Chapter 21
Tally
The scent of hay and horses clung to the morning air as I led Maverick back to the stables, my muscles aching in that satisfying way they always did after a good session.
Dust floated in sunbeams that sliced through the windows, and the hollow sound of hooves on concrete echoed beneath each of our steps.
Gunner was buried in camp prep, which meant the horse training was all mine, and I loved it that way.
This was my rhythm, my peace. The only part of life lately that made sense. My passion.
In the two days since he’d visited the prison, Wilder had been a little distant. The closeness we’d felt that I’d felt with him, had drained away like water through a cracked bucket. In its place, only silence. Grunted greetings, vanishing acts.
And it hurt.
My heart felt like it had been thrown around my rib cage, bruised with every beat.
He had a lot to deal with, his work, his dad, but I thought we’d reached a different place. One where he talked to me. He had talked to me.
“Being here feels like something I haven’t felt in a long time… peaceful.”
I’d given him that. I’d been that. And now he was avoiding me. Shutting me out like I was noise.
“Hey, Tally.”
I looked over my shoulder to see Mikey crossing the yard, boots crunching over gravel, the late-morning light washing his cap in gold.
“Hi Mikey. You okay?”
“All good. The boss sent me. He asked if you could take Dreamy over to the camp paddock. Bertie’s going over there, and he wants to try her on him.”
My chest sank as I let out a slow breath.
Dreamy had been skittish the last couple of days, nerves flickering under his coat like live wires.
It had been three steps forward, two steps back since the fire.
I’d honestly thought we’d gotten through the worst, but yesterday he wouldn’t even let me near him to brush him.
“Sure, give me five to finish up here.” I nodded toward Maverick.
Mikey smiled but didn’t leave. He rocked on his heels, rubbing the back of his neck.
“What?”
“I’m delaying going back. All three of them are over there and they’re not in the best of moods.”
That got my attention. I turned from the stall, hay brushing my boots. “They’re not? How come?”
“The guy who paid for the fire to be started is in court today.”
“That’s good, right?” I gently draped a blanket over Maverick’s back, smoothing it like a comfort I couldn’t quite give myself.
“I think he’s got some high-flying lawyer. They’re worried he’s going to get off with it.” Mikey came over and gave Maverick’s nose a rub, his voice quieter. “I don’t think the boss will ever get over losing Ariel.”
“It must have been horrific.”
Mikey’s whole body tensed. “It was. I never want to go through something like that again.”
The weight of his words settled over me. The scent of hay turned bitter in the back of my throat, my skin prickling with the thought of flames and smoke, of screams and ash. My eyes stung. I suddenly needed to hug Dreamy, to do something, anything, that felt like comfort.
“I’ll go and get him and take him over,” I told Mikey, clearing my throat. “Can you give Mav some water, please?”
“Sure will.” He threw me a salute and grabbed the bucket.
As I made my way to Dreamy’s stall, butterflies started to take flight in my stomach, their wings sharp and fluttering. I didn’t know whether it was because of the expectations of my horse, or the expectations of my heart.
Dreamy snickered the moment his hooves hit the grass, tossing his mane as if to shake off memory. He kicked his legs with the unfiltered joy of being out in the open, no starting gate, no jockey on his back demanding more speed.
He may have come from good racing blood, but it was clear. Dreamy’s soul belonged here.
“Good boy,” I whispered, scratching his chin, feeling the scuff of his bristle and the warmth of his breath. The touch grounded us both.
As we approached the camp, the shape of the three Miller brothers came into view. My eyes went to Wilder first, always.
He stood at the fence, shoulders hunched, head bowed low. He looked like he was holding up the whole damn paddock with the weight of whatever was crushing him. Nash and Gunner were nearby but apart, stiff postures, clipped gestures.
Tension twisted through the air like barbed wire.
My spine straightened.
Were they at odds with him?
The protective instinct was immediate. I didn’t even try to fight it. My insides ached, my stride quickened, and I urged Dreamy forward. Any notion I had of keeping my feelings hidden evaporated. If Wilder needed support, he had it. If he needed someone to hold him steady, I would be that.
