Chapter 21
My palms sting from how hard my nails are digging in. I’m standing in the frigid January morning outside the stables at Lucky Spurs Ranch. I wasn’t invited but have been told countless times I’m always welcome.
After I dropped the girls at school, the car drove me here on its own. I live at Greyson’s, but there’s something inexplicable about Lucky Spurs Ranch that feels like home.
The Andersens are so genuine, but it took time for me to trust that it’s not a facade. I’m ashamed I doubted these kind people when they’ve proven to be a godsend.
Spending time with them has been a revelation. My parents’ detachment and Charlie’s death left me vulnerable to a predator like Carter. I was so desperate to be seen and to be loved, I entered into our marriage with blinders on.
As it turns out, I have some trauma to work through. Delilah’s been encouraging me to visit her at Hope at Lucky Spurs Ranch for months. As I breathe in the crisp Rocky Mountain air, I know I’m ready to accept help.
I shake out my rigid hands, take a deep breath, and slide open the massive sliding door to the stables. Earthy hay and manure fill my nose, but it’s not an unpleasant scent. Soft snorts, and the dim clopping of hooves reverberate through the massive space.
My eyes can’t take it all in fast enough. A row of stalls line one side of the stables, nearly all are filled. The aisle down the middle is wide open, free of mess and immaculately cared for.
The other side is stocked with what I can only imagine is every piece of equipment a person could possibly need to be an equestrian.
“I thought I heard someone.” The chipper voice startles me, my hand flying to my chest.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I try to walk softly when I work with the horses.” Delilah’s smile is warm, no indication my presence is unwanted.
“It’s okay. I’m sorry for coming unannounced.”
She waves her delicate hand back and forth, as if to say, “no need to apologize.”
“What brings you by this morning? You’re always welcome, of course.” She chuckles.
“One of my New Years resolutions is to do some healing, and I’d like to take you up on your offer to try equine-assisted learning.”
She claps rapidly but softly, as to not scare the horses.
“That’s wonderful! Right now, I host a trust-building group which we see a lot of veterans and people with post-traumatic stress. My women’s group works with the horses to process trauma, re-build trust, and grow empowerment and self-awareness.
“I’m working toward starting a grief support group, and my mentor hosts her at-risk youth program here. We get school groups of all ages, corporate team building—it’s grown past our wildest goals over the past nine months.”
Her pride shines through like sunbeams through the clouds. I’ve only admitted to Greyson my full reasons for moving to Swiftwater, but I’ve come to trust the Lucky Spurs Ranch family and I’m ready to accept help.
“I think the women’s group might be the best fit. I…have some trauma I need to work through.” I cringe, waiting for her pity, judgment or curiosity—but none come.
Instead, Delilah’s gentle acceptance falls over me like a warm blanket. She smiles softly, her eyes twinkling.
“You just missed our January session, but I’ll get you signed up for February right away.”
“That’d be great. Just let me know the when’s and where’s, and how much I owe you and I’ll be here,” I say, buoyant with hope.
“You don’t owe me a thing, Miss Mia.” Delilah winks.
“But—”
“It’s not up for discussion. Family’s always free.” The finality of her statement rocks my foundation.
Her implication is loud and clear. Another example of the truth slapping me in my distrustful face. The Andersens have adopted me and Everly into their family and it’s okay for me to accept that.
“Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.” Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and my throat’s too tight.
“If you have time, Izzy and I are planning on grabbing lunch at The Flying Pig today. We’d love it if you joined us.”
I’ve never been invited to do girl-stuff before. The attention-starved child in me is vibrating with excitement. But I’ve been staying home for lunch to eat with Greyson, and I don’t want to miss my time with him…
“I’d like that.” I hope my smile conveys my deep appreciation for her kindness. “Will Livy be there?”
Delilah shakes her head. “No, her job has regular business hours but she’s a workaholic and rarely comes out for lunch during the workweek.”
“That’s okay, I was just curious. You three are like the Powerpuff Girls or something, I assumed she’d come.”
“Oh my god, I love that! Ooo, who would each of us be? I get to choose first!” she exclaims to no one in particular, having a conversation in her head.
“I get to be Bubbles—animal lover, sweet, sees the best in everyone,” she declares.
“I can see it. Yep. You’re definitely Bubbles,” I affirm.
“Livy would be Blossom—bossy, perfectionist, super smart. She even has the red hair!”
“That’s perfect,” I agree.
“That would make Izzy Buttercup—feisty, protective, sarcastic. Oh my god, she’s going to die over this!” Delilah’s soft laughter floats through the stables like windchimes.
“We always fought over who got to be Bubbles…too bad so sad sissy,” she mocks as if her sister’s here with us.
“Oh no! But what about you?” She pouts looking genuinely perturbed by the idea of me being left out. Her friendship spears me right in the heart.
“It was just a silly way for me to say you are like the three musketeers. That’s all. I don’t need to be included.” I chuckle.
