Chapter 13
Thirteen
RUNNING IS RUNNING NO MATTER WHICH WAY YOU GO.
WYATT
Five generations of Halloway men have saddled horses in this barn, and this morning I swear I can feel them breathing down my neck.
I pull the blanket off the rack when my phone buzzes, and I can't help the grin that tugs at my mouth when I see Kinsley’s name.
Kinsley: How's the shoulder this morning?
I roll it experimentally. Still tight, still tender, but better than it's been. Doc would probably tell me I'm pushing it, saddling up to ride across the valley instead of staying put with ice and rest.
Good enough to get the job done, I text back, then lift the saddle onto Ace's back. The gelding's been my mount since I had more attitude than sense. He's steady as a rock and knows this country better than a GPS system.
My phone buzzes again.
Kinsley: What job?
I tighten the cinch, checking it twice out of habit. Ace turns his head to watch me, one dark eye curious but patient. He knows we're going somewhere.
Me: Riding over to talk to Hank about the Whitmore situation. Mom wants to know where he stands.
The response comes fast. Be careful.
Something warm settles in my chest at those two words.
I hold the phone up, angle it so it catches me and Ace with the mountains in the background, and snap a picture.
The lighting's decent, and Ace has his ears forward like he's posing.
I look like my grandpa's version of a cowboy instead of a guy who spends most of his time getting thrown around by livestock.
Me: Want to come along? Could use the company.
The three dots appear immediately, then disappear. Then appear again.
Kinsley: I have to work. Conference calls this morning.
Me: After that?
Kinsley: I'm training Rebel.
Me: That's not the same thing as a ride through the hills, I text back.
The response is a shrugging emoji. "Don’t you ever ride for the sake of riding?" I ask out loud, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
The sound of boots on concrete echoes through the barn, and I look up to see Kit coming in hot, anger riding her every step. Her jaw's set in that stubborn line that means trouble, and there's a fire in her eyes that reminds me uncomfortably of myself at that age.
"Where’re you headed?" she demands, crossing her arms.
"Hank's place." I slide the phone back into my pocket.
"Why?"
"Ranch business."
Kit deflates.
"It's just a conversation, Kit."
"I'm old enough to know what's going on around here, and I can help," she snaps.
I study my sister's face, seeing the frustration there that runs deeper than just being left out of one meeting. But she's also sixteen and thinks she's bulletproof.
"You are helping," I say. "Someone's got to keep an eye on things here."
"That's babysitting." She pins me with a look. "I have a right to know what’s going on around here too."
Leaving her behind is not worth the fight. "Fine. Saddle up."
Kit's mouth gapes open. "Really?"
I adjust Ace's bridle, not meeting her eyes. "You follow my lead, understand? This isn't a social call."
She's moving toward the tack room before I finish talking. "I'll get Bandit ready."
I'm not sure she heard my warning.
Five minutes later, we're riding east across open rangeland. There’s no trail between our place and Cornerstone Ranch. The first stretch runs flat, across hay fields gone rough at the edges, where waist-high grass bends in the wind and the soil still remembers the plow.
Kit rides beside me on Bandit, her gelding's ears pricked forward as he picks his way through the scattered brush and grass.
The anger that fueled her back in the barn has gentled into something calmer.
Horse therapy, Mom calls it. Some people need twenty hours a week minimum, and Kit's definitely one of them.
"So," I say as we crest a small rise that gives us a view of the valley spread out below. "You want to tell me why you're so fired up all the time?"
She's quiet for so long I think she's not going to answer.
"I feel like no matter what I choose, I’m going to lose something important." she says.
I glance over at her. "Yeah. I know that feeling."
"I love this place," she turns in the saddle and gestures toward the ranch spread out behind us.
"Love the work, the horses, the way everything connects.
But sometimes I feel like if I stay, I'll just be lost in the shuffle.
Like I'll never be anything more than Oscar Halloway's youngest daughter who married a local cowboy and had babies and never saw anything beyond these mountains. "
"And if you leave?" I ask.
"Then I lose all this." Her voice cracks slightly. "Lose who I am, where I come from."
I understand more than she knows.
"Besides," she continues, "it's not like I'd get the same shot in the world as you have. Not being a girl and all."
