Chapter 7
HUDSON
It was a little past two, the worst time of day to be doing anything labor-intensive in July, but horses didn’t wait for cooler weather, and Gray Magnuson was never one to put off work that needed doing.
We’d already trimmed two hooves on the old bay gelding, a stocky beast named Whiskey with a temper that matched his name. Gray was crouched low, one knee planted in the dirt, rasping away at the third hoof while I kept hold of the reins, trying to keep Whiskey calm.
We were working outside the barn, in a corner of the paddock where the ground was dry and flat, good enough for shoeing, even if it wasn’t ideal.
It wasn’t the first time we’d done it out here, and Whiskey didn’t seem too fussed by the change of scenery.
Still, I kept a close hand on the lead rope, ready for anything.
A few yards away, Warren was working with one of the newer colts, brushing him down in the open pen, humming along to whatever country tune was playing low on the barn’s radio.
He looked up every so often to check on us, giving a two-finger wave when our eyes met.
I gave him an absent-minded nod, not encouraging him or his interest.
Whiskey shifted, ears flicking back. The tension snapped tight in his neck under my hand.
Normally, I’d have made a joke. But my mouth was dry. Felt like my tongue had been scrubbed raw from the inside.
Because all I could think about was Matty.
How he’d shoved me. Cursed me. Said things with such venom that they hadn’t just landed. They’d sunk in. Anchored deep in my chest.
God, he hates me so much. He’s not pretending at all. He really hates my guts.
Don’t fucking call me that.
It was just a name. One I’d always called him back when we were something. But the way he’d spat it, like it poisoned his mouth to say it, made it clear he wanted nothing of me. Nothing to remind him of what we were.
Of what I ruined.
I swallowed, staring at Whiskey’s twitching ears. “Easy, boy,” I murmured, stroking his neck.
Matty hadn’t held back. He’d called me a slut. A whore. A goddamn cheater. And maybe… maybe I’d earned every last word. Maybe I’d handed him the knife and stood still while he carved the shame into my skin.
Because it hadn’t just been pride I shattered.
For years, to make myself feel better, I told myself what we had was a summer thing.
A fling, nothing more. I tried to believe that sleeping with Heather—and it didn’t matter that I’d been drunk at the time—only bruised his ego.
That the bitterness in his voice when he saw me again was pride, licking its wounds.
But that lie didn’t hold anymore.
I’d seen it in his eyes. When he spat those names at me, like they burned his mouth. That wasn’t wounded pride.
It was heartbreak. Raw and old and still bleeding.
Matty hadn’t just liked me.
He’d loved me.
Fully. Stupidly. Recklessly.
And I’d crushed that love under my boots like it meant nothing…
without even giving him the decency of an explanation.
Because what good was one? An excuse didn’t change the fact that I’d fucked someone else because I’d felt confused and scared after sleeping with Matty for the first time.
Me, a man who’d never bottomed before, becoming undone by a younger, cocky guy who had his fingers, his tongue, and his dick up my ass.
I’d been prepared to like it, but Matty had made me question everything I knew about my sexuality.
I’d self-sabotaged us. He’d been a victim of my need to derail my own life every time I found a modicum of happiness. Like I didn’t deserve to have a good life.
The rasping stopped.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Gray said, his voice gravelly but not unkind. “You sick or poutin’ like my boy’s been doing lately?”
Matty had been pouting? He was more like quiet-raging.
I gave a dry chuckle that didn’t quite sound believable. “Got a lot on my mind. I have my hands full with Ivy.”
Thankfully, Ozzie had solved half of my worries by offering to mind Ivy while I worked the ranch.
I’d been worried about Ivy adjusting, but it turned out Ozzie was a real natural with her.
She took to Ozzie quickly, and I could see why.
Ozzie was so kind and gentle. A shame about the way he and Gray started their relationship that had the whole town gossiping because they were perfect for each other.
Gray stood slowly, brushing dirt from his jeans. His knees cracked on the way up. He stretched his back with a low groan, then looked at me with that weathered, eagle-sharp gaze of his.
“At least you don’t have to raise two boys who are always trying to kill each other. I swear, from the time they could walk, Carter and Matty treated the house like a damn gladiator pit. One time, Carter duct-taped Matty to a skateboard and shoved him down the stairs to see if he could fly.”
I barked out a surprised laugh. The Matty today—I couldn’t imagine him as a kid. So guarded. So sharp-edged. But the Matty I’d met back then? The one impulsive enough to ask me out, even though I was six years older? That Matty had been all heart and heat and reckless trust. “Jesus.”
“Another time, Matty tried to ‘baptize’ Carter in the cattle trough after watching some show about exorcisms. Said he had to get the devil outta him. Damn near drowned his brother.”
I shook my head, grinning. “And you didn’t strangle them?”
“Oh, I tried,” Gray said dryly. “Half my gray hairs are named after those two.”
“My house is a lot quieter, but Ivy’s got her ways of keeping me on edge. Last week, she painted my toenails hot pink. Said it made me look ‘bootiful.’ Would’ve been fine if I hadn’t forgotten and worn flip-flops to the feed store.”
Gray snorted. “Oh, you poor bastard.”
