Chapter Sixteen
Marina
The moment the plane touches down in Dallas, I reach for my phone.
I’m still walking down the jet bridge when I call Evelyn.
She answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi. I’m sorry. I just—how’s Ryder?”
A soft laugh comes through the phone.
“He’s perfectly fine, Marina.”
I close my eyes. “Really?”
I can hear voices in the background, followed by the sweet sounds of my little boy laughing.
My chest loosens.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s on Royce’s back, and he’s kicking around like he’s a bull.”
“What?”
“And before you ask, yes, he’s ridden for eight seconds twice already, according to Earl, who is the official time keeper.”
I smile as my eyes well with tears when another peal of laughter rings in the background.
“You want to talk to him, dear?”
“No, that’s okay. Let him play,” I say.
“He’s having a wonderful time, Marina. You don’t need to worry.”
I lean against the airport wall as people stream around me. “I’m not worried. I just wanted to let you know I’d arrived, and I’ll call back before bedtime to tell Ryder good night.”
It’s the truth. I’ve only known the Storm family for a couple of days, but I trust them.
That isn’t what scares me. I’m actually worried about how much I’ll miss him.
“Call as often as you need to, dear.”
“I feel ridiculous,” I admit.
“You feel like his mother.”
My throat tightens. “Thank you for doing this.”
“It’s my pleasure. Now go take care of what you need to take care of so you can come back to us.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. “I will.”
We say goodbye, and I slip my phone into my purse.
For a few seconds, I just stand there.
I step out of the noisy airport and into the taxi line. The crowds are pushing. Horns are blaring. It’s the familiar rush of people in a hurry to get somewhere.
This used to be home.
I spent the last five years trying to build a life here because it was what Blaze wanted.
The fancy condo. The car. The boring routine. It was all him.
There wasn’t anything wrong with it as long as Ryder was happy and we were a family.
That might be the hardest part.
Because in the end, it wasn’t enough. For either of us.
I think about Wildhaven. The wide-open land. The horses. The rodeo academy.
Ryder running around with dirt on his boots and a grin on his face.
I think about the way he looked at me when we talked about moving there.
Like I had just told him Christmas was coming early.
And for the first time, I let myself really consider what I’m doing. I’m not running away. I’m not making some reckless decision because things got hard. That’s what Blaze did.
I’m choosing something better. For Ryder. And for me.
I want him to have a childhood filled with sunshine and horses and scraped knees. I want him to know what it’s like to belong somewhere. To have people who know his name and love him simply because he’s Ryder.
I want him to grow up without a care in the world instead of watching me worry over bills and schedules and whether we’re going to make it through another year in a life that feels too small.
And maybe I want some of that for myself too.
I want more than survival. I want a life I actually love. One I wake up excited to live.
Like I used to.
The thought should terrify me.
Instead, for the first time since I made the decision, it feels like relief.
My phone buzzes.
I pull it out.
Trust: You make it?
I stare at the message. He knows I did. I’m sure Evelyn told him and Ryder that I called. But he’s checking on me anyway.
I type back.
Me: Just landed.
The response comes almost immediately.
Trust: Good. Ryder’s fine. And a hell of a bull rider if I do say so myself.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Annoyingly sexy cowboy.
Three dots appear.
Trust: Don’t worry. No one got hurt.
Me: I trust you.
I lock my phone as the taxi pulls up to the curb.
I toss my bag in the back seat and climb inside before giving the driver my address.
I’m about to pack my life into a bunch of boxes, but it doesn’t feel like I’m losing anything. It feels like I’m making room.
Room for something better—Wyoming, Wildhaven, my son’s laughter.
My phone chimes again, interrupting my thoughts.
Trust: You don’t. But you will.
And one dark-haired cowboy with a crooked smile who seems determined to make my new life complicated.
The condo looks like a war zone.
Boxes are stacked three deep along the living room walls, the furniture is slowly disappearing beneath layers of brown moving blankets, and two men from the moving company are currently wrestling my sofa toward the front door.
I’m kneeling beside an open box, torn between taking my eclectic collection of coffee mugs to the ranch or storing them, when my phone rings, and I grab it from my back pocket, tapping the screen.
