Chapter 40
forty
Tarr rode in the saddle of his personal horse, a pretty black and white mare named Skunk. She cut like a champion, and while Tarr didn’t use her for real cowboy activities, she’d been a loyal friend and amazing horse for roping in the rodeo as well.
She was tall and strong, and Tarr hadn’t ridden her enough this winter. Now, with the fields in front of him looking so much like the Texas range where he’d grown up, Tarr could function on autopilot, letting Skunk wander where she wanted to wander.
Tarr’s thoughts did the same thing, and he simply breathed in the fresh air, glad April had finally given way to May. It would likely rain a lot this month, but Tarr would take rain over snow any day of the week.
Besides, he’d be moving into his house next weekend anyway, and then the weather could do whatever it wanted.
He’d have a solid roof over his head, and a functioning furnace, air conditioner, hot water heater, and full-sized appliances.
The wind could blow, and the rains could lash the windows, and Tarr would put on his slicker, his cowboy hat, and get in his truck—parked in a garage.
A smile touched his face, because he’d missed having a garage more than anything else about living in a permanent structure.
Plus, he knew Tuck wanted the trailers gone from the side of the arena, and Tarr didn’t want to annoy his best friend for any longer than necessary.
After all, Bobbie Jo’s parents were still in the mansion, despite Tucker and Bobbie Jo’s efforts to help them rent or buy somewhere else. Heck, Tuck had even offered to build them their own little cabin down on the main highway.
Tarr hadn’t heard what the final decision was on that, and he made a mental note to ask Tucker—not that he usually had to ask. Tuck would text him, vent everything out, and Tarr would find a way to make everything okay.
Right now, he turned Skunk back toward the farm, the dotting of goats in the distance giving him the picture-perfect view of his small-town life. He sighed, because he couldn’t be unhappy with views like this, and yet, Tarr was the most unhappy he’d ever been.
A sting ran through his bloodstream, making every vein and vessel constrict painfully. Every breath hurt his lungs, because it expanded them against his bleeding heart.
“You’re so stupid,” he muttered to himself.
Skunk picked up the pace, probably sensing his shift in mood and not liking it.
He shushed her, wishing it would calm him too.
He had to be in the right frame of mind to train and work with horses, and Tarr seriously wanted to pack a bag and leave the farm for a little while.
“That’s not going to work,” he told himself. He’d gone and fallen all the way in love with her, and he’d have to deal with the consequences of that.
His phone vibrated in his hoodie pocket, a garment he’d grabbed out of the barn before climbing into the saddle and going for this ride. He pulled it out and swiped on the call from Tuck. “Hey,” he said, and his voice sounded somewhat normal. Guarded, maybe, but normal.
“Hey, where you at?” Tuck asked, and Tarr detected something in his friend’s voice.
“Riding Skunk,” he said. “Why?”
“He’s out riding,” Tuck said, obviously not to Tarr. “Okay, just wondering.”
“You’re just wondering?” Tarr’s irritation spiked. “Why? It’s not like I give you a minute-by-minute itinerary of my day.”
“I thought you’d be at the house, laying down the floor,” Tuck said. “I stopped by to bring you….” He trailed off, and Tarr really wanted him to continue. He remained quiet, though, because Tucker couldn’t stand silence.
After only a moment, he sighed loudly. “Fine, I came by to bring you those gross spicy hot Doritos you like, because Bobbie Jo found them at the gas station on our way home from what could finally be ‘the one’ for Jim and Linda.”
He paused only long enough to suck in another lungful of air. “It’s a nice little condo. Anyway, we have the chips, and I don’t want them in my house, so we stopped by your place. And I found a big pot of soup on your countertop, your truck in the driveway, and the house empty. I was worried.”
“Aw, thanks, Tuck,” Tarr said with a smile. “But I’m fine.”
“Are you alone?”
“Do you think Briar would be out here riding with me?” Tarr chuckled, the sound definitely darker than he wanted Tuck to hear.
He’d tried to get Briar to go horseback riding with him, and she’d declined forcefully enough for him not to ask twice.
She claimed to have gotten back in the saddle a time or two, but she much preferred keeping both feet on the ground, feeding goats, and throwing a ball for Wiggins if they both got too restless.
Tarr craved the wide open sky, nothing but the rush of the breeze in the leaves in his ears, and his own wits to try to center himself and find a way through the busyness and noise of life to the path he should be on.