“And then yesterday, she told me I snore like a dragon and fart like a cow. I don’t even know where she gets that stuff.”
“She’s a funny little one.” Gray shook his head in mock solemnity. “Ozzie loves taking care of her. Gives him something to do so I don’t feel too guilty about all the time I spend on the ranch. Just such a shame about her mother.”
Yes, a shame Heather left. But was it? She still had me blocked, so I couldn’t reach her.
I’d stopped calling. What was the sense when she seemed to want a clean break?
With just me and Ivy, there were no arguments.
I didn’t have to worry if she was keeping her promise of not having men around the house when Ivy was there.
I focused on the hoof in front of me and the faint scent of manure and hay. On Ivy’s laugh when she spun in the kitchen. On her tiny hands and that bubblegum polish.
That was real. That was mine.
And it had to be enough.
I gave a slow nod, then crouched again, shifting my focus back to Whiskey’s back hoof.
We worked in silence for another few minutes, the clink of metal tools and horse breath filling the air. Dust floated lazily in the sunlight. I watched Gray’s hands, steady, calloused, worn from years of this life. A part of me wanted to ask how he stayed so damn grounded.
“I heard Lawson’s looking for a hand,” I said softly.
The rasp froze midmotion.
“That so?”
I nodded, jaw tight. “I was thinking about asking him.”
He didn’t respond, just slowly lowered Whiskey’s hoof and stood. Turned to face me, eyes narrowed under the brim of his worn-out hat.
“You want to leave?”
I shrugged, looking away. “I think it’s best.”
“Is it?” Gray asked softly. “Or is this about Matty?”
I stiffened.
He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Hudson, that boy’s got a temper on him, sure. Stubborn like his mama. But he means well. And don’t take what he says to heart. He runs hot when he’s hurtin’.”
I didn’t answer.
Gray stepped closer. “I don’t know what happened between you two.
I got my guesses, but that’s none of my business.
What’s my business is this ranch. And you’re a damn good hand.
Ivy’s a joy to have around. She fills Ozzie’s days so he’s not bored.
It would be my loss—hell, the ranch’s loss—if you left. ”
That knot in my throat tried to strangle me again. I bent to check the tool bag, just to have something to do.
“But,” he said, voice gentler now, “if you’re set on going… if you think Lawson’s better for you and Ivy, then I’ll write him a recommendation myself. Glowing.”
I nodded once. I hadn’t made a decision yet, but maybe I should be less selfish about staying at the Bristle M. Matty would probably heal faster if I weren’t constantly an eyesore.
A shadow passed over us, and we both looked up. One of the hands was approaching from the barn. Gray tipped his hat forward and cleared his throat.
“We can talk some other time,” he said. “Let’s finish the back hooves before it gets any hotter.”
“Yeah.” I grabbed the rasp again. “Sounds good.”
My mind drifted as Gray returned to the horse’s hoof. Whiskey snorted hard, jerking against the reins. His muscles bunched under his coat, twitchy and agitated. I murmured softly, trying to settle him.
Whiskey snapped his leg back in a violent, lightning-fast kick.
The sound it made when it connected with Gray’s head was sickening, like a branch splitting. Gray went down instantly, crumpling sideways into the dirt with a grunt that cut off into silence.
“Shit—Gray!”
Instinct kicked in. I yanked the reins firmly and backed Whiskey away, muscles tight and trembling under his coat.
He was agitated now, stomping and snorting like he didn’t even know what he’d done.
I kept my voice low and steady, talking him down as I led him to the fence and tied him off with a quick-release knot. Safe. Out of the way.
Then I sprinted back to Gray.
He was on his side, one hand twitching slightly, blood trailing from above his ear, soaking into the dirt. His eyes fluttered but didn’t open.
“Gray?” I dropped to my knees. “Hey, Gray, can you hear me?”
He groaned, but it sounded wrong—wet and weak and barely there.
Boots thundered behind me.
“What the hell happened?” Warren, breathless, skidded to a stop.
“Horse kicked him. Hard. In the head.”
Clayton arrived a second later, eyes wide. “Shit. We should take him to the clinic.”
“Help me keep him still. Warren, get the truck.”
Clayton crouched beside me while Warren took off running again, yelling.
Gray stirred, barely. “Hud…”
“Hey, I’m here.” I pressed my hand gently to his shoulder to keep him from moving. “Just hang in there, all right?”
His eyelids fluttered again. “Tell Ozzie… don’t want him to worry…Matty…”
“I will,” I whispered. “I promise.”
Warren came back, tires crunching as he swung the truck around. Clayton and I lifted Gray as carefully as we could, one arm over each of our shoulders, dragging him upright and into the passenger seat.
“I’ll get Matty and have him meet you at the clinic,” I said. “You get him safely there first.”
Nothing could happen to Gray. I couldn’t be the bearer of any more disasters in Matty’s life.
As Warren slammed the door and peeled out toward town, I stood there for a second in the settling dust, heart hammering. Blood streaked my hands. Gray’s blood. My shirt stuck to my back with sweat.
I’d promised him I’d tell Matty and Ozzie.
But I had no idea how the hell I was gonna look Matty in the eye and say it was me who hadn’t reacted fast enough and let his dad get kicked in the head.