Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
IZZY
FLIC: Dylan made an appearance yet or is he still hiding behind a hay bale somewhere?
IZZY: Reluctantly, but yes.
FLIC: He’s going through a tough time, but I knew he’d get his head out of his ass eventually.
IZZY: His head is still firmly up his ass! And he’s still a jerk!
FLIC: Didn’t stop you from kissing him in the back of my bar!
IZZY: Really wish I hadn’t told you that. And he kissed me.
FLIC: Seriously though, you OK?
IZZY: Aside from the fact I can’t find any ranch work anywhere and only have four weeks left in this job, I’m great. Mad loves it here.
FLIC: All I can offer is bar work, but it’s yours anytime you want it. Come see me soon!
I take the path that snakes away from the back paddock, following the sound of excited yells that can only be Mad.
I knew she’d spotted Dylan heading out beyond the paddocks earlier and was eager to explore what was up there after we’d finished the grooming.
I remember that feeling of wanting to explore and escape, and Mad knows to be sensible, so I didn’t stop her.
I turn the corner, expecting to find a stretch of open pasture or dry scrubland.
But instead, I come face to face with a huge football field with goal posts and faded white lines.
Of course Dylan has a football field on his ranch.
I shake my head as I spot Madison, standing in the middle of the field, legs apart, a ball in her hand.
She swings her shoulder back then forward, putting her whole body into the movement as she releases the ball into the air.
It wobbles a little but arcs close enough to Dylan for him to catch it.
Mad whoops like it’s the winning touchdown and Dylan shouts some praise, his face lit up.
This isn’t the same man who’s been grumbling through every task I’ve thrown at him this week.
Maybe I’m being unfair. Things have been different since the fall with the fence post. He hasn’t complained once when I’ve corrected his work.
He’s up earlier too, stepping out the back door with two cups of coffee, passing me one with an exaggerated show and even cracking a smile when I give him my promised “thanks.”
He’s been avoiding the horses, though. I’m not sure why, but he always finds something else to do, somewhere else to be when the training starts or there’s grooming to do.
I know he rode as a kid. You don’t grow up on a horse ranch without getting thrown in the saddle by the time you can walk.
So it can’t be that he doesn’t know how to handle them.
With an idea in mind, I push off the fence and head toward the barn, boots hitting the dry earth.
We’ve made progress this week. The last stall in the barn is finally cleared of boxes and clutter, swept clean and bedded down, ready for the horses.
The tack room has fresh nails lining the wall where bridles and reins now hang in neat rows.
The feed stores are full and it’s finally starting to feel like a real working ranch.
Inside the barn, the air is thick with the scent of hay and oiled leather as I gather what I need before stepping back into the afternoon sun.
It’s slipping toward the horizon, but the heat still clings to the day.
By the time I’ve led the three horses to the fence line for saddling, my shirt is too hot on my back.
I strip it off and finish tacking up in my tank top, the warm air brushing against my shoulders.
Ten minutes later, three horses are saddled and waiting for their riders.
Rusty is the biggest. A tall bay gelding with a reddish coat the color of the foothills in summer, he’s Bill’s old ride.
Steady and patient. I run a hand down his flank and he huffs, nudging me with his nose like he knows he’s being called up.
“You’re going to be on babysitting duty today, handsome,” I whisper as I tighten the girth. “For the record, I still think he’s a jerk, but we’ll give him a try, OK?”
Next is Rosie, the dapple-gray mare Madison loves to sneak treats to.
I move around to each side, adjusting the stirrups.
She’s one of the smallest mares and comes with a little sass, but she adores Mad, and I trust her.
Last is Bramble, my favorite gelding to ride.
Midnight-black and sturdy. A horse who’ll ride forever.
I hear them before I see them. The excited, babbling chatter of my daughter followed by the lower, shorter replies from Dylan. I turn in time to see Mad break into a run, a football still tucked under her arm. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is wild.
“Dylan’s been teaching me how to play football,” Mad says, a little breathless and a whole lot of happy. “I’m going to be a quarterback like Chase. Dylan said we can go with him and Mama to watch the Stormhawks play next weekend. Can we go, Mom? Please! We’re watching from the sky.”
