Chapter 6
Six
Henry
The sky is cloudy tonight, normal for an evening in Colorado, but the clouds are a little thicker than usual.
We may be in for some rain.
After dinner is finished, Tabitha helps Angie and Sage clear everything up.
I finish my limeade.
It’s good. Refreshing.
I stopped after two singles of bourbon.
I know better than to drink when I’m not feeling myself. That’s never a good combination.
I haven’t overdone it since… Hell, why try to sugarcoat it?
Since I killed a man.
I look around our fenced-in backyard while Zach and Tillie play with my parents’ dogs, Dusty, Sydney, and Sam.
Our ranch is vast.
Of course it is. It’s a multimillion-dollar operation.
Beyond our yard are acres and acres of golden pasture and deep-green orchards tucked between the red cliffs and rolling hills of Colorado’s Western Slope, home to our prize-winning Angus herds, our apple and peach orchards with their branches heavy with juicy fruit during late summer, and our vineyards where merlot, chardonnay, and my cousin’s award-winning Syrah grow.
Growing up here was idyllic, to say the least.
Until we kids—though we’re all grown now—learned the secrets of our family history.
Until I learned that my grandfather basically bought me from my birth mother and gave me to my father.
Not that I have a problem with that.
I love Marjorie Steel Simpson as much as Dave, Sage, and Angie do, and I consider her my mother.
But lately—maybe it’s because of what I’m going through—I’ve been thinking a lot about my birth mother.
It’s not a good story.
She was a Las Vegas showgirl whom my father impregnated. They got married, and she ran off with—seriously—a pizza delivery guy.
My uncle Joe, Dad’s best friend, once joked it was like a bad porn flick.
Then he saw me standing in the doorway—I was thirteen or so at the time—and he shut up.
To this day, I don’t know if he knows I heard him.
I never asked my dad about it. We don’t talk about her. In his eyes, she never existed, and I always belonged to him and Marjorie.
My grandfather—my father’s father, Tom Simpson—was an attorney and one-time mayor of Snow Creek.
He was also a pedophile and a rapist.
My other grandfather, Bradford Steel, wasn’t exactly an honest businessman.
As for my birth grandfather on my mother’s side, I know nothing about him.
It’s not all wine and roses in the Steel family, though to the outside, it certainly looks that way.
Our ranch is the gold standard for Colorado. For the nation, really. If people only knew our true history.
Angie and Tabitha return to the deck, leaving Sage in the kitchen.
“I thought maybe we could show Tabitha around the ranch,” Angie says.
“That’s a pretty big undertaking,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Not the whole ranch. We can’t get to the orchards or the vineyards by walking. But we can get to the nearest barn. We could show her the horses.”
“I’ve never ridden a horse,” Tabitha says.
“Henry’s a great rider,” Angie says. “I bet he could give you some pointers.”
I see where this is going. “A few pointers doesn’t make you able to ride a horse,” I say dryly.
“That’s not what I mean,” Angie says.
I glance at Tabitha.
Her pretty face is crestfallen.
Now I feel like a jerk.
“All I mean is that if you’ve never been on a horse, a few pointers aren’t going to do you any good.” I swallow. “If you actually want to learn to ride—”
“No,” Tabitha interrupts me. “I wouldn’t want to put you out in that way.”
Okay.
Now I’m a jerk times ten.
“Come on.” Angie tugs on Tabitha’s arm. “We’ll take a walk over to the nearest horse barn. It’s not far, and that’s where my horse lives. She’s a gorgeous mare named Penelope.”
“If it’s no trouble,” Tabitha says. “I’d love to see them.”
“It’s no trouble at all.”
I let out a sigh. “I’ll take her.”
“You will?” Angie says.
“Yeah. I’m sorry,” I say to Tabitha. “I didn’t mean to sound like such a jerk. I mean, if you really want to learn how to ride a horse, it’s not that difficult. I’d be happy to teach you.”
She looks into my eyes for a few seconds before blinking quickly and answering. “No, I’m here for the wedding. Someday, maybe. I understand you can’t learn to ride a horse in an hour or anything. I’m not stupid.”
“I would never think you were stupid.” I attempt a smile. “Anyone who can get into medical school is far from stupid.”
Tabitha merely shakes her head. “But I’d still love to see them, if you’d like to take me.”
Angie looks to me and then to Tabitha. Then to me again. She tilts her head—only slightly, but I notice.
She’s asking me if I’m sure.
But I am. It’s the least I can do for being an asshole.
“You mind going without me?” She bites her lip. “I just remembered there are some phone calls I need to make about the wedding.”
Phone calls in the evening? The night before the rehearsal dinner?
But Tabitha seems to buy it. “Okay, sure.”
“All right,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Part of me wants to take her hand. In fact, all I can think about is her hands dangling at her sides.
And mine. They seem like extra appendages that I don’t know what to do with.
I shove them into the pockets of my jeans.
Summer evenings on the Western Slope are typically cool and sometimes cloudy, like tonight. I lead the way across the backyard toward the barn. Zach stays close to my heel, his tail wagging.
Tabitha keeps pace beside me, her steps slightly hurried to match mine.
Her hair bounces against her shoulder blades with every step like a blond waterfall.
She’s quiet, but not in an awkward way. She looks around a lot as if she’s taking it all in—the sprawling ranch, the lowing cattle in the distance, the scent of hay and horses from the barn.
The clouds above us are thickening.
Could be a summer storm coming in. But hell, we’re almost to the barn.
It’s a large structure with broad wooden doors that are always open during the day. Inside are rows of clean box stalls, each home to one of our horses.
