6. Ramona
— ? —
Ramona
The young horse hits the side of the trailer just as I reach the loading gate.
“Stop moving him.” I set the crate of water bottles on the tailgate and hurry past the waiting hands. “Give him a minute to see where he’s going.”
The man holding the lead rope loosens his grip. I stay beside the fence while the horse lowers his head, sniffing the ramp instead of trying to escape it.
“That’s better.” I keep my voice low and wait until his ears turn forward. “Nobody needs to rush him.”
Behind me, another engine starts. Black Wyatt trucks line the service road, each hitched to a trailer with more padding inside than my first car. Beyond them, somebody drives toward the private airstrip to collect another visitor Julius hasn’t mentioned.
I lift my hand toward the truck.
“Turn that off until he’s loaded.” I wait for the engine to stop before looking back at the horse.
He puts a hoof on the ramp. We leave him alone long enough to try another, and eventually he walks inside without anyone pulling him.
“You should start charging for that.” One of the younger hands takes a bottle from the crate as I return.
“I do.” I wipe my palms on my shirt. “Your boss bought June a heated floor.”
“He coming down here?” The man twists off the cap and glances toward the program barn. “We’re nearly ready.”
“He’s with Dakota.” Another hand secures a latch on the trailer. “They’ve been talking about that gray horse all morning.”
“His work wife’s got him, then.” The younger man grins over his bottle.
I pull another bottle from the crate.
“His actual wife would appreciate him checking the gate before these trucks leave.” I hand it over with a smile that takes more effort than it should.
“Might have to compete for him now.” An older hand reaches past me for water. “She’s getting him back on bulls, apparently.”
The bottle slips against my damp palm. I catch it against the tailgate before it falls.
“Who told you that?” I set it down carefully.
The man stops with his hand on the crate.
“I was only joking, Mrs. Wyatt.” He draws back without taking a bottle.
“About which part?” I don’t look away from him. “The work wife or the bull riding?”
Nobody laughs this time. A latch rattles behind me, followed by an unnecessary second check.
“He hasn’t signed up for a thing that I know of.” The older man scratches his jaw. “I heard them talking after practice.”
“Talking about him riding again?” I wait while he looks toward the barn.
“He was saying he missed it.” The man lowers his hand. “Dakota said there wasn’t any reason he couldn’t try.”
I look down at the water running across the tailgate.
Julius asked me this morning where his clean shirts were. He told me which horses are moving and what the weather will do, and that he wants more time with me. This is the part he kept for the barn.
Everybody can hear about it except me.
“Finish checking the trailers.” I pick up the empty crate. “Nobody leaves until the horses are settled.”
***
Dakota is holding a mare while a hand checks one of her feet. She looks up when I enter the program barn, then returns her attention to the animal.
I stop outside the mare’s reach and wait. When the hand lowers the hoof, I move closer.
“Did Julius tell you he wants to ride again?” I keep my hands around the edges of the crate.
Dakota glances toward the man beside her.
“Could you put her in the end stall?” She passes him the lead rope, waiting until he starts away before turning back. “We talked about it.”
“He hasn’t talked to me.” I set the crate on a bench because my grip is starting to hurt.
Her eyes move toward it, then back to my face.
“I didn’t realize.” She clasps her hands in front of her jacket. “I assumed you knew.”
“What exactly did he tell you?” I stay beside the bench.
“That he misses it.” She lowers her voice as the hand leads the mare past us. “I didn’t ask him to make any decisions.”
“I’m asking what he said.” I hold her gaze until she stops checking the passage.
Dakota presses her lips together before answering.
“He said he wasn’t sure how to bring it up without worrying you.” She works one thumb over the other. “I told him you’d want him to be happy.”
My fingers catch against the rough edge of the bench.
“You don’t get to speak for me.” I release the wood before it breaks my skin.
Dakota steps back, putting the bench between us.
“Then I won’t guess what you think.” She rests her hands on its edge. “But you asked what he told me.”
“The hands are calling you his work wife.” I watch her face. “One of them thinks you’re the reason he’s going to ride again.”
She looks toward the passage, then returns her attention to me.
