1. Tammy Darlene Tucker #2
As I moved, I could almost hear my ex’s voice, that condescending honey-drawl that had once seemed charming. "Tammy darlin', why don't you go freshen up? Leave the dirty work to the men. Just stand there and give us something pleasant to look at."
A familiar flash of anger burned through my chest. How many times had I heard some version of that?
How many times had I swallowed my retort, smiled, and retreated to the air-conditioned house to reapply lipstick while he made decisions about our future?
How the hell had I stayed with him so long?
Always submitting, always forcing a smile.
Until the day I didn't.
I remembered the exact moment I started feeling like we were over.
Truly over, like I couldn’t keep pretending anymore even if I wanted to.
We'd been at the tri-county auction, and I'd spotted a magnificent Arabian with potential.
When I'd pointed her out, Derek had laughed, patted my hand like I was a child, and said, "Sweetheart, you don't know the first thing about bloodlines. That nag wouldn't be worth the feed."
Eventually, that same mare won the Heartland Heritage Classic.
Derek and his buddies congratulated each other for winning big betting on the horse.
As they slammed together their beers, sloshing amber liquid all over the living room, the last tether holding me to Derek snapped.
The final straw was watching them dump piss water all over the furniture, I guessed.
While the men enjoyed their victory lap, I packed my bags.
Hell, they didn’t even notice when I walked them out to the garage and loaded up the ridiculously expensive car that he’d bought me the last time he’d cheated.
It was in my name, and I’d be damned if I left it.
The vehicle was the least I deserved for dealing with his endless macho bullshit for so long.
I was gone the next morning, the princess cut engagement ring I hated left on Derek's pillow with a note: "This nag is breaking free."
I’d always wanted a pear-shaped, golden ring.
And not a diamond.
Emerald, my mother’s birthstone.
Derek had bought the princess cut diamond set into the platinum band because that’s what he preferred.
He’d been passed out on the sofa, long legs stretched out with one arm thrown across his eyes, as I’d moved through the living room that final time. One of his idiot friends had woken long enough to blink and point lazily at me as I opened the garage door.
“Bring us back breakfast and coffee, sweet cheeks,” he’d murmured.
“Get it yourself,” I’d said quietly, not brave enough to raise my voice.
“Ha,” he’d chortled, “good one.” Then the asshole had fallen asleep, his snores rocketing off the high ceiling.
Before I’d closed the door behind me, I had this oh-so-brief moment of anxiety.
Was this really the right thing to do? As I’d thought it, my gaze had dropped to the garage floor, to a paint stain.
Yellow paint. Derek had been so pissed when I’d decided to paint a bright, joyful accent wall.
He’d tossed the open paint can out into the garage, causing it to spill.
The happy color suddenly lost all brightness.
It made a wound across the once pristine floor.
He’d had painters out by the morning, covering up my “mistake”, but he’d left the garage floor as is, to remind me not to do similar shit again.
In the present, I inhaled deeply. Rich, damp soil and milk chocolate and the clean, almost citrus-laced scent of greenery. Of course, beneath all that was hay and horse and… maybe a pinch of high functioning depression.
The weeks right after leaving him were still a blur. Somewhere along the way, I’d traded the car in for a beat-up truck and a twenty-thousand-dollar check, combined my assets, and bought Sunflower.
I pushed into the barn, my frown deepening.
“Fix one thing, and another thing breaks,” I muttered, slamming one boot after another into the old time-worn flooring to dislodge crusting mud.
Wind gusted, whistling through the gaps in the barn's outer walls. The place was most definitely leaning further. The makeshift supports I’d angled into the left walls were bowing. The ones against the right walls were threatening to dislodge from the floor, the nails no longer fully embedded.
I tucked my hands into my pockets, finding them empty.
Surprise, surprise. No wad of Benjamins to solve all my problems. Last night, I'd spread my bills across the kitchen table like a losing hand of poker—mortgage payment, feed supplier, vet bills, property taxes. I wasn’t in the red yet, there weren’t a bunch of final payment notices screaming at me, but I was getting damn close to destitute.
I turned around, decisively walking out of the weary barn.
All my hopes now rested on breeding Mystery to Sassafras.
