Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ELLIE
If there’s one thing I thrive on, it’s routine—waking up at six a.m., jogging on the trails by seven, and then heading to the stables to groom and work on Ranger’s techniques before running drills and practice runs.
By noon, Noah meets me at the training center to watch my progress and give any critiques.
If it’s a weekend race, I pack the day before and then get Ranger ready for travel.
I’m in bed by nine p.m. every night.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
No social life included to get where I am and where I want to go.
This is what I worked hard for and won’t take any of it for granted.
My parents pay my way and most of my earnings go right back into it, minus the amount I put into a savings account.
Barrel racing is an expensive hobby. Even at the career level, you’re still hardly breaking even when you consider the training and boarding costs, maintenance and upkeep of your horse, traveling expenses, and rodeo fees.
I’m lucky to have a mom and dad who support me in doing what I love.
Focusing on this helps keep me out of my depression cycles, and I enjoy doing it, so it’s a win-win.
After almost four years of pro rodeo, I have things down to a T on what helps me prepare for each event. I’m strict with my schedule and workouts, and I stay on top of my training and Ranger’s health, as well as my own. It takes a lot of time and energy to practice each day.
But if there’s one thing—or rather, person—guaranteed to mess up my day, it’s Landen Hollis.
During my first year of training with Noah, he’d show up a few times a week to watch me and whisper to Noah about what I was screwing up. Then she’d agree and tell me how to fix it using his suggestions.
The bastard’s smug smirk after seeing it work is what drove me to hate him even more.
The next few years after that, he’d pop in and out while I trained. Sometimes he’d silently watch while I pretended his presence didn’t affect me and other times he’d make himself known by giving unsolicited advice.
Today of all days, I find him in Ranger’s stall, petting and murmuring to him after I actively ignored his presence yesterday in the training center when he was with Antonio.
“What’re you doin’ in here?” I snap, causing him to jump and whip around so quickly, his cowboy hat falls off.
He doesn’t wear it often, usually only during hot, sunny days when he plans to be outside for hours and wants to prevent a sunburn.
I hate how much I like it on him.
Once he’s picked it up, he looks at me. “Goddamn, you need a bell ’round your neck so you can’t just sneak up on people.”
“You’re not supposed to be in his stall,” I say, opening the door and wedging myself inside.
He steps toward me, caging us closer together. Well, fuck, this was a bad idea.
“You’re aware I work here, right? Cleanin’ and feedin’ are all in my job description.”
I snarl at his mocking tone. “Don’t pull that shit with me. The stables ain’t your responsibility.”
He manages the breeding operations, across the ranch, which is the biggest perk of being at the stables. He rarely needs to be in here.
His arms twist behind his back as he tilts his head in a cocky gesture. “I’m so glad you know more about my duties than I do, but today, I’m takin’ over for Ruby. She’s got the flu.”
Well, shit.
Thanks a lot, Ruby.
“You must not be doing a good job, then. She’s usually done with Ranger’s stall by now,” I respond smugly, mocking his posture.
Landen steps back, giving me much-needed space to finally breathe, and then waves out his hand.
“Let me give you the tour, Miss Donovan. There’s fresh straw on the ground, his water bucket is full, he ate his breakfast of hay and grains, and I even lunged him in the corral afterward.
I was just finishing up groomin’ him for you. ”
I’m right on time, so I don’t know how he managed to do all of that before eight a.m.
“I lunge him every mornin’,” I counter. “And groom him afterward.”
The corner of his lips tilts up slightly. “Now ya don’t have to. He’s ready for whatever you need to do today.”
I grind my molars, annoyed he’s taken an hour out of my schedule without even asking. Most would be grateful for it, but this is Ranger’s and my quality time each day. Bonding is important before we go into work mode. It helps maintain our relationship and trust.
It’s our routine.
“He’s used to doing things at certain times. You’ve screwed everything up.”
“He is or you are?” He arches a brow, pursing his lips. “I think the words you’re lookin’ for are thank you. So you’re welcome, Little Devil. Now you have an extra hour to train or maybe go to The Lodge and have some breakfast.”
The retreat’s main building is where guests check in or sign up for activities.
They offer a full buffet for all three meals that extends to staff members, too.
I’ve been told I’m free to help myself to it, but I’ve never been a big breakfast eater.
