about something I’ve been thinking about the last few weeks.”
“Okay,” I say. I fork another bite of piping hot mush into my mouth.
“You’ve worked your heart and soul into this ranch ever since we bought it,” she says with a smile. Crow’s feet spread out from the corners of her eyes when she does that, reminding me that she’s getting older and slowing down. “And the work that you and Lake have been doing here the past month has been incredible. I never thought we could get this scale of an operation going on here. I’m really proud of you, Riley.”
This is weird. Mom doesn’t usually make speeches like this. This is leading somewhere important. And suddenly, I’m unsure I want to hear the rest.
But Mom continues on regardless.
“I’ve decided to hand the ranch over to you, Sweetie,” she says, that nervousness creeping back up in her eyes again. “Your aunt Lynda could use some more help. She’s lonely, and I do miss her. I’ve decided to move in with her. Permanently.”
“What?” I ask, setting my food aside finally. “Like, you wouldn’t be coming back?”
“Of course I’ll come visit sometimes,” she says. She rolls her chair forward and takes one of my hands in hers. “But yes, I’d live back in Virginia again full-time. And James Ranch will be yours.”
“But, I—”
“Sweetie, this is long overdue,” Mom says, squeezing my hand and giving it a little shake. She’s not going to let me try and talk her out of this. “You’re twenty-six years old. You can’t keep having me over your shoulder your whole life. And this is your life. We bought this place because of you. It’s where your heart is. This is what you’re meant to be doing with your life. And now, I need to let you live your life.”
“Mom,” I say, at a complete loss for words.
“You can do this,” she says with a smile. “This is your time to shine.”
I swallow hard. I feel excitement in my blood, strong and warm. But I also feel terror.
I’ve always had her to fall back on. She’s always been there to catch me when I fall. And I’ve fallen so many times.
But I’ve always known that I needed to do this on my own.
And now is my time to fly.
“Okay.”
She teaches me how to do the bookwork. We call all of our clients together, letting them know I am taking over the ranch. We start the paperwork to legally switch the ranch over to my name.
And within a week, Mom packs her things up. She ships them to Lynda. She sells her truck.
She claims we couldn’t have a goodbye at the airport because we’d make too much of a scene. So she arranges for a cab to pick her up and take her to SeaTac.
We give each other tearful goodbyes. It’s taking everything I’ve got in me to not break down and sob. To try and tell her she needs to stay.
But she’s right. It’s time. This is where I want and need to be.
It’s time to live my life as an adult and take charge.
So I watch her roll down our driveway in the cab.
Lake stands at my side as we watch her go.
And without thinking, I slip my hand into his.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It’s hard.
Long days. Hot sun. Humidity. Chaotic running between lessons and training and figuring out the office stuff. I’ve never had to be the face of the ranch before. And now it’s all on me.
But over the next month, we flourish.
Lake and I are so busy keeping everything running that we don’t have a spare second to analyze feelings. We just work.
Constantly.
By the time we get to the end of July, we’ve made enough that I can hire a bookkeeper. Numbers are not my strong point, and if I continue to handle the financials, we won’t make it. That takes one responsibility off my shoulders.
Surprisingly, Lake takes on a huge amount of accountability for the ranch on as well. He carries the phone around with him everywhere and answers it when it does ring. He gets new clients. He schedules my lessons. When people want to host events here, he handles it. He talks to people while I’m out working.
He also takes over Mom’s vegetable garden. Good thing, because under my care, it would have died.
If I were to lose Lake as an employee, there’s no way I’d be able to continue working the ranch. We would go under without him.
I’ve just sat down on the couch for two seconds at the end of the day on a Thursday in August, when the phone rings. Thankfully for my exhausted feet, the phone is within reach and I grab it off the end table.
“Hello,” I say when I recognize Jesse’s number.
“She hasn’t disappeared into horse land oblivion,” he says with a chuckle. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get you on the phone again.”
“Yeah,” I say with a chuckle. “Things have been pretty busy around here.”
“That’s a good thing,” Jesse says. “Hey, I wondered if you’d do me a favor. My cousin is getting married on Saturday, and he’s kind of a jackass, so if I don’t show up with a date I will never, ever hear the end of it. Would you like, pretend to be my date? Think you could stand to be around me for an entire evening?”
“Wow, I didn’t know it was that much of a problem,” I say with a laugh. “I was pretty sure I could stand to be around you, all the time.”
“Sorry,” he says, his voice sounding uncomfortable. “I nearly psyched myself out of asking. I guess this is why I’m still single. Smooth isn’t exactly my middle name.”
I laugh with him, even though I’m exhausted and tired. “Uh, yeah, why not? For the first time in weeks, I don’t have anything pressing on my schedule Saturday. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at four?” he says. It’s easy to hear the appreciation in his voice.
“See you then.”
The air is hot Friday night. The temperature reached ninety-seven, with eighty percent humidity. Since it doesn’t normally get this hot in the summer, we don’t have an air conditioning unit. The windows are all open in the house, fans blowing, just trying to stir the air up.
So, at two-sixteen a.m., when someone yells out in the night, I hear it.
I’m familiar enough with his voice that I know it’s Lake.
And he sounds like he’s in pain.
 
; I scramble from the bed, darting down the stairs, through the back door. I sprint across the gravel with bare feet. My feet pound his wooden stairs as I dart up and into his apartment.
I hear him swear in the darkness and I switch a light on. Faintly, I can see his figure sitting at the edge of his bed, cradling his hand.
“What happened?” I ask as he looks over at me.
His brows are drawn together as I walk toward him. He seems slightly confused, still half asleep, half in agony. ‘Cause when I look down at his hand, it’s covered in blood.
The ceramic lamp that normally sits next to his bed is shattered, pieces on the table and across the floor.
“What happened?” I ask again as I duck into the bathroom, looking for anything to bandage his hand. Thankfully, under the sink, I find a first aid kit. Grabbing a rag and wetting it, I walk back into the bedroom.
“There was…” he pants. I then notice the sweat that covers his brown. “An explosion. Shrapnel—everywhere.”
I squat in front of him and gently take his hand. He flinches back from me, his eyes still wild and not fully awake.
“Lake,” I say, my voice firm but even. “It was a dream. You’re not in Iraq anymore. You’re here. With me. At home.”
His eyes lock on mine, and slowly, slowly, they start to focus.
As I take his hand once more and start dabbing at the blood, he looks around. “I’m…I’m sorry about the lamp. I’ll get a new one.”
“Don’t worry about the lamp,” I say, shaking my head. “Are you okay? That must have been a pretty intense flashback you were having.”
His head drops and with his uninjured hand, he rubs at his eyes. “Yeah.”
The excess blood wiped away, I take a bandage and put it over one of the cuts. I then cover the other. It isn’t too bad. Not bad enough for stitches.
“Was it about Cal?” I ask. I’m still holding his hand, even though I’m done cleaning it up. It takes me a moment, but I’m finally brave enough to look up at him.
His eyes are on the broken pieces of lamp on the bedside table. They’re unfocused, like he’s seeing it all again.