25. Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
Wes
Ipull down on the lead rope, forcing the filly to mind me as we walk to the paddock behind the breeding barn.
Rosemary stands by the open gate, holding it so I have a clear path. This one has taken a bit longer than the others to get going. Free-spirited, I would say. Which is probably why Roe has taken to her so quickly.
They’re one and the same.
“You think that one will be ready in time for the sales next month?” she asks as I guide the horse through the gate. She’s hot, amped up, and ready to run, so I force her to stand a moment before unhooking the rope.
She takes off like a bat out of hell anyway.
“Who knows,” I say, slipping through the crack in the gate Roe held for me.
When Roe and I are halfway to the barn, I turn back, pausing to watch the filly settle in. After a few laps, she calms appropriately, nosing the late-August grass. “Maybe,” I amend. “I think she’ll figure it out.”
Since Gus died, I’ve had a lot of time to think about how fortunate I am to have Roe here on the farm. I’ve watched the filly in the pen for the last few weeks, and thought a lot about Rosemary.
While I love having the help and having someone responsible enough to allow for more time with Cassidy, I know that Roe isn’t happy. There is a part of her that’s left unfulfilled here. She said it herself, the farm isn’t a home for her like it is for me. Instead, it’s merely a cage.
I’m not sure what my mom said to her to lock herself inside, but it had to have been a very specific kind of horrid. Rosemary isn’t a quitter.
When we get into the barn, I hang the lead on a hook as Rosemary migrates to the end of the barn. “Roe,” I say, and she turns back. “I—”
This really isn’t the time.
But then again, is there ever a time for anything? Cassidy lost her brother in a matter of days.
“What?” She crosses her arms, firming her stance to take whatever bullshit I spew at her, but this isn’t bullshit.
“When are you going to move back to Nashville?” I ask, and her brows pull together.
“Are you kicking me out?” she asks, avoiding the question.
“No.” I turn to face her as a horse snorts from the other end of the barn. “Listen,” I say, “because I don’t want to miss the chance to say this. You’re not happy here—not truly. And I don’t know what mom has been saying to you, and I’ve failed you by not prodding.”
Roe rolls her eyes. “I don’t need you to prod, Wesley. I’m an adult.”
“Yes. You’re an adult. Which means you shouldn’t be listening to our mother when it comes to decisions that have to do with the trajectory of your life.”
She sucks on her teeth, eyes glassy in a way that has me guilty. “I don’t need—”
“Griffin and I have been talking about the wedding coming up in a few days. I want you to reach out to him.” I pull out my phone, forwarding his number.
When Roe’s phone dings in her pocket, I put mine away.
“When you’re ready, send him a text. He has connections, and you deserve to have whatever it is you want to have, Rosemary. I want you to know that.”
I clear my throat, not knowing where to go from there.
While I think my sister knows I care for her, I haven’t always been the kind to show it. We joke. I’m here to support her. The house is open, and she’s always welcome.
But there have always been unspoken words.
I love you. I appreciate you. Mom has been so unfair to you. I don’t resent you for chasing something beyond the family business. I see you for exactly who you are, and that’s the sister I have memories with. I wouldn’t change any of those memories.
It seems odd to bring up.
It will always seem odd to bring up.
But since watching Cass lose her brother, I’ve thought about it a lot—thought about all of the people I’m closest to and how I’ve taken them for granted. Especially Rosemary.
Instead of saying all of those things bubbling up inside me, I settle for this—whatever it is.
“I want you to be happy, Spike.” I swallow. “You’re not happy here—not really.”
Roe doesn’t say anything. She nods once before turning and walking out of the barn alone.
After grooming one of the colts, I hop in the golf cart to return to the main barn, and I don’t see Rosemary again—not even when I return to the farmhouse that evening.
The sun sets low along the horizon, drowning the kitchen in late evening light. I pull the pocket knife from my jeans and toss it on the counter. Mud doesn’t come down to the kitchen to greet me, and I know he’s been up at the house for a while now.
Rory is coming to have a permanent residence in the farmhouse, which has added an allergy pill to my daily routine, but I don’t find that it isn’t worth it.
The stairs creak when I climb them, careful not to be too loud.
In the first few weeks, Cassidy struggled to fall asleep. In the last few days, that changed completely, and I don’t want to disturb her.
I push the door open, finding her curled around Mud and Rory. At first, I think she’s sleeping, until I set my hat down on the dresser and hear a soft sniff.
“Hey,” I say, finding her there in the darkening room.
I curl around her, pulling her tight to my chest despite the grime of the day. It doesn’t seem to matter as of late.
Cass takes a shaking breath, and I hold her tighter. “I got you,” I whisper.
Her voice cracks when she speaks. “I’m so sad, Wes.” I stroke her cheek, catching the dampness there. “I’m so sad all of the time.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I know.”
“I’m sorry.” Her shoulders shake, and I keep her through it, not shying away.
“Don’t be.”
Cass rolls to face me, and I make space for her—I’ll always make space for her.
Her blue eyes shine brighter with the tears, and it breaks something inside me.
“You once told me I was like the sun, and I don’t always feel like that these days.
” She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.
“I keep thinking you’ll decide you’ve had enough of me—that this is all too much.
Especially if I’m not happy all the time, and you liked that about me. ”
I watch her, watch the pain and fear written so clearly on her face. I did tell her that, but there’s so much more to her than that.
Cass is a horse woman, through and through, but she’s softer around the edges. There’s a quiet strength to her—one that she doesn’t see in herself right now, but I see it. God, do I see it.
It’s that strength that I admire—the way she cares for the animals on the farm and the people closest to her, even in the midst of finding herself, she never stopped caring. She’s a bright spot on a dark day—yellow flowers in a mason jar on the table.
I push the hair back from her face, kissing her forehead as my own tears threaten to break free.
“You don’t always have to be happy to be loved, Cassidy.
” A small smile flirts with my lips. “When you first walked into the barn in those yellow rain boots, I couldn’t get that out of my head for weeks.
They were so bright against all of the gray in my life at the time.
” She takes out a shuddering breath as I stroke her hair again.
“And you traded those bright boots for muck boots—brown and standard like anyone else's. But even then, you were still you. And you’re still you now. Even when you’re laughing down at the barn.
Even when you’re sad and crying, you’re still you.
” My voice cracks as I finish speaking. “As bright as ever.”
She closes her eyes, another tear tracking down her cheek.
“I can’t bring him back. Sometimes I feel like nothing has changed, and I’m laughing with Grady about Walton’s disgusting sandwich, which he packs every day.
I still want to do so many things, but I just can’t bring him back, and there’s always this undercurrent.
There’s this sadness that lives with me now and shows up at random. ”
“I know.” I pull her to me, letting her tears stain my shirt.
When she quiets, I close my eyes. I’ll shower in the morning.
When I speak, it’s a soft confession—one whispered into the night. “I love you,” I say, even while knowing she’s fallen asleep.
That’s why it surprises me when her hand moves to my chest, covering the place where my heart beats for her.
“I love you, too, Wesley.” It’s so soft, I almost miss it. “So much.”