“Which one?”
“That’s not the damn point.”
“It matters if somebody’s repeating a conversation they only heard part of.” Her voice stays level. “Julius hasn’t entered anything. I haven’t entered him in anything.”
“He hasn’t told me he’s considering it.”
“Then he needs to.”
She says it so easily that my fingers tighten against the bench.
“You could have told him that before the whole barn knew.”
“I did tell him to talk to you.” She picks up the loose end of a lead rope and coils it once. “He kept talking to me.”
I wait for her to put the rope down. She finishes the next loop instead.
“What else did he say?”
Dakota finally looks up.
“If I give you every word, I’m speaking for him again.”
I look at her hands, neat and busy while mine won’t stop pressing into the wood.
“You had no trouble telling me he was worried about my reaction.”
Her fingers stop.
“That was part of the conversation.”
“The part you chose to repeat.”
A horse knocks against a stall door behind her. Neither of us turns right away.
Dakota lays the rope down.
“He knows I understand missing competition.” She touches the knee beneath her jeans. “I don’t get to decide whether I go back. He does.”
“And you think I’m stopping him?”
“I think you need to ask him why he hasn’t told you.”
I reach for the crate and pull it against my hip.
She hasn’t raised her voice. She hasn’t called me unreasonable. She’s given me just enough of what he said to make sure I know there was more.
“I will.”
I leave her beside the bench before I ask another question she can decide not to answer.
***
Julius stands outside the round pen with his hat pushed back and his sleeves rolled up. A young horse circles inside while he speaks quietly to the hand working with her.
He sees me and smiles, lifting his arm from the rail to make room beside him.
“There you are.” He glances back at the pen. “Come look at how much better she’s moving.”
I stop close enough that his fingers brush my back.
“Were you going to tell me you want to ride again?” I keep my eyes on his face.
His hand goes still, and inside the pen the horse slows. Julius looks toward the man holding her, then back at me.
“Give us a minute, please.” He opens the gate so the hand can lead her out.
I wait until the horse passes before speaking.
“The crew heard you talking to Dakota.” I hook my fingers through the fence instead of folding my arms. “They thought I knew.”
“I haven’t decided.” He takes off his hat and holds it against his thigh.
“I didn’t ask whether you’d decided.” I turn fully toward him. “Why the hell does she know you’re thinking about it when I don’t?”
He rubs his forehead with the back of his wrist.
“It came up after practice.” He looks at me again. “I didn’t plan to have that conversation with her.”
“You still had it.” I press my boot into the dirt. “Then you came home. You promised me Dad’s on Sunday, and we never got there either.”
“I was going to talk to you.” He reaches for my hand, but I tighten my grip on the rail.
“When, Julius?” My voice cracks on his name. “When you already knew what you wanted? When all I could do was agree or ruin it?”
“That isn’t what I wanted.” He sets his hat on the fence post so he can face me with his hands empty.
“Then tell me what you want now.” I let go of the rail. “I’m right here.”
His mouth opens, but no answer comes immediately. He glances toward the empty pen, then rubs both palms down his thighs.
“I miss riding.” He keeps his eyes on mine. “More than I thought I would.”
“Okay.” I swallow and try again. “I need to know what that means.”
“I don’t know yet.” His shoulders drop. “I wanted to figure it out before I brought it home.”
“But you could figure it out with her.” I look down when his fingers touch mine, and he doesn’t close his hand.
“I should have come to you. You’re right.”
“I’m scared of watching you get hurt.” I put my hand flat against his chest. “That’s true. It doesn’t mean you have to hide from me.”
“I know.” He covers my hand with his.
“Do you?” I feel him take a breath beneath my palm. “Because I’ve been asking you to talk to me. I’m not asking you to say what I want to hear.”
He draws me closer, but I keep my face lifted.
“I’ll fix this.” He brushes his thumb along my wrist. “I’ll talk to her about keeping things to the training.”
“You need to talk to me, too.” I grip his shirt before he can kiss my forehead and finish the conversation.
“I will.” He bends until we’re looking straight at each other. “Tonight. We’ll sit down, and I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking.”
