Chapter Eight
I lean my shoulder into the splintered wood of the barn and let the cold bite where it wants. The boards are rough through my flannel, little picks catching threads.
Fuck, it’s cold.
I forgot how different the late September weather is in the Wyoming mountains versus the Nevada desert.
I’m gonna need to get Ruby some warmer clothes. Shit, there are so many things to think about when you’re responsible for a little human.
My breath comes out in puffs of white, and I shove my hands deep into my pockets because they won’t stop shaking. Could be the cold. Could be the fact that I’m soaked to the bone. Probably a combination of both.
The morning smells like hay and horses and damp earth.
Honest smells. I like them better than the sour bite of whiskey that won’t quite leave my mouth.
I can’t remember the last time I had a hangover.
But I’m definitely feeling the effects of last night.
My head throbs in time with my pulse. Every sound feels too loud—the wind skimming the roof, a distant door creaking open somewhere, the light stomp of a horse shifting its weight inside the barn as it eats its breakfast.
Hoofbeats cut through it all.
I lift my head just as Cabe rides up. He takes me in with one slow look—from my boots, caked in mud, to my hay-littered jeans and sopping wet hair. His mouth twists into a smirk.
“Geezus, Way,” he says. “You look like crap.”
I huff out a laugh that hurts my temples. “Good to see you too, buddy.”
He swings down from the saddle and loops the reins over a post.
He squints at me, then at the sky, then back at me again.
“What the hell are you doing here so early?” he asks.
I straighten a little, wincing when my spine protests. “Waiting on you.”
His grin spreads, slow and wicked. “Aw, that’s sweet,” he drawls. “But you’re not really my type.”
“Well, damn,” I say. “And here I got all gussied up for you.”
Cabe snorts, the sound sharp in the cold air. He steps closer, close enough that I can smell coffee on his breath, and cocks his head.
“Shelby said you had a hot date in town this morning,” I say. “She also said you might give me a ride to Ironhorse on the way.”
He shrugs. “Shelby talks too much. I never said I had a date, just that I was going to breakfast.”
“She is a bit ornery this morning,” I say.
Cabe chuckles. “She must be the one who gave you that shower.”
I wince. “That was a shower?”
“I saw you sleeping on the hay this morning when I came to get Mystic here from his stall,” he says, leaning back against the post. “Figured I’d wake you when I got back to the barn myself. Guess Shelby beat me to it.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I think I must’ve startled her.”
Cabe laughs outright now. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s why she tried to drown you.”
“I tried to apologize, but she chased me out of there, so I didn’t get the chance. Will you tell her for me?”
“I’ll pass it along.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Can you? Give me a lift, I mean.”
He jerks his chin toward the barn. “Wait here. I’ll go untack.”
He disappears inside, leaving me alone with the cold again. I shift my weight and regret it instantly. My boots squelch faintly, still damp. I wipe at the hay that still clings to my jeans before dragging a hand down my face and closing my eyes for a second, breathing through the ache.
I shouldn’t have been there last night. Shouldn’t have gone as far as I did. But the past has a way of sneaking up on you when you’re not looking, wrapping its fingers around your throat and squeezing until you reach for whatever’s closest to make it stop.
I open my eyes just as Cabe walks back out of the barn and heads toward the pickup parked near the house.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he calls, “You coming, Sleeping Beauty?”
I push off the wall and cross the yard and round the truck as he fires up the engine.
I haul myself up into the passenger seat and shut the door with more force than necessary.
Cabe pulls out, tires crunching over gravel. He cranks the heater up to high, blessed warm air blasting my face. I groan.
“What the hell did you get into last night?” he asks, rolling down his window a crack. “You smell like a keg had a fistfight with a horse stall.”
“The bottom of a whiskey bottle,” I say. “And apparently some dirty hay in the Wildhaven Storm barn.”
“Smells about right.”
The road stretches out ahead of us, pale with frost. The sky’s just stirring awake, the sun chasing away that thin gray mist that hovers over the hills before sunrise. I watch it through the windshield, my head resting back against the seat.