"I don't know why you think being a girl holds you back," I say. "You can do anything on this ranch that I can do."
She looks at me like I just insulted her horse. "I can't take over. My name won't ever be on the deed."
I can’t argue with her on that.
"You get choices.” she continues, her voice rising. “And what do you do with all that? You play with your life like it doesn't matter to anyone else."
I hold up a hand. "Kit—"
"You're a selfish son of a gun.” Her eyes narrow as she looks over at me.
“Out there risking your neck when you know how important you are, chasing every blonde woman out there.
" Her voice is shaking now. "You think it's just about you, but it's not.
Every time you climb on one of those bulls, you're risking everything this family has built.
And you don't even care. You don't care about Mom sick with worry you'll be hurt.
You don't care about what happens to this place. You don't care about me and Brook."
Her words settle in my chest like stones.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I snap, my voice harder than it should be.
"Don't I?" She pulls Bandit to a stop, forcing me to do the same.
"I know that if something happens to you, this whole place falls apart.
I know that Brook's the smartest one of all of us, but she'll never get the chance to prove it.
I know that I could work this land better than half the men in the county, but it won't matter because I'm just your baby sister. "
I try to think of something to say back, some way to defend the choices I've made, but her words keep rattling around in my head. Selfish. Risking everything.
"Stop arguing," I say finally. "Before you say something you'll regret." She's already said things I regret hearing and I'm done listening. Her face falls. Shoot. I don't have the answers she's hunting for.
Kit turns her face forward and won’t look at me.
We continue the ride without talking, nothing but saddle leather complaining and hooves kicking up dirt. I never thought that I might be part of Kit's problems just by being myself; but I am, and that doesn't sit right with me. Doesn't sit right at all.
By the time the Cornerstone Ranch buildings come into view, the worst of the tension between us has ridden off.
"Think that ol' horse can beat us to the fence line?" I test her mood.
Kit's mouth twitches, fighting a smile. "Only one way to find out.
" She digs her heels in and Bandit takes off.
I curse under my breath and give Ace his reins.
He runs like there's wolves behind us, and I lean down as I come alongside Kit and give her a grin.
She glares, intent on taking down big brother.
We're coming up fast on a gap between two deadfall logs—barely wide enough for one horse.
Somebody's gotta give, and it ain't gonna be me. I press Ace into Kit’s line, crowding her space until she has no choice but to back off.
But instead of pulling up like any sensible rider would, she digs her heels into Bandit's ribs.
That stubborn little…
The girl's gonna try to beat me through. My gut twists as I watch her grab leather—death grip on that saddle horn like she's fixing to ride out whatever's coming. Bandit lunges forward, and now we're both committed to this fool play.
Ace clears the gap clean, but I'm already hauling back on the reins, wheeling around to see what's left of my reckless baby sister. Figure I'll find her picking herself up out of the dirt, madder than a wet hen and twice as dangerous—if she can get up at all.
Bandit jumps the log like he's some English pure bread and thunders toward the finish line with me staring after them in shock. I kick and Ace is off again, but Kit has a far enough lead that I'm not going to catch her.
"That's what I get for teaching you everything you know," I yell to her.
Kit laughs—really laughs—and we're okay again. For now.
We ride onto Cornerstone Ranch—three hundred acres of prime grassland and working corrals that'd make any cowboy's mouth water. The McCrearys, Hank’s mother’s side, have been raising and training cutters here since before I was born.
Some of the best cutting horses in the world have come from this place.
Across the main spread, we ride through pastures carved up neat with pipe and cable.
Broodmares are cropping grass in one section while their babies kick up their heels in another—bloodlines that go as far back as registering horses.
Ranch hands move through the paddocks or lope horses in one of the three round pens.
The barns loom up ahead—big as aircraft hangars and twice as organized. I can make out the indoor arena from here, built tall enough for serious cutting work no matter what the weather's throwing at you.
"Dang," Kit says as we approach the hitching rail in front of the main barn. "No wonder they win everything."
She's not wrong.
We tie off Ace and Bandit at the rail and head for the indoor arena. If I know Hank, and I think I do, he'll be on a horse this time of day.