The Valentine Box (The Box Books #3)

February 11

Luke

T he conversation with Taylor yesterday left me deflated, so I’m nursing my wounds in the barn—currently brushing down Duchess, a little black dappled pony who loves the attention.

I’ve said similar things to women as what Taylor said to me in the cemetery. And what it always means is: I’m just not that into you.

The problem here is: She sure seemed into me. And just like her recent texts, the words didn’t ring true.

Is that wishful thinking? The arrogant arguments of a guy who usually has women chasing him, not turning him down?

Maybe.

But the thing I loved about Taylor back in school—and again recently—was her openness and authenticity. There just wasn’t a fake bone in her body. Or so I thought. And I don’t think she lies very well.

Unless, again, I’m deluding myself.

“Know what I like about horses?” I murmur to Duchess. “You’re kind of like dogs—you don’t strategize. You don’t hide your feelings. You just keep things real.”

In response, the pony turns her head to look at where the brush has gone still on her coat when I started talking, as if to say: I don’t mind listening, but get back to work . It makes me laugh. A little, anyway. “Like I said, you keep it real.”

I look up when Mom enters the barn in her riding gear.

“Let me finish up with Miss Duchess here,” I tell her, “and then I’ll grab our saddles.”

Yesterday’s snow, while falling briskly for a little while, didn’t amount to much, and we decided it would do us both good to get out for a ride in the crisp air. I need a break from estate work, from missing the way things were with Taylor until a few days ago—from everything .

Well, that’s a lie—not everything. I don’t mind checking in every day with my Canyon Life managers, and I’m still invigorated by working on plans for the sanctuary. But the Taylor situation kind of overshadows all that right now.

Like clockwork, Mom says, “You should invite Taylor back over. I’d like to get to know her better.”

I just let out a sigh and keep it short. “That’s over.”

I don’t have to take my eyes off Duchess to sense Mom’s face falling. “Oh no. Why?”

I simply shoot her a look.

Which she reads loud and clear. “Don’t feel like talking about it?”

“Nope. Just feel like hanging out with the horses. And you,” I remember to add.

She lets out a chuckle. “I’m grateful to be included.”

“They just calm me down,” I tell her of the horses as I give Duchess a little pat near her tail to shoo her gently back out into the pasture.

“You think I don’t know that?” she asks without missing a beat.

It catches me off guard as I look up.

“They always have, from when you were little. Any time you got in trouble or had a disagreement with your dad, out here to the barn you came.”

I try to think back. “Huh. Guess I didn’t realize it went back that far. I only knew that leaving the horses when we moved was almost as hard as leaving my friends.”

“Guess the horses were your friends, too,” she says, leading Lady Jane from her stall. “Only in a different way.”

Mom holds the palomino’s bridle as I place a wool blanket on her back. “All I know is that I’m gonna miss these guys when I leave.”

“They’ll miss you, too,” she tells me with a small smile. “You’ve been spoiling them in a way I can’t anymore.”

As I heft Lady Jane’s saddle into place, I tell Mom, “Well, maybe I’ll come home a little more often now. To tell you the truth, I’d like to see the farm in springtime. And summer. It’s been a while.” Most of my visits since Mom and Dad’s return to Sweetwater have been at Thanksgiving and Christmas when nothing’s green or in bloom.

That’s when Mom leans around the horse’s head to ask me with raised brows, “Are you sure you want to go back out west?”

I give her another pointed look. Wants are irrelevant. “I have a business to run there.”

“And you have a new one to run here .”