Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
KASEY
“Well, look who it is,” Rhett grumbles from inside a barn stall, a shaving fork gripped in his hand, looking a little green around the gills. “All this ‘I better find you in that barn at sunrise, or your ass is grass’ bullshit and you don’t even show up ’til fucking ten.”
He’s right, I’m late. But I don’t have the patience to deal with him this morning. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“Yeah.” He nods. “You better fucking be.”
Wells strides in, leading a retired racehorse we’ve been working with back into his stall. He raises an eyebrow as he looks from Rhett to me. “Fair warning. He’s a little cranky,” he tells me, nodding to Rhett.
“Seven shots and half a dozen beers will do that to you.”
Rhett suddenly hunches over to gag in the corner.
When nothing comes up but a mouthful of spit he aims in my direction, he takes a moment to collect himself before straightening and looking back at me.
“I still showed up this morning.” He glowers.
“I think I’m still drunk, actually, and yet I almost have this whole barn clean. ”
I sigh, working to press down my own irritation.
“Look, I’m sorry. It was a late night.” Not a lie—I didn’t get into bed until almost two in the morning after that disaster of a conversation with Ava, and then I tossed and turned all night with more fucking nightmares. “I must have slept through my alarm.”
“Late-night visits from pretty brunettes can have that effect,” Wells quips with a sly grin. “I mean, hell, I know all about it.”
“That’s not what happened. She was just here to talk.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” He laughs. But his smile slips as he really looks at me. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say, turning to reach for a saddle pad so I can get the golden mare Ava pointed out the other day ready for a ride.
Rhett grumbles something under his breath to Wells, but I don’t hear it and I don’t want to.
I ignore them both as I focus on my task of getting the horse ready for a ride before leading her out of the barn.
She puts up a bit of a fight at first, none too happy with being saddled, but after a few affectionate strokes along her nose and some murmured praise, she allows me to do what’s needed.
There are two corrals that sit relatively close to the big barn, just outside of the wide doors, as well as a third tucked around the corner that we haven’t been using as much lately without Brooks in rotation on this training schedule.
It’s further away from any prying eyes and, not trusting myself to keep my cool with my brothers today, I decide it’s where we’ll go.
Leading the mare takes effort because she’s not very trusting.
She might’ve let me get a saddle and bridle on, but she doesn’t like it when I encourage her to keep moving with light tugs and lets out loud snorts in obvious protest. It takes controlled patience—something far easier to extend to her than to Rhett—but we eventually make it into the open pen.
“Good girl, Goldie,” I murmur, dragging my hand down her long neck. She huffs out a frustrated breath before leaning into my hand, and I laugh. “You’re torn, aren’t you, girl? You want to trust me but aren’t sure how.”
Sounds a lot like another fiery girl in my life.
I test her willingness to cooperate by lifting my foot and setting it the stirrup, pushing a little weight in through my leg. Goldie takes a step back, shifting on her feet, but then holds still for me. I smile at her, telling her what a beauty she is, hoping she can feel my respect and care.
But then I shift my weight onto my leg and fully stand in the stirrup, and she rears back with a loud whinny, forcing me to bail.
I repeat the exercise, continuing to push weight into the stirrup while rewarding her with affectionate strokes and praise. Eventually, she lets me stand in the stirrup while I rub along her shoulders, and I think I’m close to earning my way into the saddle.
But then my phone chimes from my back pocket, and I let out a muffled curse as the sound sends Goldie rearing back again, tearing down all this trust we’ve just built.
“Just what I need,” I mutter, pulling my phone out to silence the notifications—something I should have done before I pulled this horse out.
It’s a rookie mistake I shouldn’t be making.
I notice Ava’s name across the screen where a new text message has come in. Just got a call from Pastor Brown, it reads.
A second text buzzes in a moment later. We’re on for Saturday’s ceremony, if you’re still in this.
I stare at the words, unblinking, as my heart jumps into my throat.
If I’m still in this?
If I’m still in this?
If this woman only fucking knew how much I was still in this, even after last night’s conversation went to absolute shit.
I should have never walked away from her, should have never left her alone in my kitchen with tears streaming down her face.
But even with the panic swelling inside me, the truth of my feelings for her still bleeds out like a rotting wound and I’d bet damn good money they’re a perfect match to hers.
Last night wasn’t the first time I’ve let myself be vulnerable with Ava Jones only for her to try to throw it back in my face and make me feel crazy, and I have a strong suspicion it won’t be the last. But as pissed as I am at the cruelty of this cycle we seem to be in, I woke up this morning knowing one thing for damn sure: we might be ten years older, but she and I have unfinished business.
We might always have unfinished business.
Until a miracle strikes down from the heavens and Ava finally opens her heart to me in all the ways that matter, I’m going to be bucking on this fucking ride, holding on to all the shreds of hope I can find.
The worst part is, knowing how stubborn she is, I might go to my grave still pining for her.
I can pretend all I fucking what, but it’s not going to change the truth.
I look down at my phone again and scoff. If I’m still in this my ass.
I fire off a nice and short Yep before tucking my phone back in my pocket, huffing out a long breath that matches the one Goldie lets out.
“Sorry, girl,” I murmur, stepping toward her with a tentative arm out, knowing I need to regain ground.
“If it helps, you’re not the only girl currently scared of me. ”
Her dark brown eye catches hold of mine, curious and observant.
“What do you say we take a break? And later, when I pull you out again, you let me ride you around this corral?”