“Only if Dylan is sure,” I reply.
I shoot him a questioning look as he adjusts his baseball cap and says, “We watch from the skybox, Mad. Not the sky. It’s where friends and family get to watch the game.”
“Skybox, that’s what I meant.” Then Mad’s eyes widen like she’s only just clocking the three horses. “Are we going riding?”
I smile. “Helmet’s on the hook.”
She gives another whoop and shoots off as I turn to Dylan.
“Three horses?” He eyes Rusty like the horse just challenged him to a fight. “What’s going on?” he asks. It’s a dumb question, and by the way he winces, he knows it.
“Well, seeing as I only just discovered you have a football field, I thought it was time you gave us an actual tour of the ranch.”
“But I—”
“You’ve been avoiding the horses,” I cut in.
His shoulders tense, but it’s Madison who speaks next.
“A rancher who doesn’t like horses?” Her mouth pops open. She looks halfway between laughing and being utterly scandalized.
Dylan rubs at the stubble on his jaw. “I like horses fine. I’m just not sure they like me.”
“Mom says horses don’t like jerks,” Mad says. “Are you a jerk?”
I huff a laugh, and he glares at me, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes, too. Either way, I’m enjoying his discomfort way too much.
“I hope not,” he mutters, placing the football equipment on the ground. “Better get my boots.” He nods down at his cleats, still looking less than thrilled at the prospect of riding as he jogs toward the house. A minute later he’s back and taking the reins I’m holding out.
“This is Rusty. He’s grumpy, so you’ll get along fine.”
Rusty snorts like he agrees, his ears flicking back.
“I haven’t ridden in twenty years. Don’t you have a starter pony or something?”
I swing onto Bramble with ease, feeling the joy that always spreads through me when I’m on horseback, before looking down at him. “You’re six foot five and all muscle. A pony ain’t gonna cut it.”
“Been checking out my muscles, Brooks?” he shoots back, voice still a grumble.
“Shut up and get on your horse,” I reply.
Dylan plants one boot in the stirrup and hauls himself up.
He’s halfway there, leg about to swing around into the saddle, when Rusty shifts position, sidestepping to the left, leaving Dylan nothing but air, and a split second later he’s landing flat on his ass in the dirt, a grunt and expletive hissed under his breath.
I know I shouldn’t laugh. This was supposed to be about helping Dylan—getting him past whatever’s had him avoiding the horses all week.
But the second his ass hits the dirt and that stunned expression flashes across his face, the laughter bubbles up and spills out before I can stop it.
Madison’s already doubled over on Rosie, clutching the horn, her shoulders shaking with giggles—and that only makes it worse.
“That was… majestic,” I say, not even pretending to keep a straight face. “Seriously, are you OK?”
“Never better,” he growls.
“OK then. Time to try again!”
He shoots me a murderous look but moves back to the stirrup, more cautious this time. Rusty shifts again, testing him, and this time, Dylan gets stuck hopping alongside the horse with one foot in and one on the ground as Rusty wanders toward Bramble.
“You’ve gotta talk to him!” Madison calls when Dylan gets his foot free. “Tell him he’s doing a good job!”
Dylan gives her a look like she’s lost her mind.
“Just try it,” I say.
He leans toward Rusty’s ear. “Look, big guy, I… don’t know what I’m doing here, but if you don’t throw me, I promise you a treat when we get back.”
Rusty flicks an ear back, and this time, he stands still long enough for Dylan to mount. He looks about as comfortable as I’d probably be on a football field on game day, but when I nudge Bramble forward and we start to move, his shoulders drop and he settles into the sway of Rusty’s walk.
We ride around the fenced paddocks; the sun is warm on my shoulders. The horses move steadily beneath us, and Madison’s constant chatter keeps me smiling, even if that worry is still clawing at the back of my mind.
“What’s through those trees?” Mad asks.
“I’ll show you,” Dylan replies, walking Rusty through the spruce trees, looking like he’s remembering how to ride and liking it.