Mom.
I hit Speaker and set the phone on the floor beside me so I can keep packing.
“Finally!”
She immediately launches into her frenzied questioning.
“I got your voicemail. What the hell do you mean, you’re moving to a ranch in Wildhaven? Where the hell is Wildhaven?”
I smile despite myself. “Hello to you too, Mom. Wildhaven is in Wyoming. Near the Teton mountains.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Wyoming? Wyoming! You do know it gets colder than a witch’s titty in Wyoming, right?”
I glance toward the guy currently carrying my dining room chairs out the door.
“I guess I’m going to find out in about four months.”
“You’re taking my grandson to Wyoming?”
“No. I’m leaving him here in Dallas. He’s cute and smart. He should be fine.” I laugh and reach for another roll of packing tape. “Where are you anyway?” I ask.
“Palm Springs.”
I stop taping the box. “Why are you in Palm Springs?”
“Oh, honey. I met this guy in Phoenix.”
Of course she did.
“He has a house right next to Elizabeth Taylor’s old place in Palm Springs, and I had to come see it.”
“Obviously,” I mutter.
“We’ve had a wonderful three weeks.”
I can hear the smile in her voice.
“But tomorrow, he wants me to go hiking in Joshua Tree with him, so I think I’m going to pack my stuff while he’s out picking up dinner and head back to Arizona.”
I close my eyes. “You’re the worst.”
“Oh, honey, trust me, he had the best three weeks of his life. He’s not going to regret a thing.”
I shake my head as I fold another piece of cardboard over a box. “O-kay.”
“Now, back to the important question. Why exactly are you moving my favorite grandson to Wyoming?”
“He’s your only grandson.”
“Well, even if I had another one, the handsome little devil would still be my favorite.”
“That’s not how it works. You can’t have a favorite.”
“I absolutely can.”
I smile because despite everything—despite the fact that my mother is currently plotting an escape from a man in Palm Springs, despite her revolving door of boyfriends and her complete inability to behave like a normal adult—I love her.
More than I can explain.
“Remember me telling you I ran into Bryce Raintree and he invited me to his wedding?” I ask.
“Oh, yes, Bryce Raintree. I’d like to save a horse and ride that cowboy. It’s a damn shame you two didn’t run into each other before he went and got engaged.”
I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “Mom.”
“What? You have eyes, don’t you?”
“Bryce is very happy. And Charli is wonderful,” I say.
“I’m sure she is.”
“The wedding was in Wyoming on this gorgeous horse ranch owned by his bride’s family. Ryder was mesmerized,” I continue.
“I’m sure he loved the horses,” she says.
“He did. Anyway, Bryce offered me a job.”
“A job.”
“Uh-huh,” I grunt as I try to tear off a piece of tape with my teeth.
“Doing what?”
I struggle with the sliver of tape and end up discarding it and trying again.
“He opened his own rodeo school on the ranch. He wants me to come teach. The academy is beginning its second year of operations. The barrel racing classes are growing, and he needs another instructor.”
There’s a pause.
Then her voice softens. “Seriously, baby …”
I stop packing.
“That’s … well, it’s wonderful. You get to ride again.”
I glance toward the window, where the Dallas skyline is visible beyond the glass. “It’s not the same as barrel racing myself.”
“I know.”
“But it’s the next best thing.”
“And Ryder? What does he think about moving?”
“He loves the ranch,” I say quietly. “He fits there.”
Mom sighs. “You deserve to feel like yourself again, Marina. And that little cowboy deserves a place where he can run wild.”
My throat tightens. “Thanks, Mom.”
She’s quiet for a second.
Then her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Crap. I have to go. I think I just heard my guy friend’s car pull up. I’m going to have to go out the back window.”
I close my eyes. “Mom, do not go out the window.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone.
“Mom?”
I sigh.
Somewhere in Palm Springs, my mother is probably dangling from a man’s window, wearing a boho dress and boots.
I shake my head and reach for another box.
I just hope kookiness isn’t genetic.
Because if it is, I’m screwed.