20. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Wade
Out of all the days for my most trusted horse—besides Marcellus, of course—to kick her shoe off, it had to be this one.
Gravel bites into my knees through the denim as I crouch to assess Clementine’s bare hoof.
I push to my feet and turn to find Maeve already watching me from where she's leaning against one of the barn beams, arms folded, waiting.
My mind instantly snaps to the passage I read this morning.
“We have a problem,” And not the one that is currently pitching a tent in my Wranglers.
“That being?” she says back.
“Well, the horse you were riding is out of action. You’ll have to ride with me.”
She launches off the beam and covers the distance between us in seconds. Never seen such a small human move with such speed.
“Absolutely not! You’re telling me that you don’t have one other horse that I can ride. This is a ranch, for crying out loud.”
Sure, there are other horses. Plenty of them. But Maeve’s new to horse riding, and the trail we’re taking isn’t exactly beginner friendly. I needed a horse I know I can trust with a newbie, and Clementine was one of them.
That's the reason. That's the only reason.
It definitely has nothing to do with the way Maeve will have to press against my back for a few hours.
“Be careful, angel.” I keep my face neutral. “You're making me feel like you don't want to share with me.”
“Because I don't, Mr. Carter.”
That name puts me back where I need to be. Boss. Employee. A line I keep finding myself edging toward and then catching myself on.
“There's no other horse I'd trust.” I force my voice back into the blunt, even tone I've spent years perfecting as armour. “Especially not for a city girl with shit-all riding experience.”
Wade Carter, the dickhead blunt boss. That’s who I have to be. That’s who they think I am.
“You’ll be safe riding with me. I’m your boss after all, your safety is my concern.”
“Fine,” she huffs.
My hands work on autopilot, tacking up Marcellus while I do what I've been doing more and more lately—ripping myself apart quietly.
I am not the man who crosses lines. Or the one who lets people in.
That's not a personality flaw; it's a decision I made a long time ago and stuck to because the alternative costs too much.
But these mornings on the porch with Maeve—just sitting there, not having to be anything but two people existing in the same quiet moment—have loosened the grip I keep on the mask. And now I'm wondering if this act has actually done anyone any good. Especially Colt.
I let myself become the focus of his pain and anger because I thought it was the lesser damage.
But he has to see me every day. Has to relive what he believes is the truth every time we're in the same room.
I never thought that far ahead when I made the decision.
I was thinking about protecting a nine-year-old boy, not about the man he'd become.
And somewhere along the way, it has begun to chip away at me too. I’ve forgotten who I am outside of the secrets and the blame.
So maybe that’s why I allow myself those moments with Maeve, because they are the only thing that has felt good on this ranch in years.
“That’s a good lad.” Marcellus leans into my touch as I run my hand down the side of his nose. I reach towards the treat bag that hangs from the pen door as Maeve skips up to Marcellus.
Panic flares hot in my chest.
I trust this horse more than any other on the ranch, but he's got a mean streak with strangers, especially when he hasn’t been eased into the contact.
“Careful—”.
But before I can even get the word out, she is at his side, one hand on his large snout, the other giving him neck scratches. The horse is like putty in her hands, and I am utterly gobsmacked.
“Well, that’s something I didn’t think I’d see…”
Maeve stops her motions, her head whipping up to meet my gaze. Marcellus nudges her to continue. The bastard doesn’t even do that with me. Does this girl make everyone weak for her?
“What?” She questions, with a wide, bratty grin on her face that sends electricity through my body, causing me to feel warm and fuzzy.
I am a 6’2, tattooed-up cowboy. I don’t do warm and fuzzy.
“By the look of that grin on your face, you know what. He doesn’t usually take to people so easily.”
“Oh, trust me. Nothing was easy about this little friendship we got going on. Took a whole lot of carrots and peppermints, and plenty of hours yapping his ear off while I cleaned around him to break this big boy down!”
“I'll be damned.”
“Come on, Mr. Carter.” She looks at me sideways. “You of all people should know it's hard not to like me.”
I move past her before my face does something I'll regret. She's not wrong. That's the whole problem.
