Daisy
twenty
It’s surprisingly easy to avoid life for the next couple of days.
I hide in my house, living off popcorn, dark chocolate, and misery, and text instructions for the stable to Ryan and Marcus with requests to relay anything important to Beau.
I still take my trail rides, but when I do, I give all my energy to the horses and the guests, the scenery and the perfect late summer weather—literally anything and anyone but him.
I’m more confused now than I was when he got here. And a lot angrier too. Problem is, I can’t work out who I’m mad at—Beau or myself.
But three days later, after seventy-two hours of emotional gymnastics to keep me from completely losing my shit, I’ve got something to take my mind off things.
Finally. I head home after my afternoon ride for a shower and change of clothes, then blow-dry my hair and set the curls just right.
I’m coating my lips with a slick of strawberry gloss when my phone buzzes on the bathroom counter.
Charlie:
I can’t make it! Too much work to get through. Give my apologies to Emmett.
Three seconds later, the doorbell rings, and I give myself a final once-over in the mirror.
It’s been a while since I dressed up for a night out, but I’m pleased with the results.
I’m in a denim mini, a spaghetti-strap tank, and my favorite red cowboy boots.
My hair hangs loose to my waist, my cheeks are pink from a little rouge and the heat of the hairdryer, and my lashes look extra-long, thanks to the double swipe of mascara.
I twist and turn, admiring the picture of a woman who has her life together.
And although it’s not an accurate reflection of the mess I am inside, I’m grateful for a reason to pretend I’m my old self again.
Emmett rings the bell again, then follows it with a drumming knock. I snatch up my purse and hurry to the front door, but when I open it, his smile falters and his eyes grow wide.
“You look…” He drags a hand over his mouth. “Wow.”
I laugh, gratified at his reaction, and crowd him out onto the porch, shutting the door behind me. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No. Seriously.” He raises his arms and looks down at his clothes. “I feel underdressed. If I’d known this was a real date, I would’ve at least worn cologne.”
He’s in jeans, boots, and a snug khaki Henley. Dark-framed glasses. Dark hair slightly messy, like he runs his hands through it a dozen times a day. Hot nerd, indeed.
“Stop it.” I shove him gently. “I’ve had a rough few days. I need to raise my spirits, and I can’t remember the last time I had a reason to put on lipstick.”
His expression softens as we cross the yard to where his truck is parked at the end of the drive. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going to need a drink before we get into it.”
“Ah,” he says knowingly.
We reach the truck, and he opens the passenger door for me, but before I climb in, movement across the way catches my eye. It’s Beau brushing down Marelot with easy, competent strokes, but he stills when he notices me.
Even from this distance, I can feel the tension in him. The rigid set of his shoulders. The hard line of his jaw. His fist tightening around the brush.
For one painful moment, I almost go to him.
I’m so tired of this. I’m tired of pretending that we weren’t once wildly in love.
That there isn’t this important, unfinished history between us.
I’m tired of pretending we don’t know each other or that we do, and it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. We don’t matter.
I need answers. I need closure. I need something.
“Daze?”
I blink and drag my attention back to Emmett.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is thinner than I intended. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
But as I climb into the cab and Emmett closes the door, Beau is still watching me. And I feel the weight of his gaze all the way down to my bones.
I cackle so hard, I accidentally snort, which only makes Emmett laugh harder.
“And here I was thinking you’d grown up,” he wheezes, trying to catch his breath.
“I have grown up,” I protest through laughter.
“Maybe, but you’ve still got buffalo sauce all over your face.”
My eyes widen with horror. “I do not!” I screech. “Do I? Where is it?”
He loses it completely as I swipe at my cheeks.
He points vaguely. “Over there.”
I snatch up a napkin and wipe harder. “Did I get it?”
“No. Higher.”
“Emmett!”
He breaks into another peal of laughter. “Your face is clean, Daze, but you do have ‘gullible’ written across your forehead.”
“You rat.” I ball up the napkin and toss it at his head. It glances off his shoulder and falls to the floor.
“I forgot how easy it is to tease you.” He wipes tears from his eyes. “You’re as bad as Piper and Josie.”
“Why are all big brothers the worst?”
He snickers. “It’s one of the perks of being born first—or second, in my case.”
I grin into my white wine sangria and take another sip.
The Slippery Tipple is packed tonight, music humming through the crowded bar while people dance with drinks held high or queue at the jukebox.
The place smells like stale beer and fried food, which I love.
