Chapter 23
23
Walker
Pitchfork in hand, I attacked the stall with a vengeance that had nothing to do with the mess of hay and manure. Each jab was punctuated by a muttered curse, each toss of detritus a release for the frustration boiling up inside me. Sweat trickled down my back, but it wasn’t the late morning heat or the labor that had me worked up—it was everything else.
“Damn it,” I grumbled under my breath, wrestling with the stubborn pile in the corner. The muscles in my arms bulged with the effort, the tendons standing out like ropes against my skin. This was supposed to be where I found peace, where the simple, honest work of the ranch brought me back to center. But today, the smell of hay and horse did nothing to soothe the storm churning in my chest.
The creak of leather boots on straw announced his presence before he said a word. Gray. Even without looking up, I knew it was him—the slow, measured stride, the weight of responsibility in each step.
“Morning’s almost over, Walker,” Gray’s voice carried across the stable, easy as a summer breeze, but with an undertone of caution that told me he knew something was off. “You’re usually done with this by now.”
I didn’t bother turning around. Didn’t trust myself to keep the edge out of my voice if we were face-to-face. Instead, I drove the pitchfork into the mound harder, as if I could bury my troubles along with the soiled straw.
“Got a late start,” I said, the words clipped and short. My grip tightened on the wooden handle, splinters threatening to pierce skin that was already rough from years of ranch work.
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t push further, just leaned against the wall, watching. I could feel his eyes on me, steady and unrelenting, like the midday sun. Gray had always been the rock, the one who shouldered the burdens without complaint. And here he was, doing what he did best—waiting me out.
“Anything you want to talk about?” There it was, the offer laid out with all the subtlety of a bull at a gate. So much for waiting me out.
“Nothing worth talking about,” I lied, tossing another forkful aside with more force than necessary. The truth was, my head was a tangled mess of thoughts and feelings, none of them good company.
For a moment, there was silence, save for the rhythmic swish of straw. Then the soft thud of his boots as he stepped into the stall, joining me in the muck. That was Gray for you. Always ready to wade into the thick of it, whether it was trouble or manure.
Even so, his presence felt like a thistle in my boot—irritating and impossible to ignore.
“Look, if you’re just gonna stand there, you might as well make yourself useful,” I snapped without looking up, hoping he’d take the hint and leave me to my sullen brooding. The last thing I wanted was a heart-to-heart with my big brother looming over me like some sort of countrified therapist.
Gray didn’t budge—metaphorically speaking. He never did. Instead, he picked up a spare fork and started working alongside me, moving with a methodical patience that grated on my already frayed nerves.
“Come on, Walker. I know that look,” he said, his voice even but insistent. “You’re about as transparent as mama’s picture windows. Spill it.”
“Nothing to spill,” I muttered, lying through my teeth. My shoulders tensed, waiting for him to call me out on it. But Gray just kept at it, flinging soiled hay with the steady rhythm of a metronome, giving me a silent nudge to open up despite my stubborn resolve.
“Alright then,” he conceded with deceptive ease, “but just remember, fences need mending before they fall apart completely.”
I huffed at the metaphor. The man could be infuriatingly wise sometimes.
“Fine,” I relented, figuring a little honesty might get him off my back. “It’s just . . . things are complicated right now.”
“Complicated how?” Gray asked, leaning on his fork like he had all day to get this out of me.
“Stuff’s changing,” I said, vague but truthful. Change was the one constant I couldn’t seem to wrangle, no matter how tightly I held the reins. My life had always been as wild and unpredictable as a mustang, but lately, it felt like I was the one getting broke.
I jabbed the pitchfork into the straw with less force than before, my anger ebbing away as Gray’s presence wore me down. The barn was quiet, save for the occasional snort from a horse or creak of the old wood settling—it felt like the whole world was waiting for me to just spit it out. I couldn’t tell him the full truth, but I could tell him what it damn well felt like.
“Caroline and I . . . ” My words trailed off, and I busied myself with rearranging the hay I’d already tossed aside, anything to avoid Gray’s gaze. “She broke up with me.”
The confession hung in the air like dust motes caught in a shaft of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the stable walls. My chest tightened, bracing for whatever lecture was about to come my way.
Gray didn’t say anything at first, and I risked a glance at him. His expression wasn’t what I expected—no disappointment, no ‘I-told-you-so’—just a kind of understanding that made something knot up inside me.
“Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of compassion that I hadn’t heard in a long time. “You know that doesn’t make you a failure, right? Relationships . . . they’re like working with a new colt. Unpredictable and sometimes they buck you off when you least expect it.”