I nod, letting him put his arms around me.
His shirt smells of sun and the soap he leaves in my shower. I press my cheek against it while his hand moves over my back, and he holds me until I stop gripping him so tightly.
***
The main yard is empty by the time I finish with June.
Her water bucket is full. Her blanket is straight. I check both again before turning off the light, then stand with my hand on the switch.
Julius should be waiting at the house. I can see it through the barn doors, every downstairs window lit.
The old stone steps remain where they’ve always been, but the wide glass doors behind them are his addition.
So is the heated room where I leave muddy boots.
He had it built after finding me sitting on the floor trying to pull off a frozen pair.
I take out my phone, and the message arrives while I’m looking at the screen.
Finishing up. Don’t wait outside. I’ll come find you.
Across the yard, light shows beneath the side door of the program barn.
I start toward it, putting the phone into my pocket. Halfway there, I hear him laugh, and my next step lands badly on a loose stone.
There are other people he could be talking to, a hand staying late or somebody checking the mare. I slow before the doorway anyway, and Dakota speaks before I reach it.
“I thought I’d be fine watching everyone else do it.” Her voice carries through the open window. “Some days I can’t stand being beside the fence.”
I stop where the door hides me from the aisle.
Julius is inside the empty pen. Dakota sits on the top rail beside the gate, her boots on the lower board. He faces her with one arm resting near her knee, although they aren’t touching.
“I know what you mean.” He looks down at the sand. “I got on that practice bull and didn’t want to get off.”
I put my hand against the doorframe. He hasn’t told me he got on a bull.
Dakota leans forward, resting her elbows on her thighs.
“You looked happy.” She smiles at him, then lowers her eyes. “I probably shouldn’t say that.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” He shifts closer to the fence.
“Because I’ve already upset Ramona.” She folds her hands. “I don’t want you going home to another argument because I encouraged you.”
My fingers flatten against the wood.
Tell her we talked. Tell her I listened.
“I talked to her this afternoon.” Julius straightens away from the rail. “I should have told her what was going on.”
“I’m sure she just worries.” Dakota picks at the cuff of her jacket. “I’d worry about you, too.”
He looks toward the doorway, and I step back before I decide to move. The edge of the door blocks his view while I stand with my mouth clamped shut.
“She remembers the bad fall.” His voice lowers. “I understand why it scares her.”
For a moment, I loosen my hand. Then Dakota speaks again.
“You shouldn’t have to feel guilty for missing it.” She shifts on the rail, the wood creaking beneath her. “You’re allowed to want things, Julius.”
I wait for him to tell her I said that. I wait for him to mention my hand on his chest, how I asked him to talk even if I didn’t like the answer.
Instead, he lets out a breath and runs his hand through his hair.
“Sometimes I don’t know how to say it without seeing her face change.” He drops the hand to his side. “I hate making her afraid.”
“I’m sorry.” Dakota slides down from the fence. “I didn’t mean to keep you. You should go to her.”
She starts toward the stall, but he catches the gate before she can close it between them.
“You didn’t do a thing wrong.” He keeps his hand on the latch.
I step backward. My boot scrapes against the concrete, and I stop breathing until the mare stamps inside her stall.
Neither of them looks toward me.
“I just want you to know you can talk to me.” Dakota rests her fingers beside his on the gate. “You don’t have to make a decision. You can miss it.”
I get my phone out again, and my hands won’t stay steady. His message is still there.
I’ll come find you.
Inside, Julius moves his hand from the latch. I lift my head, ready to see him turn toward the door, and he leans against the gate instead.
“It’s easier with you.” His voice is quiet, but I hear every word. “You don’t get scared every time I mention riding.”
I turn around before he can see me. I walk back across the yard the way I came, and I don’t run, because if I run I’ll have to explain why.
I could go in there. I could say every word back to him.
I don’t. He got on that practice bull and never told me.
He’s in there right now telling her things he hasn’t told me.
I want to see whether any of it reaches me tonight without me dragging it out of him.
If it does, I’ll know where I stand. If it doesn’t, I’ll know that too.