From behind the bar, Poppy’s mom Mona throws me a maternal wink, and I raise my glass in reply.
Her sangria is the best. It tastes like fruit juice and poor decisions. I’ve already had three glasses.
Emmett leans back against the booth with a long exhale. “I needed this.”
I lift the sangria jug. “A cocktail?”
“No.” He smiles faintly. “Something to laugh about.”
I study him more carefully. “Life not treating you well?”
His mouth twists. “Brooke and I are… taking some time apart.”
“Oh.” That sobers me a little. “I’m sorry. What happened?”
He stares down at his soda glass, turning it slowly between his palms. “Honestly? I think we just stopped wanting the same things.”
“But you’ve been together forever.”
He huffs out a sad laugh. “Turns out, forever isn’t as long as I thought it was going to be.”
The sadness in his voice upsets me. “Is it that bad?”
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“She misses San Francisco,” he explains.
“We spent ten years there while I did my undergrad, then veterinary school, and then two years at an inner-city clinic after that. The plan was always to move back to Kismet and start a family, and Brooke has tried to find her feet again, but she’s outgrown our hometown. And me, apparently.”
“You still love her,” I murmur, reading the pain on his face.
He looks at me quickly, then away again. “Doesn’t really matter if she doesn’t love me enough to stay.”
I swirl the fruit in my glass of sangria, watching the liquid slosh. “Sometimes love just isn’t enough.”
The thought slips out before I realize it, and Emmett quirks an eyebrow.
“Does this have anything to do with your stable hand?”
I choke slightly. “What?”
Emmett’s mouth tips up in a crooked smile. “It’s pretty obvious there’s something going on there.”
“We have… history.”
I sink into the booth, nursing my cocktail, sipping and staring across the table at this guy who thinks he knows me so well. Sipping and staring and thinking.
“You’re a guy,” I announce suddenly.
His eyebrows shoot up. “Last time I checked.”
“So explain something to me.”
“Why does this feel like a trap?”
I take another mouthful of my cocktail, watching him over the rim of my glass and relishing the out-of-body knowledge that every time I drink a little more, my lips—and my self-control—get looser.
“Why would a man tell a woman he loves her enough to marry her,” I ask with an accusing wave of my glass, “and then disappear in the middle of the night?”
Emmett goes still. “He did that?”
“Yep.” The p leaves my lips with a satisfying pop. “Like a hot, emotionally constipated Houdini.”
Emmett chuckles despite himself before his expression folds into a frown.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to one of your brothers about this?” he asks.
“Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “They already know too much. If they had the full story, I’d have to bail them out of jail.”
“Fair point.”
I pick up my glass again, but I don’t drink. “I need to understand it because nothing makes sense anymore.”
“All right. But I’m going to need a little more information.”
So I tell him everything. It rushes out of me, all the stories and feelings I’ve bottled up for too long.
How Beau and I met. How we worked and traveled together for close to a year and a half.
How we planned to spend forever like that—moving and living and loving on the road.
How Beau changed and wanted more. How he ran from his family, but asked to meet mine.
How he wanted to put down roots. Build a home.
Have a family. How I never wanted to do any of that.
“So when he proposed,” Emmett says slowly, “it felt like he changed the rules?”
“Yeah. Kind of.”
“And when you hesitated, maybe he felt rejected?”
“I didn’t say no.”
“No,” he agrees gently. “But you didn’t say yes.”
When I don’t reply, Emmett sets his elbows on the table and leans in.
“Daze. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my situation with Brooke, it’s that our biology and body parts don’t matter.
We all love the same. We all hurt the same.
We all get confused and we all want answers.
Beau wanted to make you his wife, which tells me he’s not only got good sense but that he loves you.
Knowing him the way you do… do you believe he set out to hurt you? ”
“No. That’s what makes this so hard. Why would he do this?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
I scoff inelegantly. “Sure. It’s that easy.”
“You’re scared,” Emmett guesses.
“Of course I’m scared!”
“Why?”
“Because there’s no good reason to run out on the woman you love.”
“Or,” Emmett suggests, “maybe you’re scared because his explanation could make sense. If it does, you won’t know how to stay angry at him anymore, and where will that leave you?”
I wash away the lump in my throat with a deep swallow of sangria. “It’ll leave me loving a man who might not want a future with me anymore.”
“Isn’t it better to know that for sure if it means you can move on with your life?”
I take another sip of my drink and let Emmett’s advice soak in. I do want answers only Beau can give, and tonight, with all this gin and brandy on board, feels like the best time to go get them.