“Never pegged you for a romantic,” I quipped weakly, trying to deflect the sincerity of the moment.
“Maybe I’m not,” Gray shrugged, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I do know that life’s messy, and love’s probably the messiest part of it all.” He paused, looking at me with those perceptive blue eyes that seemed to see right through me.
A part of me wanted to dismiss his words, to bury them under layers of self-doubt and regret. But another part, a part that had been silent for too long, recognized the truth in them. Love and ranching weren’t all that different—both required hard work, dedication, and a willingness to get back on the horse after being thrown.
I shoved another heap of straw with more force than necessary, the pitchfork biting into the packed bedding. Gray leaned against the wooden beam that framed the stall, arms crossed over his chest, watching me work myself into a lather.
“Look, Walker,” he began, his voice even but firm, “if you really want Caroline back, you gotta go after her.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered, not looking up from my task. “She’s made her choice. What’s the point?”
“Point is,” Gray pushed off from the post and took a step closer, “life ain’t a spectator sport. You can’t win if you don’t play. And sometimes, you gotta risk striking out to hit a home run.”
“Since when did you start spouting so many damn metaphors?” I scoffed, but his words had weight, settling on my shoulders like a challenge.
“Since I saw my little brother moping around like a kicked puppy,” he shot back, a hint of humor in his eye. “If it’s really over, then fine, you’ll heal. But you owe it to yourself to try. And maybe this whole thing is a sign, huh? Maybe you’re worth more than you’ve been giving yourself credit for.”
His words hovered in the dusty air of the barn, mingling with the scent of hay and horses. I paused, leaning on the pitchfork, considering his advice. The truth was, I hadn’t been honest with Caroline, or myself. I’d never told her how her laughter could light up the darkest corners of my mind, or how her fierce intelligence made my heart race more than any rodeo.
“I never told her how I really felt. And then, she met someone else.” I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I wrestled with the knot in my chest. “But I owe it to her—and to myself—to at least tell her the truth.”
“Damn straight,” Gray nodded, his approval clear. “You never know, she might just be waiting for you to man up and show her what you’re feeling. ”
“Or she could tell me to hit the road.” I smirked, trying to mask the vulnerability that came with such thoughts.
“Either way, you’ll know where you stand. No more what-ifs.”
I leaned my back against the cool wood of the stall, and let out a long sigh.
“Gray,” I started, my voice hoarse from the dust and the rawness of my earlier emotions, “I reckon . . . I owe you a thanks.”
He leaned on the fence, arms crossed over his broad chest, the setting sun turning his eyes into pools of liquid amber. “For what? Telling you something you already knew?”
“Nah,” I shook my head, offering up a half-smile. “For listening, for . . . giving a damn. I’m not used to laying my cards on the table like that.”
“Family’s there to call your bluff, Walker,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Besides, we Andersons, we’re made of tough stuff. You’ll get through this.”
“Yeah, I hope.”
“There’s somethin’ else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“Your business plan. The one you gave Mason . . . ”
“What about it?” I felt too tired to get into an argument about it, but also fired up enough to throw some punches if I needed to.
Gray looked around, as if trying to figure out what to say. Fucker always had a flare for the dramatic when I really needed him to get to the point.
“I like it, Walk.”
I blinked, unsure I’d heard him right.
“Yeah? ”
He nodded, a smile slowly stretching across his face. “Yeah, I do. In fact, I was real damn impressed by all the work you put into it.” He stepped forward, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “I’m in, brother. Let’s do it.”
“Shit, Gray, I didn’t think you’d ever agree.”
“I’m sorry I’m a stubborn son of a bitch when it comes to the ranch. But that’s why we need you here too. You’ll bring new ideas and new life into this place.”
“I just love this land. I want to do right by it, by all of us and the ones who came before us.”
“I know you do. And you are.”
With a promise to meet tomorrow with Mason to formalize the plan, Gray left me alone with my thoughts and the pile of hay. Things were coming together and I laughed in relief. But there was still a lead weight at the pit of my stomach as far as Caroline was concerned.
Things were finally falling into place in my life, and I needed her by my side for it. I felt stupid for getting upset at her dismissal of me when I was the one who couldn’t even admit my own damn feelings. How was she supposed to know I was in love with her? That every night since that first time we kissed, I’d been falling asleep with her on my mind? That I’d never in my life fallen for anyone the way I’d fallen for her?
Gray was right. I needed to man the fuck up and tell her everything. And once I did, I’d let fate take control.