Chapter 30
TILLY
Tilly,
Merry Late Christmas.
Please don’t be mad at me. I couldn’t see you. Not here.
I heard about the cookies you brought. Fuck, I can’t imagine you baking. Is that something you do now, or did your mom bake them? If she did, I already know you’d have tried to lie about it. The thought was there, hellcat.
To make it up to you, I sent Ash a letter. He should have gotten it by now. Do you forgive me?
If you do, tell me about Diesel. I miss him so fucking much. He hates the snow. Has he been riding fine? I had all these plans for the new saddle I was gonna get for him this Christmas. That won’t be happening anytime soon. I doubt I’ll remember how to use a debit card by the time I’m out of here.
I’ll make everything up to you, Tilly. I swear. Just . . . don’t try to come see me again, okay? This isn’t a place for you.
I still miss you. My decision doesn’t change that.
Rowe
The first thing I smell when I wake up is burnt coffee.
Turning over on a bed that feels a lot more comfortable than mine, I blink to try and wet my dry eyes. The vaulted wood ceiling is absolutely not the same as the acoustic tiles from my trailer.
I tug on the heavy wool blanket and bring it up to my nose, inhaling. Rowe’s cologne is imbedded in the thick threads, and I take another breath, trying to use it to wake me up. All it does is make me want to stay curled up here instead of getting up.
The cabin is silent this morning. There’s not so much as a creak of the floorboards as I hide from my responsibilities for a few more minutes. It’s almost a chore to sit up and toss my legs over the mattress. The note I see resting on the nightstand sends a jolt through my system.
Meet me at the pen when you wake up. Don’t sleep too long, hellcat.
The sloppy writing drags me right back to reading his letters all those years ago. He hasn’t changed it at all. If anything, it’s gotten worse. Yet I still fold the note in half and bring it with me into the bathroom.
The water pressure is better here than in my trailer, and I take full advantage of it with a shower so long I come out with wrinkled fingertips. I avoid my hair and scrub my body with his soap, making sure to bring it up my neck, where I know he’ll smell it the moment I meet him.
The lack of my clothes in this place is a problem, but I settle for one of his shirts and the only pair of sweatpants he has in his dresser. By the time I’m dumping the burnt coffee out of the pot that’s stained worse than the one in my grandma’s kitchen, I’m itching to get outside.
I remake the coffee and fill a travel mug with it, leaving it black. I’ve always hated coffee, but Rowe drinks it like he should water. On my way out, I snag a bottle of that, too, and then lock up behind me.
The loud snort from the side of the cabin startles me badly enough I toss the bottle of water into the dirt. I crouch and grab it while staring up at Diesel. Tied up to a post, he watches me excitedly, his ears high and open. There’s no sign of a rider in his saddle.
“Good morning, my love. What are you doing here?” I ask, approaching him.
My favourite horse shoves his head into my chest the moment I get close enough. I laugh, scratching under his neck. He bumps me again, gentler this time, like he’s begging for even more attention.
“I don’t have treats for you, so make sure to blame Rowe for that. He didn’t tell me you’d be here this morning.”
From the looks of it, he must have brought Diesel over early this morning. I was planning on walking to the stable this morning, but clearly, that’s not necessary anymore. Rowe did that instead, leaving me with the horse he hasn’t allowed me to go near since I got hired here.
Of course, I didn’t listen, but he doesn’t know that. It’s not like Diesel can tattle on me for grooming him last week.
I move away from his big head and to the saddle bag at his side. My fingers clutch the note tucked into the flap, Rowe’s writing making my heart jump.
Borrow him for as long as you need to find a horse of your own. Key word: BORROW. He’s ready to go.
My breath catches in my throat before a laugh shoves it out. I slide the coffee mug and water bottle into the bag and tuck the note into my pocket where the other one sits.
Diesel doesn’t move a muscle while I unhook him and swing myself into the saddle. I shift around in it for a minute before taking his reins into a loose hold and giving my calves a gentle squeeze around his body.
He moves instantly. Knowing this horse as well as I do helps relax my sudden nerves a bit. I remind myself of that fact as we follow the road. I’ve been back at Painted Sky for a few weeks now, but this is the first time I’ve ridden Diesel since before I moved away.
The days and weeks we spent together were some of my most treasured memories.
Diesel couldn’t ask me if I was okay or expect me to respond to a dozen worried texts and calls.
There was no pressure to smile around him or put on a mask that grew to feel too suffocating.
He just rode with me in silence, offering me the type of steady comfort that I’d needed more than anything.
Being here with him right now is helping my mental health more than I expected.
The sun’s beating into my back by the time I spot Rowe.
He’s got the stubborn black horse directly in front of him as he runs a hand down the length of his back.
The dirt in his coat is obvious even from back here, and my fingers twitch around Diesel’s reins with the desire to brush him.
At the very least, I need to get the packed dust and grime from his body. Even if that’s all he lets me do.
Diesel looks at Rowe when we pass the pen.
Without needing to be told, I know I’ve got to get us a bit further away from the angry bastard he’s working with before I hop off.
My cowboy glances over at us, risking a brief crack in his concentration just long enough to take in the sight of me and Diesel together.
