3. Quin #3
“You won’t.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever you need to feel like an equal partner in this, we’ll figure it out. I just need you with me, Clara. Everything else is negotiable.”
She kissed me, and I felt something settle in my chest that had been restless for months.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s figure it out.”
***
Present day. Two weeks after the rodeo, and I woke up alone again.
Clara’s side of the bed was cold, which meant she’d been at the stables for hours already. She liked to ride at dawn, had always liked it, said it was the only time the world felt truly quiet.
I used to ride with her.
I lay there for a moment, the memory of that proposal still vivid behind my eyes.
Where had that gone?
I knew the answer, even if I didn’t want to admit it.
It had been eaten away, piece by piece, by conference calls and board meetings and deals that couldn’t wait.
By a phone that never stopped ringing and an empire that demanded constant attention.
By the slow, creeping distance that settled between two people who stopped making time for each other.
The rodeo two weeks ago had been good. For a few hours, it had felt like before.
Like us. I’d left my phone in the dressing room on purpose, wanting one day where Clara had my complete attention.
And it had worked. She’d smiled at me like she used to, laughed like she used to, kissed me like she used to.
Taken me like she used to, on that dusty vanity, looking at me like I was still the man who’d gotten down on his knees in a fluorescent office and meant every word.
But then the work piled up again. The deal spiraled into chaos.
Eva started at the ranch last week and needed orientation.
And somewhere along the way, I’d missed two more barn dinners and I couldn’t remember the last time Clara and I had a real conversation that wasn’t about logistics or schedules.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it automatically, scanning the notification. Board member wants emergency call. Gardner again.
I should get up. Should shower and dress and handle whatever fire Gardner had started this time.
Instead, I lay there thinking about the woman who used to sleep beside me. The woman who’d trusted me to be her partner, her equal, her home.
When did I become someone she had to make excuses for?
I forced myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the hot water beat against my shoulders while I tried to organize my thoughts. Eva had been a good hire. The ranch was running more smoothly than it had in months. Clara should be happy about that, at least.
But yesterday at breakfast, Katie had been chattering about “the lady at the ranch” and Clara had watched me across the table with an expression I couldn’t read. Like there was a question hanging between us that she hadn’t asked yet.
What was I missing?
I finished getting ready and headed downstairs. The kitchen was empty, which meant Clara was still at the stables and Katie was probably with her, helping brush the horses or feed the chickens or whatever project Clara had invented to keep her entertained.
I poured myself coffee and stood at the window, looking out over the ranch. The same patch of dirt my father had left me, transformed beyond recognition by years of work and investment and ambition.
Clara had been part of that transformation. She’d been here through all of it, building the foundation programs, cultivating donor relationships, turning this place into something more than just a business. She’d made it a community.
And I’d let her do it alone.
My phone buzzed again. Gardner. Urgent.
I answered before I could think better of it. “What is it?”
“Fleming, we need to talk about the timeline. The board’s getting cold feet and if we don’t move…”
I listened with half my attention, my eyes still on the window, watching for Clara to emerge from the stables. Watching for any sign that she might be thinking about me the way I was suddenly, desperately thinking about her.
The call stretched on. I paced the kitchen, made another cup of coffee, tried to focus on Gardner’s concerns while something nagged at the back of my mind.
When I finally hung up, Clara was crossing the yard toward the house. Katie was on her hip, chattering about something, and Clara was smiling that patient mother smile that meant she’d already answered the same question fourteen times.
I should go out there. Should take Katie from her arms and ask about her morning and be present, be available, be the husband I promised to be when I got down on my knee in that fluorescent-lit office.
My phone buzzed. Another board member. Another emergency.
I hesitated.
And in that hesitation, Clara looked up and caught my eye through the window. Something flickered across her face. Resignation.
She’d already known I wouldn’t come outside, stopped expecting anything different.
I answered the phone.
And I told myself we’d talk tonight. That I’d make it up to her. That everything would be fine.
I was very good at telling myself things.