Beau
nine
I allowed extra time to get to the stable to account for Ollie’s shorter legs, so even interrupted by Dylan’s visit, we arrive on time.
The stable itself is a renovated structure big enough for twelve horses, though Silver Leaf only has six.
Next to it is a rebuilt barn house, all white cladding, glass walls, and smooth stacked stone.
The landscaping looks new, like everything was recently planted and watered and hasn’t had time to grow in yet.
Freshly painted traditional post-and-rail fencing separates the paddocks and stable from a thick, wide lawn.
I’ve worked on ranches all my life and seen some stunning properties, but this is something else.
It belongs on a postcard. It’s literally picture-perfect, and the irony isn’t lost on me.
Look at the life Daisy’s got, and here I am, in my beat-up hat with a kid in secondhand boots from Goodwill.
A couple of strays who wandered into a fairy tale.
“What do you think?” I ask Ollie.
He looks around and screws up his nose. “It smells funny.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I tell him, then nudge him with my elbow. “Head up, buddy. Back straight. Eyes front. Let’s make a good impression.”
He does me proud, raising his chin and trying to copy my swagger as we step into the stable. The horses are in their stalls, and Daisy’s already here. The sight of her quickens my pulse, and I pause to soak her in.
She moves exactly as I remember, naturally and unconsciously beautiful in tight blue jeans and a white T-shirt, black flannel shirt tied around her waist, dirty boots, and butterscotch hair in a braid.
Even after a year without her, or maybe because of it, being near her knocks me on my ass.
I clung to her so desperately when we were together that I can’t erase her now.
All the mornings we spent taking care of other people’s horses and the nights we drank and danced and fell into bed at the end of it.
All the times she slept beside me and woke up in my arms. My body remembers even when my heart tries to forget.
I spent all weekend rehearsing this moment—what to say and how to say it. In the end, I decided being agreeable to the point of invisible is my best bet to get on Daisy’s good side.
“Mornin’,” I say to let her know we’re here. It takes effort to be smooth, and I think I’ve managed it until Ollie shoots me a curious look.
Daisy startles and lifts her head from where she’s been murmuring into the ear of a golden mare.
“Good morning,” she says without looking at me. Instead, her attention is on Ollie, and the smile she gives him is a kick to the gut. It’s real, like the ones she used to give me.
“Mornin’,” Ollie says, dropping the g in a way that makes me do a double take.
His mother and I grew up in the South, but we were both thrown out the day we turned eighteen.
Sarah moved around a lot, same as me, same as my parents, and she was raising Ollie in San Diego when she took off.
He’s never sounded particularly Southern.
The unexpected twang makes Daisy grin. “What you got in your bag there, cowboy?”
Ollie glances at me for reassurance, and I give it to him with a dip of my chin.
“Water,” he says. “A sandwich. Gloves. Spare socks.”
“Good man, arriving prepared,” she approves. “Do you want to meet the horses?”
Ollie nods and stands a little taller, and I manage to be grateful that Daisy’s all about him this morning. Behaving like I don’t exist might have more to do with making my nephew comfortable than it does with hating me.
Daisy taps the brim of Ollie’s hat. “Great! Let’s do that first, then your uncle can muck out the stalls, ’kay?”
Maybe not.
Daisy strokes the nose of the golden mare. “This is Chardonneigh,” she says. “She’s the sweetest horse ever. I’m not supposed to have favorites, but between you and me…” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Chardonneigh is mine.”
“Chardonneigh?” I repeat.
Daisy shoots me a murderous look. “Yes. You got a problem with that?”
I cross my arms and fight a grin. Damn. I love it when she’s feisty.
“Nope. Just making sure I heard you right.”
She glares for a second longer before moving on to the next stall.
“This is Stallion Blanc,” she says, gesturing at a pale gray horse. Her glare challenges me to laugh, and when I raise my palms in surrender, she goes on. “He’s a retired rodeo pickup and the perfect gentleman.”
Her emphasis on gentleman is clearly for my benefit, and I smirk again.
In the next stall is a small sorrel gelding. “This is Mabel. He belongs to my niece, Izzy.”
“But Mabel is a girl’s name,” Ollie protests.
Daisy chuckles. “Tell that to my niece.”
“Can I pat him?” Ollie asks.
“Sure.”
She waves Ollie closer, and he approaches with a hesitant shuffle.
“He’s really big,” Ollie mumbles nervously.
“He is,” Daisy agrees. “That’s why we go slow to start, and it’s also why an adult needs to supervise. Are you ready?”
Ollie frowns with determination, and I’m proud of him as he steps forward.
“Raise your hand like this,” Daisy says, demonstrating the safe way to offer a horse the back of his hand. “Let’s see if Mabel is in the mood to sniff you today.”
Ollie copies her carefully, and I hold my breath, silently praying that this horse doesn’t reject a kid who desperately needs to belong somewhere right now. Mabel’s nostrils flare, and his fat tongue whips out in a smooth lick of Ollie’s fingers. His thrilled giggle is a welcome punch to my chest.
“He likes you,” Daisy says to Ollie.