He’d like it even more with his beautiful Briar at his side, but he quickly shook his head, cutting off the thought.
Briar wasn’t his, not truly, and she probably never would be. She wanted to belong to herself more than to someone else, and Tarr would have to figure out what that meant for him.
“I mean, I don’t—” Tuck cut off again. “I have you on maps, so I can keep an eye on you. When do you think you’ll be back?”
“I don’t know,” Tarr said, the fight blowing right out of him. “I was going to try to finish the flooring in the house tonight, but I’m tired.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Tucker said. “Another few days in the RV isn’t going to matter.”
Tarr tried to hear what Tuck really meant between the words. “You hate the trailers.”
“Yeah, but it’s a few days,” Tuck said. “We’ve had Bobbie Jo’s parents living with us for months, and I’ve learned that I can do anything for a few days.”
Tarr smiled again. “Are they any closer to finding their own place?”
“You mean are me and Bobbie Jo any closer to finding them their own place.” Tuck didn’t phrase it as a question. “And yes, as a matter of fact. We went to look at a house this afternoon; that’s why we stopped by the gas station and then your place on our way home.”
“Maybe you need my house more than me,” Tarr said, an idea popping into his mind. “Her parents can have it, and I’ll find somewhere else to stay—not the RV.”
“Tarr—what?” Tucker scoffed. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s summertime now,” Tarr said, though the lower the sun sank in the sky, the cooler it got, definitely telling him it was not summertime. “I can rent somewhere nearby and just commute to and from the farm. Isn’t that what Alex is going to do?”
“Yeah,” Tucker said slowly. “But Tarr, buddy, you bought that land from me. It’s yours, and not even part of the farm anymore.”
“Yeah.” Tarr sighed like what Tuck had said was a major wrench in his life plans. “All right, well, I’m going to go out to that meadow that Bobbie Jo keeps for the hottest part of the summer.”
“Did you eat?” he asked. “That soup pot—I couldn’t tell if Briar had left it for you or if you’d eaten before….”
“I’m fine,” Tarr said again, giving Tucker zero details. “You’ve got me on maps, and I’ll be back before dark.”
“All right,” Tuck drawled, and Tarr let him end the call. He turned Skunk toward the meadow on the northeast side of the pasture where he currently rode, not quite ready to go back yet.
He wanted to see Briar desperately, while another part of him hoped he’d never run into her again. His heart flipped over in his chest, and his stomach twisted. No, he’d be devastated if he never got to see her again. Even a glimpse of her from a distance might be enough for Tarr.
“You’re delusional,” he whispered to himself, and then he set her out of his mind and tried to enjoy the farm the way he wanted to, as Tarr Olson, a man who wore his emotions on his face, said too much, pushed too hard sometimes, and had just had his heart broken by a woman who’d made it very clear to him from the first moment they’d met that she might never be able to be truly his.
“Hopeless romantic,” he muttered now. Yes, that was what he’d become, because he believed that God could change people. That people could change themselves. That, for him, Briar could—and would—change.
But maybe she never would.
That doesn’t mean she’s not worth loving.
The words sat there, and Tarr let them filter through him letter by letter, and by the time he reached the meadow, he felt calmer than he had in a couple of weeks now. Still unhappy, but somehow calm about what had happened at his house earlier.
Tarr sat up from where he lay in the longer grasses growing along the tree line, his heartbeat pumping hard against his breastbone. Hoofbeats. He’d heard them, and it didn’t take him long to blink and see a pretty palomino walking toward him.
Briar rode in the saddle.
Tarr scrambled to his feet, his stomach dropping to the soles of his cowboy boots at the same time his hopes shot toward the moon.
Briar wore the same thing she’d had on at his house: jeans, a long-sleeved shirt the color of the sky, and her hair back in a ponytail. She didn’t have a pot of soup, or her dog with her, though Wiggins perked up from where he’d been curled into Tarr’s side.
He yawned, stretched into a play bow, and then trotted over to greet his master. Tarr stayed right where he stood, not quite sure what to make of this situation.
“Can I join you?” Briar asked when Party Girl—the horse she rode—neared Skunk. The two equines seemed to turn canine as they stretched their necks toward one another, as if to get a good sniff of the other.
Tarr couldn’t speak, so he simply gestured in a flap of his hand, as if to say, I don’t own this meadow.