9. Nine #2
Forcing myself to look, I find something dark swimming in Wes’s gaze. He holds me there, teetering on the edge until I want to beg to fall off. I haven’t even looked down to figure out what lies below—but somehow, I don’t care.
Wes shakes his head, one corner of his mouth turning up. “Well, there ya go,” he starts. “Might want to hold on better this time around. I can’t go helping you up every time.”
I clear my throat, wondering if he’s read my thoughts anyway.
“Right.”
Wes gracefully launches himself onto Intrepid’s back, and I find that the cold water does a lot to ease the heat in my blood.
My second trip into the pond is successful, and by the third, I’m feeling confident enough to look over at Wes, who’s laughing as Intrepid splashes him with one hoof.
“You did this a lot growing up?” I ask, the smile now returning to my face.
“As much as we could,” he answers. “Limited only by our parents’ rules and the weather, which both happened to be fairly limiting.”
I chuckle as Wes brings Intrepid up out of the water. He hops off, letting the horse graze. “I’m going to let him snack in peace for a bit while I dry off.”
He plants himself in the grass with a grunt, and I push Deco forward too, sliding off the side this time to join Wes where he sits.
His hands are outstretched behind him, face tilted toward the sun. I look over to the giant Willow hovering over the back corner of the field. Its sleepy limbs hang loose, swaying like windchimes. I can almost hear the song it wants to sing—the stories it wants to tell.
There’s a whole history on this farm I’m unaware of. Not only that, Wesley has an entire history, too. He’s charming when he wants to be—thoughtful.
Chad was like that, too, at first.
This time, when I get closer, I’m careful not to get too close. I sit in the grass next to him, keeping a bit more distance.
“When did you start riding and why?” Wes asks as I pick at the grass, pulling up the blades despite knowing I shouldn’t.
“Oh, you know,” I start, turning to look at him.
He keeps his face tipped toward the sky, his shirt clinging to him like his light-brown hair, darkened by the water. I avert my eyes, too aware of the cut to his jaw and the lone freckle that sits just below his left ear.
“No,” he says, “I don’t.”
I look back out at the glittering water of the pond.
Trees sway with the breeze against the cloud-dotted sky.
“I started riding after my brother got sick,” I confess.
It tumbles out of me and feels so odd considering how much time I’ve spent keeping Gus’s health out of conversation.
I haven’t brought it up to my friends—I haven’t brought it up to him at all, and the guilt from that eats me alive.
I’m so afraid of a misstep, doing my best to walk the line between my brother is totally fine and independent, and I’ve watched my dad carry him into the house when he couldn’t walk.
It’s far easier to avoid the topic altogether. It’s yarn sitting at the back of a closet, waiting for a project you keep saying you’ll get to, but then you just don’t.
For some reason, it feels safer here, with Wes. He’s not connected to my life in the same way, and he’s asking. I might as well answer.
“I think I needed to get out,” I start. “My parents weren’t getting along—bills and such.
I needed somewhere peaceful—a place for myself.
” I pluck at the grass, stopping when I realize I’ve created a bald spot.
“It’s part of the reason I wanted this job so badly.
It reminds me of the one place I didn’t have to think so hard.
It was okay to just exist around the horses.
Everything is allowed to just exist out here.
The expectations are that the horses would be exactly what they are and nothing else.
” A halfhearted smile pulls at the corner of my mouth when my eyes flick to his briefly.
“You don’t expect a horse to act like a…
” The water ripples just over the surface. “A fish.”
Silence stretches between us, and I pick at more of the grass, only stopping when Wes’s soft voice interrupts. “And why did you stop?” he questions.
“I’m not sure,” I admit, stretching my legs out further.
“I don’t think my parents were very focused on what I wanted, so it seemed easier to want less.
I used to work for my lessons, but even that started feeling like a burden.
I spent a lot of time molding myself to whatever my family needed, and somewhere down the road, I started cutting out the things that weren’t…
that. They needed my time more than I needed horses. ”
“They needed you to be a fish?” he says, and I let out a breathy chuckle.
“I guess.” He’s staring at me now, as if he’s hanging on my every word. “Gills and all,” I add.
It feels good to get the weight off my chest—good to feel heard without being pitied.
I like the feeling so much, I keep talking, and my brow furrows.
“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time bouncing between jobs trying to find something that fits.