I’ll have yogurt, toast, or drink a protein shake before I leave the house.
Anything more than that, and I’ll feel nauseous while I’m jogging or riding.
I pop my hip, cross my arms, and then glare at him. “Let me guess, you’re going there to eat now?”
His smirk deepens as if he’s not surprised I drew that conclusion. “I could. Wanna carpool on my dirt bike? You can sit in my lap.”
Rolling my eyes at his lame attempt to get me to go, I push around him to get closer to Ranger.
“No. You’re not supposed to drive that ’round the horses, anyway.”
“As long as I don’t rev the engine near the trainin’ center, it’s fine.”
“Well, either way, my answer is no.” I put my back to him as I grab a brush and begin at Ranger’s neck.
His arm rubs against my shoulder before I hear the click of the stall lock and a few knuckle taps across the wood. “If you change your mind, I have an extra helmet.”
“Hard pass to smashin’ my brains across the pavement,” I retort.
He bellows out a laugh. “Says the woman who literally risks her life each day being a barrel racer, but yeah, sure, better not risk ridin’ on a dirt bike with a helmet. God forbid you actually take the stick outta your ass and have some fun.”
My jaw drops, and I whip around toward him, but he’s already walking away.
God, I hate him.
I arrive home at exactly a quarter after four. The fifteen-minute drive from the ranch gives me just enough time to process my day.
After my lessons with Noah, I gave Ranger a break while I ate lunch in my truck.
Sometimes I’ll take a walk and find a place to sit and eat, but today I wasn’t up for it.
Afterward, I took Ranger on a trail ride where I focused on balance and letting him guide me without holding the reins.
To reduce the risk of injury or hoof issues, I only take him on one in particular that weaves around the retreat pond.
With the heavy horse-riding traffic, the ground is mostly flat, which leaves the trail wide open.
We’ll usually run into Wilder and Waylon, who lead the trail rides for the retreat guests and stop to give quick hellos while their group passes.
Ranger and I ended the day with a final hour of technique practice and lunging before I groomed him one last time.
He’s due to see Fisher—Noah’s husband and the ranch’s farrier—to get new shoes and his hooves trimmed.
It’s a six-hour drive, so I’ll bring the horse trailer with living quarters so we can stay overnight.
My parents take turns traveling with me on my weekend trips since my aunt Phoebe lives with us and can’t be left alone for long periods at a time. My grandma comes over if they both have to leave the house for a few hours, but otherwise, either my parents or I are home with her.
Aunt Phoebe experienced a psychotic break a decade ago after going through back-to-back traumatic events and hasn’t been able to safely live on her own.
She struggled with her mental health before everything happened, but then after, she resorted to self-harming.
When her mind escapes reality, she sees or hears things that aren’t real and gets confused easily.
She went into treatment after her husband left.
Since she’s my mom’s sister, Mom wanted her home with us where we could shower her with love and make sure she continued getting care.
She still gets medical help and biweekly therapy sessions, but witnessing how much she’s changed from the Aunt Phoebe I knew as a child is a constant reminder of what happened to our family.
It’s not fair how one event or person can ruin lives and change ours forever.
“Hi, sweetie. How was your day?” Mom beams as soon as I walk through the door, the aromas of pepper and sausage hitting my nose.
She’s at the stove, preparing dinner, right on time.
I shrug, removing my boots, and then set them on the mat. “Ranger was off his game today.”
More like Landen screwed up our routine.
“Sorry to hear that. Horses can have bad days just like humans. I’m sure he’ll be better tomorrow.” She smiles at me over her shoulder as she continues stirring country gravy, a family favorite.
“I hope so. Are you or Dad comin’ with me this weekend?” I ask, walking to the sink to wash my hands so I can set the table.
“I can’t, sweetie. I’m sorry. Aunt Phoebe is havin’ withdrawal symptoms since her doctor changed one of her prescriptions and it’s makin’ her go to the bathroom every hour. She won’t want me to leave.”
“Okay, no problem. I’m sure Dad will record every second of it for you, anyway.
” I grin at how supportive he’s been throughout the years.
He’s always in the front row with his phone out and cheering with the crowd.
My family owns the local feed mill store and Dad starts his day at five a.m. each day to be home in the evenings and have off on the weekends.