Chapter Seven
Itried hard—or rather I wanted to try hard but failed miserably—to decline Stetson’s invite. What could I say? I was just a girl who loved being in the saddle. It was hard to pass up anyone’s invitation, or at least that was what I told myself to feel less guilty about secretly wanting to go.
“Damn,” he said, pulling the reins tight and slowing his horse, Cheyenne, to a stop. “This place doesn’t even look real.”
We’d come to a clearing on top of a hill overlooking acres of George’s land.
Kentucky Bluegrass covered the entirety of our view, swaying in the wind and sending an urgent sense of peace through my body.
In the distance, the Appalachian Mountains met the rising afternoon sun, bringing much-needed warmth to the day.
Shrugging my horse, Valhalla, to a stop, I closed my eyes and let the sun roam freely across my face.
“I know, it really doesn’t. Sometimes I feel selfish that I get to come here whenever I want, knowing there are people out there who will never experience this kind of belonging. Sometimes it just doesn’t seem fair.”
“What do you mean by belonging?” he pondered.
“I just mean…” I paused, contemplating what I wanted to say next. “Never mind. It’s probably gonna sound stupid,” I admitted in defeat.
“Woah, woah, woah.” He tugged Cheyenne closer to Valhalla, and in doing so, his leg rested against mine. “Whatever it is, it’s not stupid. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I only asked because belonging somewhere doesn’t sound half bad right now.”
I lifted my head and found his baby blues waiting for me. The desperation in them was strong, but the rest of his body remained unbothered. I couldn’t imagine someone like him not having a seat at every table, but something inside of me wanted to explain exactly what I meant.
A soft smile spread across my face. “I just meant that when you’re out here, everything feels possible, like if you wanted, you could just reach out and grab whatever it is you’re after.
Like, look around…” I raised my hand up.
“It’s in the way the wind wraps around you, the way the birds and insects sing to you, and the way the remoteness carries you through even on your darkest days.
It’s the kind of belonging that nestles itself right here”—I laid my hand on my heart—“and never leaves you.”
I inhaled, the dewy blades of grass smelt of a new day, and with every exhale the tension in my chest loosened.
“Sorry,” I quickly threw out, gazing back over the hills. “That was probably more than you bargained for.”
“Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry for sharing parts of yourself that most people never get the chance to see,” he said. “There’s a lot I would do to be able to share those parts of myself.”
“But isn’t that what you do for a living? Share yourself, your thoughts, and your experiences through your songs?” I asked, confused by what he meant.
“Hm.” The noise was low as it escaped his mouth. “You’d think. But lately I’ve found my songs are sounding more like what I thought I wanted and a lot less like what it is I’m really after.”
“Can’t you change that?”
“If only it were that easy,” he said, dropping his head.
“Isn’t it? Can’t you just go find a new songwriter who fits your vibe a little more or something?”
His eyes shot up and over to me as a chuckle that sounded more like a rumble of thunder left his chest. “First off, I write most of my own songs, and secondly, people don’t always want to hear the truth.”
“That’s for you to decide, isn’t it?” I argued, feeling the need to defend him. “You’re the artist, you should get to choose what music your fans hear from you.”
“Hey, hey!” He threw his hands up in surrender. “We’re on the same team here. Why do you think I made my way to Quincey Falls? I’m doing my best to make sure that happens.”
“Good,” I huffed, feeling accomplished.
“Damn. You are fiery. If you’re ever looking for a job, let me know…” His familiar shit-eating grin reclaimed its spot on his face.
I cocked my head to the side, unsure where he was going with this.
“As my manager.” He chuckled. “I’d love to have someone like you taking the reins,” he stated, his eyebrow perking up.
“Someone capable of handling all the shit but still understanding the meaning behind it all.” He went silent, almost as if he was actually imagining me working for him.
“I mean, take this view for example. The way you just described it to me almost felt unbelievable.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “You’re seeing the same thing I am.”
“That’s true, but a lot of people could be sitting exactly where we are and never be able to truly grasp the beauty. They’d take this all for granted. The views, the serenity, the calmness. All of it. They’d see a field, but to you, it’s so much more than that.”