Maybe I really did lose myself in all of that.
” I turn to look at Wes, who’s still listening.
He’s a steady presence, like the willow tree watching over us.
“I had a boyfriend—absolute scum, but he had a lot of money.”
Wes fights the smile tugging at his mouth. “I was feeling sorry for you, but now I’m not so sure.”
I chuckle. “No, I didn’t date him because of that. Either way, it wasn’t a very good fit. I feel much more like myself out here than at some golf club charity event.”
Wes looks at me thoughtfully, and I push my lips together. I’ve told him a lot—more than he probably bargained for.
“You’re an open book, aren’t you?”
“I…” I pause, my cheeks flushing a hot shade of embarrassment. I probably look ridiculous. “Not normally, no. Maybe you just talk so little, it leaves space for me to talk way too much.”
I look at him—really look at him as he watches me. I wonder what he sees. “I like it when you talk,” he confesses.
There’s a pause—one filled with all the words I wish he had spoken. It feels strange having someone know this much about my childhood aside from my parents and brother.
The spell breaks when Wes puts his hands on his thighs and grunts as he stands. “Alright,” he starts. “Shift’s over. I think those two want back out with the herd.”
Deco and Intrepid keep their muzzles to the grass, gobbling up as much as possible. “Look pretty happy to me,” I say.
“Yeah, well. I can’t have them ruining my beautiful lawn.”
We gather up the horses and walk them back to the barn, scraping any remaining water off and picking out their hooves before letting them out.
When the door from the barn to the pasture closes shut, Wes looks me up and down. I swear I can feel his gaze everywhere—like a soft caress over my skin. It plants me right back to when his hands were on my hips back by the pond.
“You’re still wet,” he whispers.
I tug at the end of my shirt, trying my best not to look at him. “Appears so.” I clear my throat. “I’m sure it will dry. It’s not like I have to drive forever. Just a little far, and I can—”
“Roe left some clothes up at the house. I think there’s a pair of shorts you can wear, and I have a shirt you can borrow, too.”
I dare to look at him, realizing he’s staring at my soaked outfit. “That could work.”
The air is charged as we walk up to the house, electric like the air outside right before a good thunderstorm.
When he hands me the clothes in his kitchen and points me to the restroom, I can finally breathe. The shorts ride a bit higher than I’m used to, but when the shirt slides over my skin, engulfing me in the scent of detergent and freshly cut grass, I inhale deeply.
It takes my phone buzzing on the bathroom counter to draw my attention away from the smell of Wesley Miller.
Ellis: I should be there in three hours!
I type out my reply.
Me: I’ll be there. And thank you, guys, again. I know you’re busy with wedding planning!
Her response is almost instant.
Ellis: Not too busy to move some boxes!
I take one last look at the white, wood paneling around the walls—the picture of daisies painted and hanging askew above the toilet—before returning to the kitchen where Wes has changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a brown t-shirt—much like the one currently draped around my body.
“I’ll be moving my stuff in today,” I say, and he startles, turning around until he’s facing me fully.
His gaze doesn’t linger when it sweeps up from my toes to my eyes. I flush, suddenly embarrassed. When he finally turns, he meets my eyes with his hands resting on the countertop behind him. One boot is crossed over the other.
“I know,” he says with a nod. “You told me.”
“Right.” My body feels too warm. Especially when he doesn’t say anything else. I grip the plastic bag of my wet clothes tighter. “Well,” I start, swallowing my discomfort like a knife. “Thanks again.”
“No problem,” he says, nodding once. “It’s right back to work tomorrow, though.”
Right.
The comment is a splash of cold water. I glance nervously around the kitchen, anxious to make my departure.
I’m taken back to my relationship with Chad and how blind I’d been throughout the entire thing. I ignored the red flags, instead, latching on to every sliver of affection.
There’s a very real possibility I’ve done the same thing here, basking in whatever attention Wes gave me without realizing how much of it had been common courtesy. He listened because I work for him, because he can’t be rude.
Oh my God.
I mutter another thanks and see myself out, letting the screen door slam behind me.
My muscles don’t ache as much when I carry the box of old books into the kitchen.
It’s a sure sign that my time at Miller Run has been well worth it. The first few days had me feeling like my body was broken—waiting to shrivel up and die like a long-forgotten house plant.