“So,” Cabe says after a minute, “you sticking around this time? Or you just passing through town again?”
I swallow. That is the question everyone is thinking. “I’m not altogether sure yet,” I admit. “Guess I’ll just have to see how things go.”
He nods, eyes still on the road. “I hope you stay.”
Something tightens in my chest at that. I miss being in a place where people actually care what you do—or don’t do.
We pull up to the big house at Ironhorse as the sun finally breaks free of the horizon, spilling golden streaks across the yard. The place looks the same as it always has—solid, welcoming, like it’s been waiting for me to return all these years.
“Thanks again,” I say, reaching for the door as Cabe brings the truck to a stop by the front porch.
“Anytime,” he says, jerking his chin at me. “Just come to the front door instead of sneaking into the barn next time.”
“I’ll do my best.”
I climb out, my legs stiff, and shut the door. Cabe waits until I’m on the porch before he pulls away, the truck disappearing down the drive.
I take the steps slow, careful not to make them creak. I’m halfway to the door when it opens anyway.
My mother stands there in her robe and slippers, hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes sweep over me from head to toe, and I see it all reflected back—disheveled, soaked through, my face drawn and pale.
“Momma,” I start, my voice heavy with regret, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay out all night. I was just planning to have a couple of beers, but Caison and I—we started talking about the past, and—”
My voice catches hard on her name. It always does.
Crissy.
My baby sister.
Seventeen years, and the weight still feels too heavy to lift.
“I ended up at the bottom of a whiskey bottle,” I go on, words tumbling over each other. “And when Caison stopped at Wildhaven Storm on the way home, I guess I got confused. I don’t know. I must’ve wandered into the barn and—”
She steps forward and cups my cheek, her palm warm, steady. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “Caison called last night when he couldn’t find you. Told me all about it. Just be quiet. Your father’s still sleeping. He doesn’t know you were out all night.”
Guilt twists in my gut. “You were up, waiting?”
She nods. “I was worried. Caison didn’t know where you’d disappeared to.”
“You didn’t have to stay up all night,” I say. “I’m a big boy.”
She smiles a knowing smile. “Oh, you just wait, son. One day, that little girl upstairs is gonna miss curfew, and you’re gonna pace the floor all night until you hear her walk through the door, safe and sound.”
“I’m twenty-five, Momma.”
“I know. But you’ll always be my baby, and when you say you’ll be home and you don’t show up, I’m gonna worry all the same.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“I know.” She squeezes my cheek once, then drops her hand. “Go on. Get upstairs and into the shower. Four-year-old little girls who were promised a riding lesson by their daddy don’t care about hangovers. Ruby will be up at any minute.”
A smile tugs at my mouth despite everything. “Yes, ma’am.”
I lean down and kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”
She turns to walk toward the staircase with me, her arm brushing mine. We move quietly through the house, the familiar creaks of the floorboards sounding louder than they ever have.
As we reach the bottom of the stairs, I glance over at her. “He called Ruby Peanut last night.”
She stops.
I see it hit her the same way it hit me—sharp, sudden. That word. That name. The one he used to murmur into Crissy’s hair when he tucked her in at night. The one that still echoes in my head if I let it.
“I noticed,” she says after a moment.
“She reminds me of her sometimes,” I admit. “The way she laughs. The way she tilts her head when she’s thinking.”
My mother’s eyes shine. “Ruby does remind me a lot of Crissy,” she says, voice thick. “It’s so wonderful to have a little girl in the house again.”
She sniffs, pressing her lips together, then looks up at me with a watery smile. “And my big boy.”
Something inside me cracks open at that—a mix of love and grief and gratitude, all tangled together. I bend and hug her, careful not to get her wet.
“Go,” she mutters into my shoulder. “Before you wake Ruby and your father.”
I nod and head up the stairs. The quiet house welcoming me, even with all its ghosts.