A foal with their combined bloodlines could fetch enough to keep this place going properly, maybe even put Sunflower Hills back on the map.
If only the damn horses would cooperate.
Thanks to a trick of fate, or maybe just my bullshit luck, the two acted like mortal enemies.
A wave of melancholy washed over me as I trudged toward the stables. Dammit, I needed a break. I couldn’t keep piecing this place together with pennies and prayers.
Nearly tripping over a rock half-buried in the uneven ground, I cursed and kept moving. That was the only choice I had really. Keep moving. Keep struggling. Stubbornly try until the end.
An unhappy whinny drew my attention to the paddock connected to the stables.
Glancing toward the sound, I found Sassafras nearly pressed against the fence line.
Mystery was apparently too close for her comfort.
I moved her way, walking over hoofprints hardened by yesterday's sun. I’d taken Artie out for a slow ride.
He was such an easy-going horse. Unlike the other two.
Sassafras stomped her front hooves, really warning Mystery off this time.
They’d end up fighting if I didn’t intervene.
“Come on, guys. I thought we were past this.” I pitched my voice loud enough to travel the distance to Mystery, like either horse could understand my words.
At the fence, I hopped onto the lower rail and reached over, stroking my palm down the mare’s back. She tensed at first, then settled against my touch.
“Back off, boy,” I chided Mystery who seemed to still be deciding if approaching was the right move. “Go on,” I fussed, “Don’t make me send you to your room with no apple.”
Whether he understood me or it was just good timing, Mystery shook his mane, huffed, and then turned away. He loped away, totally unbothered.
“You know, I think he likes you,” I comforted Sassafras, continuing to pet her back. “Guys will pick on a girl they like.”
The mare gave one more stomp of her right front hoof and then cantered away from me.
I watched both horses as they moved, keeping to opposite sides of the enclosure.
God, they were stunning animals. I’d really thought they were a sure thing.
If they didn’t warm up to one another soon, I was going to have to put them up for sale.
There was no way I’d recoup all my money, but hopefully enough to figure out my next move.
Sighing, I folded my arms over the fence and rested my chin atop my wrist. In the distance, the majestic Flint Hills swashed smokey-blue across the horizon. Kansas was beautiful and totally indifferent to my struggles.
"You'll be back," Derek had predicted when I told him I was buying this place. His smile had been equal parts amusement and condescension. "You can't even break a horse, let alone run a ranch. You'll burn through that pitiful bank account, and then you'll come crawling back."
God, I still don’t know why I’d told him. He’d tracked me down to the hotel I’d been staying at, totally pissed that I’d sold the car.
“I don’t need you, Derek. I’m doing just fine on my own.” I crossed my arms, tilting my chin and trying to look tough.
“Sure, you are, darlin’. That’s why you had to sell the car I bought you to help fund this ridiculous idea.” He laughed one of his high and mighty, cutting guffaws—the kind that made him tip back his head and close his eyes.
Why had I been so damned determined to buy this place? Every dollar I had was invested in this place, in Mystery and Sassafras, in my conviction that I could build a life of my own. I was down to my last chance.
But even if this last chance went up in flames, I'd never crawl back to Derek.
The wide stable door was slightly ajar. I gripped its worn wood, wrapping my fingers around the splintered edge, and swung it outward slowly.
The creak that greeted me was a defeated moan.
Even this building was tired of trying. Given half a chance, I’m sure it would uproot itself and shuffle off into the wilderness to crumble into dust. After securing the door open by threading a rusty hook through an eyebolt set into the barn’s outer wall, I strode into the dimness inside.
The familiar scents of hay, leather, and horse that greeted me.
This—this was home now. Not the fancy condo in Kansas City with its granite countertops and memory foam mattress.
Not Derek's sprawling ranch with its manicured lawns and imported furniture that I was never allowed to actually use because, “What if Life of an Alpha wants to do another cover story, Tam? I can’t risk you spilling something.”
Why a self-proclaimed cowboy would pick white sofas was beyond me.
This ramshackle collection of weathered wood and rusted metal, these temperamental horses that held my future in their hooves—this was mine. Every splinter, every leaking roof tile, every triumph and failure belonged to me alone.