The wink I shoot him brings out his scowl.
There’s no convincing me that he isn’t grinning on the inside, though.
Diesel makes a scoff-like noise when I don’t let him go say hi to Rowe, and I bend forward to rub his neck. “Oh, you’ll be fine. That horse would pick a fight with you if we got too close.”
I dismount beside the stable and tie him up before pulling the mug of coffee out of the saddle bag. My boots scuff the cement floor in the stable when I peek my head in. It’s empty this morning, not even Brock to be found shovelling shit.
Leaving that alone for now, I set my sights on the round pen and cross the road.
Rowe doesn’t notice me when I hop onto the fence and sit on the top rung.
He lowers his hand from the horse’s back and stays standing silently beside him.
When he touches him again, he’s focused on the horse’s face.
I palm the coffee mug with both hands and let the warm morning settle over my face and arms.
In baggy sweatpants and a shirt triple my usual size, I tip my head back and shut my eyes.
There’s the light growl of a diesel engine somewhere in the distance and the clop of hooves on tightly packed dirt.
Even the birds are chirping in the trees scattered throughout the ranch.
If I tried hard enough, I’m sure I’d be able to pick up the smell of whatever Faye’s baking in the ranch house too.
Today is a good day, even if the sun’s only been up for a few hours.
Staring ahead again, I exhale. Rowe’s on the opposite side of the horse now, his hand on his back once again. It’s me he’s looking at, though, whether he means to or not.
The corner of my mouth tugs into a smile. It’s half-soft, half-teasing. I’d love nothing more than for him to come over to me right now. And when I see his hand fall to his side and his boots moving softly but firmly around the horse’s body, I get my wish.
It takes him a minute to reach me. My pulse is racing by the time he’s stepping between my legs and diving a hand into my messy hair. I don’t have a chance to speak before he’s craning my head back and kissing me.
I slump against his body, bracing an arm around his waist as he feasts on my mouth. The mug of coffee presses to his chest, but neither of us bothers to shift it. This is what I was waiting for. Him.
“Good morning,” I murmur.
He grunts, dragging his mouth to my jaw and inhaling. My stomach flutters in anticipation, knowing damn well what he’s smelling.
“My bed, my horse, and now my body wash too. Anything else you want, hellcat?”
My laugh is too loud for such close proximity, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “More of those little notes of yours wouldn’t be so bad.”
“I was thinking bigger than that, but it’s a start.”
“Clothes that aren’t three times my size, then.”
He pulls back slightly, his eyes my favourite stormy grey colour. “Are you planning on moving your ass in?”
“Woah, slow down. I know you’re obsessed with me, but I’m not ready to go steady with you, cowboy.”
“You’re such a goddamn tease, Tilly,” he grumbles, winding my hair tighter around his fist. “We both know that wasn’t what I was asking.”
I wrap a thigh around his hip, guiding him closer. “I know. My suggestion still stands. I need my own clothes there. That’s all.”
There’s no immediate refusal from him, and I take that as agreement before moving on.
“Here. Your coffee machine is a piece of shit, by the way.”
Handing over the mug of coffee, I try to keep my expression balanced, nonchalant.
In reality, I know it means something for me to do this.
Not once in the six years that I was married to Ethan did I make him coffee or even consider bringing it to him at work.
My love language was never acts of service. I’m not sure if I even have one at all.
My relationship with my ex-husband was odd. I can see that now.
We met when I visited Nova Scotia for the first time, only a few months after Rowe went away, and for two years after I’d moved, I only allowed an off and off again relationship to form between us.
Then, it was like I woke up one day and decided that I couldn’t continue pining after a man who didn’t want me and who I feared wouldn’t even remember me when he got out of prison.
When I turned twenty-four, I decided to give the guy a real shot. He hopped at the chance and proposed. A year after that, we were married, and I was living a life that I convinced myself was right for me.
I should have known the entire time that it wasn’t.
Rowe takes the mug with a lift of his brow. I prepare for him to tease me about bringing it all this way, but he doesn’t. Flipping the lid, he keeps his eyes on me and takes a long drink of it.
It’s a silent understanding. He’s not going to push me, and I won’t push him either. We’ll just let the cards fall as they may. That’s the only way whatever this is will work.
“Thank you,” he says.
“You’re welcome. There’s water too. I know you don’t drink enough of it.”
“There’s water in coffee.”
I blink. “That doesn’t count. You need real water, or you’re going to collapse in the sun.”
“I’ve been just fine for the last thirty-so years, Tilly.”
“Stop arguing. You’re going to drink the water I brought.”
“What will you give me if I do?” he counters, lowering the mug and brushing my hair with his fingers instead of pulling it.
“What are you, twelve?”
“I’ll drink all the water you want me to if you come to Ponoka with me this weekend.”
“What’s in Ponoka?”
He fills his palm with my thigh and squeezes softly. “Got a competition.”
“Only if you keep your hat on your head this time. I’m not above starting a fight if it falls onto someone else,” I warn, not the least bit surprised to hear the venom dripping from the words.
“The only head it’s gonna fall on is yours, hellcat.”
My smile spreads slowly. “You better win, then.”