I swing up into the saddle and reach my hand down for her.
She's small enough that I take most of the weight, her hand gripping mine as she finds the stirrup and pulls herself up.
For a second, she's slightly unsteady, and her hands grip my sides, fingers pressing into my ribs through my shirt.
I keep my eyes forward and my expression neutral and remind myself very firmly of the line.
“Ready?”
With a hum of agreement, we set off.
I take the longer route, keeping Marcellus at a steady trot along the dirt path that bends and weaves through patches of wildflowers, climbing toward the small rise at the far edge of the ranch.
The further we get up the hill, the more mesmerising it is to watch the sunrise highlight the picturesque beauty of Wildbrook Hollow.
I know she’ll enjoy this view. The only time she will put down her e-reader in the morning is when the sun begins to reach higher in the sky, causing a cascade of warm colours across the ranch landscape.
I can't see her face. But I feel the moment she notices it. There’s a slight shift in her grip, loosening and trailing slightly up my torso. My shirt has ridden up, her hand warm against the bare skin above my waistband. I don’t fix it.
We’ve covered some good ground, and Maeve still hasn’t said a word.
Marcellus treads his way over the uneven ground, being careful of the occasional protruding rocks.
The stretched silence sharpens my focus on every point of contact—her breasts pressed against my back, as her arms locked back tight around my stomach.
We reach the fence line, most of it still holding up well. Probably thanks to all the rebuilds we had to do last year. Despite it, there’s some work to do to reinforce it.
We both plant our feet on the ground and stretch out our bodies after the ride.
“Right,” I announce, breaking the silence that has been firmly in place since we left the barn. “We are checking the fence and fixing the weak spots. Last thing we need is cattle wandering into town.”
She nods, taking it in.
“We start here,” I say, pointing down the fence line toward the far ridge, “and work our way around to there.”
Her eyes go wide at the distance.
“Best get started. This'll take a few hours.”
We walk the fence line side by side, and I show her what to look for—rotted wood, weak joints, cracks in the posts. But it isn’t long until we find a break.
It’s a bad one. Whole section’s going to need re-stringing.
I dig through the tools hanging off Marcellus’s saddle and pull out a fence stretcher, holding it out to her. She stares at it like I just handed her a torture device.
“Don’t panic. I’ll show you how to use it.”
She snatches it from my hands with a sarcastic grimace. Heading towards the break, I drop into a crouch to get a better look.
“Right. Let me show you how to fix a fence.”
Maeve, with no surprise, picks it up faster than most of the guys back at the ranch ever did. We work side by side through the morning, only speaking when we need a tool or to confirm a section's done.
I'm a man of few words, but this quiet begins to gnaw at me. So by the fourth break, I cave.
“So, Maeve,” she hums in response, not taking her eyes off her task. “What’s a city girl like you applying to work at a ranch for? Running away from a boy or summin?”
I know it's wrong the second it's out.
Tools clatter to the ground. She straightens slowly, shifts her weight onto one hip, crosses her arms, and gives me the death glare of all death glares.
“Why the hell does it always come down to that? A boy, or even running away from something? Why can't it be running toward something?” Her voice is sharp. Fuelled by frustration. “Oh, wait. Is it because I'm young? Like I couldn't possibly have anything more important going on than boy troubles?”
I open my mouth, not even sure what I'm planning to say, but she's not done.
“I'll have you know, Mr. Carter, that I'm here because I was tired of not having a place where I fit.
Tired of living paycheck to paycheck, saving up for brief moments of escape from a life back in London.
I just wanted to find somewhere I could be me and feel like I was part of something worth being a part of.
A place I could call home. Somewhere I don't wake up every morning with that same dread sitting on my chest, wondering what the day's going to throw at me this time.” She takes a breath.
“Just somewhere I belong. Where I'm happy. Where I feel like I have a purpose.”
She takes a breath, eyes still blazing with the female rage I had accidentally summoned.
“So, no. I'm not running from some guy. I'm just trying to remember what it feels like to actually want to wake up in the morning.”
The words land somewhere I wasn't expecting them to, causing every muscle in my body to tighten.
