Chapter 7
Harrison
I don’t make it to the track. The sun’s already climbing when I step out of the house, coffee in hand, boots still dusty from yesterday.
There’s a gate down on the north pasture and one of the water troughs isn’t filling right.
Normal ranch problems that I understand.
I tell myself that’s why I stayed here today.
By midmorning, I’ve got my hands deep in rusted bolts and sun-warmed metal, sweat rolling down my spine. I wrestle the gate upright, cinch the hinge tight, and test it twice. The cattle watch me with lazy interest, chewing slow like they’ve got all the time in the world. I envy that.
My phone stays in my pocket. I don’t check it. In fact, I don’t even reach for it. If I start that habit, I won’t stop. Nicole said she understood if I couldn’t be there every day. That doesn’t mean I like it.
I lean back against the fence and take a pull from my water bottle, eyes tracking the line of the land.
This ranch has been mine for a long time.
Bought, paid for, and worked into something solid.
I know every rise and dip. Every place the earth softens too much after a hard rain.
I like knowing where things stand. I don’t like how often my thoughts drift thirty miles east.
I picture her without trying to. The way she stands still on purpose and the way she doesn’t rush my horse. Nicole has this way of looking at a horse like it’s a silent conversation instead of a problem to solve.
I tighten the last bolt harder than necessary.
Red Ledger would be in the pen right now. I know the rhythm already, even without watching. He’d test once, maybe twice. She’d wait him out. He’d decide.
Trust that is earned and not forced gets under my skin. So does she.
Her smile haunts me, along with the intensity of her gaze.
When Nicole looks at you, it's like being singled out in a crowded room and not knowing whether you should be grateful or brace for impact. And those beautiful brown eyes. They’re kind, but deep with a kind of knowledge most people don’t have.
When she looks at me, it makes me feel like she believes me and my horse are worth her time and trouble.
Of course, she is getting paid a handsome sum to get Red Ledger straightened out. She also would make no guarantee. That should make this easier. It doesn’t. I looked her webpage up last night. Her list of racing winners she’s worked with is quite impressive.
I haul the old trough out and scrub it clean, muscles burning, sun beating down. One of the part-time hands drives by in the truck and tips his hat. I return it automatically, conversation unnecessary.
This is the work that steadies me. But, it’s not really working today. My mind slides back to the track and the window where I view her working with my colt. To the space she insists on keeping between herself and anyone who might interfere.
I wipe my hands on my jeans and finally pull my phone from my pocket. No messages. No missed calls. It’s disappointing. She’s not the type to check in. She doesn’t need reassurance.
I type her name into my contacts and stop there. I don’t text or call. I shove the phone back into my pocket like it burned me.
By late afternoon, the work’s done. The gates are fixed and the trough is flowing clean. The ranch looks the way it should. But, I don’t.
I sit on the tailgate and stare out at the land that’s never once surprised me. That’s one of the things I like about it. This land is predictable, loyal and uncomplicated.
Women are not any of those things, at least from my experience. And the worst part — the part I don’t want to admit even to myself — is that not seeing Nicole today didn’t dull anything about my growing interest. It sharpened it.
I imagine her in the pen, dust on her boots, hair pulled back, attention fixed somewhere just beyond reach. I imagine Red Ledger choosing calm again, because she gave him space to.
I imagine what it would be like to be trusted like that. That thought lands too close to something I’ve been avoiding.
I stand, slam the tailgate shut, and head back toward the house. The sun’s dropping now, painting the pasture gold. Another good day’s work. Another night alone.
Tomorrow, I tell myself, I’ll make the drive. Because whatever this is … it’s already too insistent inside me to ignore. I’m starting to realize something that sits heavy in my heart and mind. I didn’t come into this looking for love. But I don’t think I can keep pretending I’m not looking at all.