We follow him through the shade of the trees, the smell of earth, and the fresh piney scent from the spruce needles, and when we step out into the sunlight again, I draw in a breath.
“Oh! You have a lake,” Madison shouts.
“It’s beautiful,” I say at the same time.
“We used to swim here a lot as kids.” There’s that almost smile again on Dylan’s face as we move around a sandy shoreline. “But I mostly use it now for my knee exercises. The water helps take the weight off my body. It’s real safe. I’ll take you for a swim next weekend if you like?”
Madison whoops with delight as we skirt the edge of the lake.
I bite down on my bottom lip, forcing out the words I don’t want to speak. “Just remember we’re only here for a short time, Mad. Don’t get too settled.”
I hate how her face falls at my warning and the silence that follows, but I need her to be prepared. Even Dylan’s expression tightens at my comment, and I wonder again if he’ll sell before then.
We guide the horses into the foothills. The land turns wilder—scrubby brush and tall grass alongside clusters of trees.
The breeze picks up, smelling like wild sage and cooling the sweat at the back of my neck.
Bramble’s hooves crunch over loose rock as we follow a narrow trail that winds between two boulders.
Dylan reins Rusty to a stop and nods toward a rocky rise off the path. Something about the way he sits in the saddle—broad shoulders, those muscular arms and tight jeans, one hand loose on the reins, like he was made for this—makes my mouth go dry. It’s infuriating how damn hot he is.
“Up there,” he says. “There’s a cave tucked into the side of that slope. I used to run away there anytime I got in trouble.”
Madison leans forward in her saddle, eyes wide. “A cave? That’s cool.”
“I’d last an hour before my snacks ran out, then sneak back to the ranch hoping Mama wasn’t still mad.”
“Mom ran away too,” Mad says as we take a path that turns us back toward the ranch. “She was going to be a doctor, but then she found out she was pregnant with me and ran away from medical school.” She says it so matter of fact. Typical Mad.
“Easiest decision I ever made. And you’re not the reason I’m not a doctor, Mad,” I remind her gently.
The truth is, I knew long before I saw that double line on the pregnancy test that medicine wasn’t for me.
Maybe I’d always known but was too chicken to do anything about it.
I’d spent my life on a conveyor belt—honor roll, AP classes, extracurriculars.
Schedules that left me no time to breathe.
I would’ve quit eventually—Madison just gave me the push I needed.
She didn’t derail my life. She gave me the chance to build a new one.
“White coats and hospitals—doesn’t feel like you,” Dylan says, and something in his voice makes me glance over.
Our eyes meet. Something warm curls in the pit of my belly. There’s no scowl, no sharp retort, no wall up between us. Just him seeing me. And for a moment too long, I let him.
I force myself to look away, but the pull is still there, thrumming like a live wire just under my skin. I’m grateful when Madison breaks the moment. “Did you always want to play football, Dylan?”
He shakes his head. “You know what? I didn’t.
I was just like you at your age. Obsessed with horses and ranching.
I spent every second I could out on the ranch with my dad, doing any job he’d let me.
I always dreamed of taking over the ranch one day, making it my own.
Dad used to take us to the rodeo, and I’d sit up in the stands, watching the horses he bred take the ring.
I remember looking at my dad’s face and the pride he had and thinking it must be the best feeling in the world. ”
I watch Dylan swallow, the column of his throat shifting like he’s pushing the memories down.
When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “But then he died, and football was loud and demanding and didn’t give me time to think. It became everything.”
Mad looks thoughtful, staying quiet now.
The only sound is the creak of the saddles and the hooves hitting the dry ground.
I stare at Dylan, something catching in my chest. The way the last rays of sunlight hit his face makes him look younger, less guarded.
And the way he’s looking out over the land, lost to his thoughts and his past, I swear in that one moment I’ve never seen anyone look more like they belong on a horse.
And when I follow his gaze to the paddocks and the horses grazing in the light of the setting sun, it’s not Madison I need to remind that there’s less than four weeks before I’m out of a job and we’re out of a place to live. It’s me.