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah, and Mabel is an excellent judge of character.” She glances at me. “Should we see what he thinks of your uncle?”
Ollie grins—he actually grins—and I’m struck with an old impulse to kiss Daisy. For a moment, I forget where I am, remembering how good it felt to hold her anytime I wanted. How incredible it was to know she wanted to be held.
How many times have I dreamed about her arms locked around my waist or the soft press of her body against my chest?
The morning after a night like that is always hard.
There’s a split second between asleep and awake when I forget she’s not mine anymore, and then reality hits that much harder.
One dream of Daisy, and any hope of getting over her comes undone.
Daisy and Ollie are waiting, so I offer my hand to Mabel, and he sniffs it before lapping my fingers the way he did Ollie’s.
My nephew watches with wide-eyed wonder.
I recognize that look. It’s the one I had the moment I fell in love with horses.
The smell of hay, the strength of a horse underneath me, the bone-deep satisfaction of honest work. The kid’s a goner.
Daisy huffs. “Well. Even Mabel has his off days.”
I keep my smile small and my mouth shut as she introduces us to the rest of the horses. There’s De Canter, a chestnut gelding with a white nose, and Marelot, a strawberry roan, and finally a small but sturdy black gelding named Pony Noir.
The wine theme isn’t subtle, and I want to tease her about it.
Once upon a time, a good-natured gibe at the right time would’ve made Daisy laugh with an intoxicating mix of derision and adoration.
I’m not sure it wouldn’t get me a kick to the shins today.
I’d take that too, quite frankly, but I keep the wisecracks to myself.
The tour of the stable is really for Ollie, not me, because within moments of stepping inside, I understand the place instinctively.
I know how Daisy operates, and working in a stable she runs feels brutally close to coming home.
But still, I hang off her every word, not because she’s my boss, but because I could survive off the sound of her voice and not much else.
When we’re done, she hands Ollie a carrot.
“Now, Ollie. There’s one important rule while you’re here,” she says. “You’re never to be in the stable or around the horses without me or your uncle there to make sure you’re safe, okay?”
He nods and she prods a little further.
“I need to hear you promise.”
He places a palm on his chest, and I swap his left hand for his right so he’s swearing over his heart. “I promise,” he says.
Daisy tweaks his hat. “Good. Why don’t you see if Pony Noir’s in the mood for that carrot while I chat with Uncle Beau?”
Ollie agrees, and I watch as he approaches the colt. Of course, Pony Noir snaps up the treat, but his lips are gentle, and I get an immediate sense of the horse’s nature. He’ll be a good one for Ollie to learn alongside.
Daisy’s watching too, until she tips her head and moves a few paces back.
“You got any leads on a new job?” she asks in a low voice, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans and eyes on the dirt under our feet.
“I sent a couple of emails,” I say. It’s not a lie, but I don’t hold much hope for the queries I’ve made, so it’s as good as sending none. “You lined up my replacement yet?”
Daisy scowls. “Not exactly.”
“You’ve got six horses here, plus the trails. And who takes care of the business side of things? All the administrative responsibilities?”
Her eyes get hotter, which might as well confirm that Daisy has plans to run a one-woman operation. She’s bullheaded enough to try—and stubborn enough to fail before she asks for help.
“You can’t do it all on your own,” I say.
“I can handle more than you think,” she says sharply. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I know you will,” I say with a calmness I don’t feel, “but I’m already here—”
“And the only reason for that is the little boy over there. As soon as you’ve made other arrangements, you have to go.”
“Daisy—”
“Don’t you understand how cruel this is?” Her voice is husky and pained. “I haven’t heard from you in a year, and now you stumble into my life by mistake? This isn’t fair. I just got over you!”
A sharp pain twists between my ribs, but I remain stoic as I check that Ollie hasn’t overheard. He’s still enamored with Pony Noir, but I turn my shoulders to block his view of us, just in case.
“If you’re over me,” I say quietly, “then why were you wearing my bracelet?”
Her mouth falls open, and she glances at her wrist. Even though the bracelet isn’t there today, she crosses her arms and wedges her hands in against her sides.
“I wear it to remind myself to never again fall for a guy like you,” she says.
“A guy like me?”
“Yeah. One who says one thing and does another. A man who makes promises and then breaks them. A man who doesn’t know the first thing about truth or loyalty or honor.”
I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension in my neck and fighting the urge to defend myself—or fire accusations of my own. “Daisy—”
“I’m making calls too.” She takes a step back, moving out of my reach, which draws my attention to the fact that we’ve somehow drifted closer. “One of us will find something before the week’s out.”
My nostrils flare. “Fine.”
Daisy wants me out of her life, and a year ago, that’s exactly what I tried to give her. Maybe her anger and defensiveness are justified. Maybe there are a thousand ways to explain why I did what I did, and maybe some of my reasons are even her fault, but none of them will make things right.
And it doesn’t matter anyway. What did or did not happen between me and Daisy is irrelevant. I’ve got Ollie to think about now, and my only priority is to be a good example for the man he’ll someday become. And that starts with providing the kind of life he needs and deserves.