“Because it is so much more than that.”
“Exactly. But so many people get caught up in all the other shit that doesn’t matter that they forget to appreciate all the little things that do.
The smell of a horse standing next to you, the color of the trees as they prepare for the winter, or the warmth on your face as the sun rises over the mountains.
” His shoulders relaxed as he ran his hand down the side of Cheyenne, her coat mimicking a chewy caramel.
“When you’re so busy chasing something and you’re always going too fast, it’s easy to forget to slow down and appreciate the mundane.
And then eventually, if you’re lucky and it’s not too late, you’ll realize the mundane isn’t so mundane after all. ”
I didn’t think we were talking about people anymore, but rather about one person in particular.
I was going to respond, but the silence felt more important.
“You’re lucky,” he said, the low grumble in his voice laced with a hint of jealously.
I turned my head in his direction, but his gaze was still on the landscape in front of us.
“Why is that?”
“Because even though you see this place every single day, you still somehow find the beauty in it as though you’re seeing it for the very first time. I envy you.”
“Ha. There’s not much to envy, I promise,” I reassured him.
“I’ve just spent a lot of time in these hills.
They pulled me from some of the darkest parts of my life, and they’re here when I need them.
They’re stable and reliable and they never judge me, no matter how shitty I might feel about myself.
They are always, no matter what, able to bring me back from the edge, center me in a way nothing else can.
It’s kind of hard to explain…” I looked down at the reins, readjusting my grip, the leather comforting my skin.
“But I owe so much gratitude to this place. I’ll never be able to take that for granted. ”
I kept my head bowed and continued to fidget with the reins. I didn’t know what it was about this man, but I felt comfortable sharing these things. I almost felt a kinship with him—from one lost soul to another—and part of me wanted to try to help or at least let him know he wasn’t alone.
“Was that what George was talking about back there?” he pondered. “When he said things hadn’t been easy for you?”
I raised my head, taken aback by both his directness and the fact that he’d even cared enough to pick up that bit of the conversation.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no. It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“You don’t have to answer. I just wondered, because from the few times I’ve been around you, you seem to have your shit together more than most.”
I smirked. “Wait, weren’t you the one who was saying how nosy this town was?”
He threw his head back and let out a genuine laugh, showing all of his pearly white teeth.
“That’s fair. You’re right. Let’s pretend I never asked.”
“I’m supposed to be married right now,” I ejected. “Actually, I’m supposed to be living in Chicago with the man I thought was going to be my husband.”
“Wow.” His eyes widened as he forced his jaw back up. “Let me guess, you were a runaway bride. Let those cold feet get the best of you.”
“Not quite,” I dragged out. “While I have run away from a handful of things in my life, and as much as I’d like to say I’d been the one to call it off, I wasn’t.”
I looked away, feelings of inadequacy and the thought that I didn’t deserve a happy ending beginning to resurface.
“You are lucky,” he said again.
My forehead scrunched and the annoyance in my voice was hard to hide as I told him, “Can’t say lucky is a word I’d use to describe that experience. I was leaning more toward extremely shitty.”
“Depends on how you look at it,” he said, very matter-of-fact as he slid off Cheyenne and walked toward the edge of the clearing.
I slid off Valhalla, or at least attempted to before my boot got caught in the stirrup. “Shit.”
He was at my side in an instant, untangling me from the stirrup as his strong hand rested on my lower back, steadying me. “You gotta be more careful.”
“It’s these damn boots,” I said, frustrated as I motioned to the old, worn-out leather on my feet. “I need to get some new ones.”
Stetson didn’t respond. His attention seemed to be elsewhere even though he was looking right at me, his hands wrapped around my waist despite both of my feet being planted firmly on the ground.
I interrupted the moment, anxious about what would happen if I didn’t.
“Don’t think that just because you stopped me from breaking my leg, I forgot what you just said, because I’m still desperate to hear how one might be able to define this situation as lucky.” I stepped back, defensive in my stance with my arms crossed.
“I mean that if this man was stupid enough to leave you at the altar, do you really think he was someone you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?” he questioned. “I’d say you dodged a bullet there.”