“Nope. Not acceptable.” Delilah taps her chin, looking at the support beams high above our heads. She murmurs to herself, “Berry…Bluebell…Birdie…Brownie…Button…”
My head tilts, fascinated by her insistence to make a place for me in their girl group.
“Bunny!” she exclaims.
“Bunny?
“Yes! It’s perfect. You’re gentle and a little shy, but you’re a devoted mother.”
“Bunny it is then.” I grin. Charlie would’ve loved this—and in this moment, thinking of her is more reminiscent than painful.
“I can’t wait to tell the girls, this is so funny.”
“Fine…I’ll be Buttercup, but only because she’s badass,” Izzy sulks playfully.
“Then it’s settled.” Delilah taps her fork against the table like a judge’s gavel.
I met Izzy and Delilah at The Flying Pig at noon, after popping up to the apartment and leaving Greyson a note telling him where I’d be. For as much fun as I’m having with the girls, a part of me wishes I was eating with him—the part that skips a beat each time he looks at me.
A trickle of ice water escapes my mouth when my shoulder’s bumped from behind.
“Here ya go, ladies.” LouAnn, the prickly wife of the owner, Frank, sets our plates down with a clank, leaving us to pass them out ourselves.
It’s been single-digit temperatures all day, so ordering the pot roast was a no-brainer. Tender chunks of fall-apart beef, butter-soft potatoes, tender carrots are slathered in beef gravy. My mouth’s watering from how good it smells.
“Come to mama,” Izzy says, tongue sticking out between her teeth.
The worn, white ceramic plate in front of her is piled high with buttermilk biscuits, drowned in peppery sausage country gravy with an over-medium egg on top, stabbed through with a spoon. Its name on-the-nose, the Greasy Spoon.
She centers it in front of her and takes a deep pull of her Cherry Pepsi.
“Reid’s going to be sooooo jealous I’m eating this without him.” Her guilt is nonexistent as she plucks the spoon from the stacked biscuits and licks it clean.
“He’ll live,” Delilah says with a roll of her eyes.
She wastes no time swirling her spoon in her bowl of pork green chili, a cultural phenomenon in Colorado. It’s slathered over everything, and no two cooks prepare it the same way, living and dying by their secret recipes.
Frank’s recipe is a Swiftwater staple, they sell it by the quart to take home. Delilah’s oversized bowl is swirling with steam as she mixes in sour cream, shredded cheddar cheese, fresh cilantro, and diced avocado.
Since I moved here, I’ve seen people enjoy it as stew, with soft flour tortillas, scooped up with tortilla chips, and today for the first time, I’m fascinated as Delilah dips French fries in it.
LouAnn swings by and slides a new glass of lemonade across to Delilah who hollers thank you to the woman’s retreating back.
“So what’s the deal with you and Daddy Greyson?” Izzy asks, pointing her spoon at me.
Tiny bits of my lunch spray back onto the plate as I nearly choke to death from her loaded question.
“Izzy, oh my god! You can’t just ask her,” Delilah scolds, backhanding Izzy’s arm.
“Why not? We all want to know,” Izzy counters, completely unapologetic.
My blush rises from my chest to my hairline.
They all want to know? To know what? How long have they been gossiping about me and Greyson?
“See, you freaked her out,” Delilah chastises, hitting Izzy harder. “Ouch!” she yips when Izzy hits her back.
“Sorry, Mia. It wasn’t cool for me to ask you like that,” Izzy offers. I give a shaky grin, unable to look either of them in the face.
“But seriously…” she says from the corner of her mouth, poorly hidden from Delilah by her hand. “What’s going on with you and Greyson?”
I don’t know if time stops, or if it moves at high speed, but before I can form a mature, professional answer, I blurt out the worst possible response.
“We kissed.”
“You WHAT?” Izzy and Delilah squeal in tandem.
“Shhhhh. Can we not tell the entire restaurant? News travels in this town faster than wildfire.” I bury my face in my hands. I wish I could teleport to anywhere but here.
“Sorry,” Delilah says with a wince.
“But oh my goooood,” Izzy loud-whispers at the same time.
“Is it that big of a deal?” I ask behind my hands, pretty sure I already know the answer.
“Yes,” Izzy says, as Delilah says, “No.”
I groan into my sweaty palms. That’s it. I have to move to Antarctica.
Delilah gently peels my hands from my face, her expression kind and reassuring.
“It’s just that in all the years we’ve known Greyson, we’ve never once seen him with a woman. He’s a private person, but I don’t think he’s really been with anyone since Harper’s mom left,” Izzy offers.
“So if he kissed you, that’s huuuuuge,” Delilah adds.
It felt huge. Monumental. A cataclysmic shift in my universe.
“I’d like it if this could stay between the three of us. I know Livy’s your best friend, but she’s also Greyson’s sister—and until I know what this is, I want to respect his privacy.”
They both swear on each other’s life they won’t tell a soul until I give them permission, and I trust them.
“But until then…” Izzy trails off.
“Tell. Us. Everything,” Delilah says. “Spill the tea.” She sips her lemonade so dramatically I crumble into laughter.
“Well, it was on New Years Eve.”