I know that place. Waking up because you owe it to other people to do so. The days that feel like they are something to get through, rather than something to enjoy.
I’ve never said it out loud. Not once. Not to Bryan, not to Mrs. Mae, not even to my father when he was alive. And here's this woman, standing in a field of wildflowers with dirt on her jeans and frustration bright in her eyes, saying the things I've never had the guts to say myself.
“I'm sorry, Maeve.” My voice comes out low. I mean it.
She gasps, hand to her chest. “An apology. From Wade Carter. Is the world ending?”
Glad that she has returned to her regular scheduled sassiness, not letting my stupid mouth get to her.
“No. For real.” I wait until she drops the performance and actually looks at me.
“You should be proud of yourself. Coming to a foreign country, alone, to prioritise yourself. You are a strong, determined woman, who sometimes doesn’t know when to not run her mouth.
I hope you find what you are running toward. ”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Carter. I appreciate your kind words. And I do like it here; it’s the best place I have run toward so far.”
“That's good to hear. You’ve made a difference here. And I know Colt,” —and me— “likes having you around.”
We work on through the morning, sun climbing, heat spreading across the open land. I find a patch of wildflowers to sit in while I drink some water, and Maeve finishes her section before dropping down beside me in the grass.
“Can I ask you something?” she calls out.
“If you must.”
“I know you told me not to ask.” She pauses. “But… I just opened up to you. So, can you tell me why you stopped bull riding?”
It is a topic I hate to talk about, but she’s right, she just opened up to me. It wouldn’t hurt to give her some part of the truth.
“Well, long story short, Colt was the reason.” I turn the water bottle in my hands, the plastic crunching in my grip.
“I never expected to have a kid so young, not when my dream was to make it worldwide as a bull rider. But after four months of being away from my ex-wife, winning my final championship, I came home, and Ruby got pregnant. I tried to continue after he was born, but I couldn’t focus on the ride anymore.
I wasn’t winning, always thinking of home.
Then, when I came home, things went to shit.
Ruby left, and I was left with a young boy to raise as a single father. ”
Maeve joins me, lying down beside me. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
Even though she had only just laid down, she springs to sit up, “So why is it you and Colt can't—” She stops, finding the right words. “You don't talk to each other.”
Pain hits me square in my chest.
I've made peace with Colt's anger. Or I've told myself I have. I’ve sacrificed my relationship with my son, all the happy memories we could’ve had running this ranch together.
Though, in my head, it is worth it. Worth only causing a small bit of pain, instead of the colossal damage the truth could bring.
Maybe I've been protecting him. Or maybe I've just been protecting myself from a conversation I'm terrified of having. From the possibility that even if I told him the truth, it still wouldn't fix what's broken between us.
That thought is new. I don't like it.
“That is not up for discussion, Maeve.” I snap up onto my feet, gathering the tools from the ground, shoving them into the satchel.
“Why? It can't be that bad. You're both just being stubborn. How can you be so content treating your son like he doesn’t exist?”
“Don’t you dare say that when you’ve only been here a short while. You don’t know us, so don’t act like you do. He is my son. Of course he exists to me”
Now she is up on her feet, “Then why don’t you just talk to him. Patch up this whole thing about you chasing his mother away, it's stupid. She is gone, but you are here, Wade. Be there for him!”
“Maeve, I am warning you. Leave it.”
She doesn't stop. “Colt is one of the kindest people I've ever met. He would forgive you for whatever—”
“I said fucking leave it.”
It comes out like something that's been under pressure for a long time. I turn toward her and catch the moment she takes a step back, enough that the sight of it stops me cold.
I've built the wall around me so high that, at some point, I forgot there are people on the other side of it. People who try to climb it, chip away at it, without knowing what they’ll find on the other side. So what do I do? Reinforce it. Same as we've been doing with these fences all morning.
It can’t come down, because if it does, I fear I will break with it.
Maeve’s eyes hold mine, steady and careful, watery but not spilling. Her voice comes out even and measured. More composed than what I could even muster right now.
“Mr. Carter. I'd like to go back to the ranch, please.”