“Here we are.” I step inside. The smell of hay and horse wafts toward me. It’s a familiar scent that brings a sense of comfort. To a city girl like Tabitha, it’s probably pretty pungent.
Tabitha walks in behind me, her eyes wide. “It’s bigger inside than it looks from the outside.”
“Just perspective,” I say.
We walk through the barn, each of our steps echoing against the wooden floor. As we pass each stall, we pause so that Tabitha can meet the horses. She reaches out to stroke their noses.
“This is Thunder,” I say, pointing to a rain-cloud-colored stallion with a powerful frame and gentle eyes.
Tabitha runs her fingers through Thunder’s mane. “He’s magnificent,” she murmurs.
Thunder nuzzles his head into her palm. I recognize that look on her face—the same wonder I felt when Dad introduced me to my first horse all those years ago. It’s a sentiment that never really fades when you’re dealing with these beautiful creatures.
I show her each horse—Belle, Phantom, Greta, Penelope. “Penelope is Angie’s, and Greta is Sage’s.” We reach the last stall. “And this is Duchess,” I say, patting the chestnut mare’s flank. Duchess is an older horse, her coat rippling with patches of gray, but her eyes are still bright and alert.
“She’s beautiful,” Tabitha says softly, reaching out to stroke Duchess’s long face.
The horse nudges her, and Tabitha laughs. She’s comfortable with the horses. She’d probably be a good rider. Maybe, if things were different, I’d teach her. I taught Sage and Angie how to ride when they were just five years old.
“Would you like to feed them?” I ask.
“Sure,” she says, her eyes still on Duchess.
I lead her over to a bin filled with carrots and apples and show her how to hold them flat on her palm so the horses won’t accidentally nibble on her fingers.
We spend the rest of our time in the barn feeding and grooming the horses. There’s an ease about Tabitha that the horses seem to respond to. Not many people have that, especially city folks. But she hasn’t been afraid, not even of Thunder, our biggest stallion.
“You’re good with them,” I say, motioning toward the stalls.
Tabitha looks at me, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Really?”
I nod. “Not everyone can handle a horse.”
A blush creeps up her cheeks. “I like animals.”
“I can tell.” I hold her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before turning to leave the barn.
Outside, the wind has picked up, and the temperature has dropped.
A second later, rain pelts the roof of the barn.
Shit.
Now what?
We’ll be trapped here until the rain stops, at least.
The horses are used to it, though Belle gets a little antsy. I pet her nose to calm her. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
“It’s really coming down,” Tabitha says. “Should we get back?”
I can’t help a chuckle. “Only if you want to get soaked. These rainstorms don’t typically last too long. We’re better off waiting here until it stops.”
She shrugs. “Okay.”
She looks beautiful, her blond hair glowing in the dim light from the barn lantern. She’s leaning against Duchess’s stall. Her light-brown eyes are wide as she watches the rain pound against the ground outside.
“Colorado rainstorms are wild and untamed,” I say, “but also short and sweet.”
She laughs softly. “You make it sound so poetic.”
I shrug. “Nothing poetic about the truth.”
A comfortable silence falls between us. The only sounds are the drumming of the rain on the roof and the occasional soft snorts and shuffles of the horses.
“There’s something peaceful about rain,” Tabitha muses as she watches the downpour.
I look at her profile, taking in the soft slope of her cheek, the flutter of her eyelids, and the gentle curve of her lips. I nearly kissed her in the kitchen. I would have if we hadn’t been interrupted.
“I agree,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like nature’s way of cleansing itself.”
She turns to look at me, her eyes searching mine. For what, I’m not sure. But in that moment, I want to be what she’s looking for.
My hand itches to reach for her as I did in the kitchen.
I keep it at my side.
Still, she’s so close. So—
Crack!
A bolt of lightning and the resulting thunderclap makes the barn shake.
Belle whinnies in her stall, and the other horses, though still calm, perk their ears up. Zach, used to such summer storms, simply stays lying down.
“That was close, wasn’t it?” Tabitha says.
“Right above us, I’d say.” I look outside. “I didn’t think this would turn into a thunderstorm.”
Tabitha shivers and wraps her arms around herself. “Are we safe here?”
“Safer than out there,” I reply.
“You’re sure?” She glances around the barn as if she expects lightning to strike inside the walls.
I nod. “The barn is grounded. We’re safe.”
Tabitha continues to rub her arms as if she’s chilly. She can’t be cold. It’s warm in the barn.
So she’s either nervous or scared. Or both.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “For some reason, out here, it feels like we’re closer to the storm than when I’m in Boulder.”
“We are,” I say. “Everything is more raw in the country.”
She glances at me. Her eyes glisten with flecks of gold.
I could easily be mesmerized by them.
By her.
We stand there, looking at each other. The lack of conversation doesn’t bother me. If anything, it feels right. Just her company is comforting in a way I haven’t felt in months.
In the silence, I’m reminded of all the reasons why I need to stay away from her.
Until another crackle of thunder jolts us both out of our thoughts.
She gasps, taking a quick step back and bumping into Duchess’s stall. The mare whinnies softly.
“Sorry, girl,” Tabitha murmurs, reaching out to stroke Duchess’s nose.
The horse nudges her hand gently before settling back down to chew the hay in the corner of her stall.
My heart thumps. Tabitha looks so small standing next to Duchess. Her hair is slightly disheveled from the wind that has managed to slip into the barn, making her look more beautiful than ever.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask again. My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to.
She offers me a shaky smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
A surge of protectiveness ripples through me. I cross the few steps between us and stop just close enough that I can see the spray of freckles across her nose.
And this time…
This time I don’t stop myself.
I take her face in my hands, lean down, and kiss her.