She lifts her head high, as if seeking out the sunshine. I take it as a good sign and give her a loving pat on her rump before leading her back to the barn.
A light knock sounds from the front door just as I’m about to get into the shower.
Pulling my robe off the hook in the bathroom, I wrap it around myself then trudge warily toward the door.
I briefly look down at myself to make sure I’m decent before pulling the door open, finding my mother on the other side.
“Mom?” I look her up and down. “You okay?”
“Of course! Are you?”
I can’t help it—I laugh. “Yeah,” I answer, smiling. “What are you doing all the way out here? I would have come to the house.”
She waves a hand. “I wanted to come to you.” Her gaze moves to the space above my shoulder, sneaking a peek inside the cabin.
And then it dawns on me. “She’s not here, you nosy woman.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, feigning innocence as she steps closer, forcing me to take a step back so she can come inside. “I’m here to see you.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, still smiling. My mother puts up with a lot from all of us, and she’s never failed to provide my brothers and me with whatever we might need.
I’d consider her my biggest supporter in life, without any hesitation.
But she’s also not usually one to get super involved in our personal lives.
“Let me go turn off the shower,” I say. “Give me a sec.”
“No problem!” she chirps, heading for the kitchen. I notice the way she scans my living room, like she’s looking for anything that might be different.
Shaking my head, I go back into the bathroom and turn off the faucet. I pick up my dirty clothes and dump them in the hamper in my room, and then make my way back to the kitchen where I find her seated at the table. “You want anything? Water? Beer?”
“A beer sounds wonderful,” she says. A rare choice for Mom—she pretty much stopped drinking when Dad did, I think in an effort to show support . . . and to keep alcohol out of the house.
I pull two bottles out of the fridge, popping them open before setting them down on the table. “To what do I owe this visit?” I ask, curious.
She takes a big sip of her beer, her eyes closing as she swallows it down. “Damn, I almost forgot how good that is.”
I chuckle. “Especially after a long day,” I admit.
She looks at me blankly. “Sweetheart, it’s been a long fucking decade.”
Her blunt honesty catches me by surprise. “You okay, Mom?”
She nods. “Fine. Tired, but fine. Brooks went to the grocery store today—it’s the first time he’s left the ranch since . . .” Her voice trails off.
My chest squeezes. “How’d he do?”
She shrugs. “Okay, I think. I didn’t press too hard, but he got plenty of groceries and seemed in good spirits when he got back.”
Relief overcomes me. “That’s so good.”
She nods. “Layla’s really been a huge help with the boys. That girl will be an incredible mother someday, if she chooses to be.”
My pulse spikes as my thoughts careen to Ava. “I went and saw Brooks and the boys the other day,” I say, pushing the thought away. “They seem happy, considering. I know Liam just got in trouble, but—”
“Wasn’t his fault,” she finishes for me. “I know, I know. I used to get calls from the school constantly with you boys, and more than half the time you lot were being blamed for shit that had nothing to do with you.”
I take a sip of my beer, letting the cold carbonation burn against my tongue. “This town isn’t always fair,” I say.
“Nope,” she agrees. “You know, your father has been up and moving around a lot more these last few weeks. He still hasn’t gone outside the house, but he’s been doing what he can to help with things so I can be there for Brooks and the boys.
” She pauses, considering her words. “I know he’s been worried about all this inheritance stuff, but I think you and Rhett talking to him about it and asking him to step up might have made him realize he could be doing more. ”
Her gaze slices to me, gauging my reaction.
My brothers and I have always had a complicated relationship with our father—especially Rhett.
But Brooks and I were old enough to see plenty of his good days before his accident, before his wild and reckless lifestyle turned against him and cost him his leg.
It’s been over twenty years, and I still miss that man dearly.
“Anyway,” she continues, “I told him what you and that girl of yours have cooking to stop this ranch from going to Huck.”
“Really?” I ask, tentative. “What does he think?”
“He thinks you’re making too big a sacrifice,” she says, her voice stern enough to tell me she feels the same way. But then her eyes soften. “But he’s really damn proud of you, Kasey.”
I take in the words, letting them permeate. “And you?”
“I think it’s noble, honey. The Bennetts have always protected family above all else. But I have to admit, I worry about you. I worry about where this leads.”
I sigh. “You don’t have to worry about me, Mom. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” she asks, really looking at me.
No, I want to say. Instead, I go with, “I’ll be fine.”
She nods, taking another pull from her beer. And then she says, “You know, I saw how bad it wrecked you when Ava left. And I’ve seen you with a new girl here and there over the years, but I don’t think you’ve really given your heart away to anyone else, have you?”
“No,” I admit. “I haven’t.”
“Why not?”
“Honestly? I think Ava still has it,” I say, forcing out a dark chuckle. “I think she always will whether she wants it or not.”
Her eyes narrow. “Does she know that?”
“I don’t know,” I answer. “I think at her core she might, but it scares her. I’m not sure she knows how to let someone really love her.”
“Your father was like that,” she says. “Rhett too. Vulnerability is incredibly hard for some people, especially when they’ve had to live through hard things. But don’t be afraid to show her that love isn’t just scary, Kasey, if that’s what you want.”
I blow out a breath. “Thanks, Mom,” I say, giving her a small smile. I can’t help but wonder what she’d say if she knew Ava is pregnant, how that might change her mind about what we’re doing.
Either way, it wouldn’t matter.
Because I’m going to marry her, come hell or high water.