But when he turned to face me, my feet almost stopped.
His expression was blank. A mask of nothing. Not the grief I expected. Not the frustration. Just a cold, carved-out absence.
Nash and Gunner, on the other hand, looked like their blood was boiling.
“Hi,” I said, the word soft and cautious.
Nash groaned and rubbed a hand down his face. “Hey, Tally.” He nodded toward Dream Maker. “How’s he doing?”
“Okay. A bit jumpy the last couple of days.”
“He was making great progress.” He looked at Wilder. “Didn’t you ride him a few weeks back?”
“Couple of months,” Wilder said, without looking at me.
His gaze eventually drifted to mine. I offered a smile. He gave nothing back. Just fists pressed to his hips and a look that didn’t reach me.
“Want me to send Bertie over?” He looked toward the paddock.
“Where’re you going?” Gunner asked, coming toward us.
“Got some stuff to do in the office.”
Gunner and Nash exchanged a look. Wilder didn’t do office work. That was Nash’s corner of the world.
“I’ll call Lily, get her to send her over.” Nash pulled out his phone and wandered off to make the call.
Gunner stepped forward and took Dreamy’s reins, the horse nuzzling into his chest with a low huff.
“I’ll take him into the paddock.”
When I didn’t let go of the reins, he raised a brow.
“Tally, he’ll be fine.” He chuckled. “Anyone would think he was your kid on his first day of school.”
“Give her a break,” Wilder said, his voice low and unexpected. “She’s right to feel nervous.”
The sound of his defense hit me square in the chest. My breath caught, and my heart betrayed me with a hopeful skip.
Pathetic.
When had I gotten so damn needy?
“Tally’s great at her job,” Gunner added, leading Dreamy into the paddock. “She’s got nothing to be nervous about.”
We stood in silence, watching them go. My fingers ached to reach for Wilder, to smooth the deep lines between his brows, to quiet the war I could see brewing behind his eyes.
So, I spoke instead.
“Mikey said the guy who started the fire is in court today.”
“Yeah. Bastard.” He jammed his hands in his pockets and scuffed at the dirt with his boot, eyes fixed on the ground.
“Are you okay? Not seen you for a couple of days,” I added with a dry laugh. “Nights, I should say.”
A breeze stirred the air, carrying the sharp scent of damp earth and the faintest tinge of wood smoke.
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said. I haven’t seen you for two nights. Not since you went to see—”
“I’m aware where I went, Tally.”
Tally. Not Brownie.
His voice was flat, like an empty can rolling across the sidewalk. The echo of it hit hard, bouncing around the hollowness inside me.
“Did you speak to your brothers about what your dad said?”
He didn’t answer at first. Then after an interminably long second or two he sighed.
“Yeah. They told me he was talking shit.”
“Okay.” I nodded, a bitter taste crawling up my throat.
He wasn’t going to make this easy.
Maybe I should have just walked away. Maybe I never should have fallen into bed with him in the first place.
“Good chat, Wilder.”
I turned to join Gunner in the paddock, but a hand caught my elbow.
“Tally… Brownie.”
“What?”
“I’ve just had a lot on. We had a meeting with Nate Jenkins last night and…” He pulled off his hat, dragging his hand through his hair. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I swallowed the lie. “Just did some work with Maverick. How was your meeting? No problems?”
“No, it was good.” He nodded, glanced toward Gunner and Dreamy, then back at me. The space between us felt heavy. A fog of what-ifs. Of unfinished sentences.
“I should get back to work,” I said, my voice low.
Wilder nodded. “Okay.”
I had almost reached the paddock when he called my name.
I turned, slowly.
“Can I come over tonight?”
Euphoria bloomed like fire through my veins and
I hated myself for it.
Where had my pride gone? Why was I letting him push and pull me like this?
Why was I so damn happy for a crumb?
“I know I’ve been a dick, but please, Brownie.”
His brown eyes were dark and wide, full of something. Regret. Need. Maybe even apology.
Or maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see.
“Fine.”
I turned away and tried to add some sass to my stride, but it felt hollow. Forced.
All I felt was gratitude. And I hated myself for that too.