Chapter Twenty Seven
Colt
Today’s been damn draining. And it’s—I glance at the grandfather clock in the hall—not even lunchtime yet. Christ.
I’m covered in hay and horse shit. All morning, I’ve been stuck in the barn, alone, mucking it out.
Wade sent Maeve into town for some local business thing.
Which is great, sure, support the community and all that.
But he's been giving her a lot of these additional tasks lately—office work, errands off the ranch.
Things that keep her away from me. Meaning I'm back to being alone all day, trying to work while my thoughts spin out.
And my thoughts have been brutal lately.
My therapist would say I need to “work through these feelings,” or some shit like that. But honestly, there’s a whole lot of “working through” and not a lot of “getting through,” in my opinion.
Haven’t even told her about the panic attack at the lake. I don’t even dare to. I just cannot be bothered to hear how I’m “catastrophising” or “putting too much pressure” on Maeve. I’ve heard it before—I don’t need to empty my bank to hear it again.
Maeve said she cared. She held my face and made me breathe and stayed with me through one of those ugly moments I hate others seeing.
That means something; I am just not sure if I want to look into it any more than that.
Just want to hold on to the fact she cares whether or not it is in the same way as I care for her.
I kick my boots off by the front door, not wanting to track shit through the house.
Mrs. Mae would absolutely rip me a new one.
Despite that woman being about five foot nothing, she’s terrifying.
Probably where Naomi gets it from. Never backing down, always saying what needs saying, even when it’s hard.
I know because I’ve been on the receiving end plenty of times. And I’m probably better for it. Not fixed but… working through it. Which I think is all she wanted from me anyway.
This is getting exhausting. My brain won't just stop.
Jumping from Maeve to Naomi to Dad to therapy, and it loops right back around again.
Can't just have a single goddamn normal thought—like what I want for lunch or whether the fence posts need checking.
Just constantly spiralling this morning, making my head feel like there's a bowling ball rolling around in it. Heavy. Weighing me down.
Getting me down.
“Colt? Is that you, dear?”
Mrs Mae’s voice pulls me toward the kitchen, the smell of a hearty home-cooked meal filling the air. She turns with her arms open, then stops abruptly just in front of me. She takes a big whiff, being extra dramatic about it.
“Oh Lord, Colt. You smell like the back end of a horse.” She steps back, offering her signature smile that instantly makes me feel at home. “No hug for you today, sweetheart. Can’t have you stinking up my clean kitchen.”
I look down at myself. Yeah, she has a point. “I’ll go shower and change.”
“Your father's in the office,” she calls as I turn to leave. “He wanted to talk to you about something. Some plan you boys are working on?”
That stops me. Has he actually remembered? He mentioned the riding school thing weeks ago, but I figured he'd forget about it. That's usually how it goes with him—brings something up, I get my hopes up, then nothing. Story of my life.
“It's good seeing you two work together.” Mrs. Mae's voice goes soft. “Your grandfather would be so proud. And Colt?” Mrs. Mae pauses, sussing out whether I am paying her any attention. And of course I am, because I ain’t no fool.
But my eyes are locked on the ground, reeling with the idea that I am going to have to work closely with Wade.
Properly. Not just quick check-ins. This is a side-by-side operation.
One which requires spending longer than 10 minutes together.
“Mm,” I finally respond.
“Give him a chance, honey. He's trying. Really trying this time. I don’t know what in the heavens has happened, but there's been a shift in him lately. Don't shut him out just when things might get better, for both your sakes.”
I manage a smile that probably doesn't quite come across as believable, and head for the stairs.
I know what caused the shift. Who caused it.
Maeve.
At least, that’s what I initially thought. But since we’d agreed to do the project together, it’s got me thinking of all the ways he’s actually shown up for me. How he’s never really said no to the things I’ve wanted to do. How he asks about therapy whenever I let him close enough to answer.
It’s Maeve who’s dragged us out of our own bullshit and forced me to look past my tunnel vision when it comes to him.
She has this way of seeing straight through people. Of calling it like she sees it, whether you want to hear it or not.
With me, it was the fact I’m my own worst enemy. Holding onto the past too tightly, or so she said. Apparently, I need to let Wade in if I want things to get better, and as much as it pains me to admit it, she’s right.
I gave her a hard time about it at first, responding with brooding silence. She just laughed, comparing me to Wade.
“Like father, like son,” she quipped.
She was doing way better than my therapist, because I do see it. We are similar in ways. Ways that have us both stuck in the past. I’m tired of it.
So, as I climb my way up the stairs, I decide that if Wade wants in, I'll crack the door open. One fuck-up though, and I will be slamming it right back in his face and never giving him the chance again. And that’s final.
At the top of the stairs, I stop. Close my eyes. Try to ground myself like my therapist taught me.
Feel the floor through my socks. Smell the lavender Mrs. Mae keeps in sachets upstairs mixed with whatever's cooking below. Breathe.
Instead, I laugh.
Laugh at the fact that Maeve isn’t here, and she's still steering me straight in this moment.
Makes me wonder what she has said to Wade.
The two of them have this weird dynamic.
Just constant back-and-forth pointless bickers, him being his usual grumpy asshole self and her not backing down an inch.
And when they're not arguing, there's just this loaded silence that makes everyone else in the room suddenly very interested in their boots.
And yet, she still sticks up for him. Why? Because she sees the good in fucked-up people. In me. In Wade.
She doesn’t like leaving broken things alone, and me and Wade are definitely broken. It's probably her goal to mend things before she goes back home. Likely doing it for me, as we have spoken several times about what life was like before she came. Lonely. Depressing. Boring.
This stupid grounding technique is doing absolutely nothing.
My brain has been going a million miles an hour all morning, and it just can’t settle on one thought before three more crash in.
If I had to describe it, it'd be one of those detective pin boards—except none of my strings connect to anything.
Just one big tangled mess I can't find the end of.
And even if I could, I'm not sure I'd know what I was looking at.
My life used to make sense. Used to be predictable.
Now I can't see two steps ahead, and that makes my heart hammer in a way I can't decide if it scares or excites me.
A laugh pulls me out of my own head. Low, coming from the office. I stand there for a second, trying to place it because, honestly, I'm not sure I've heard it since I was a kid.
I tiptoe closer, peeking around the doorframe without being seen.
Wade's in the desk chair, slouched down, staring at his phone. And he's… grinning?
I have to look twice.
This is a man who has two facial expressions—pissed off and more pissed off. So, what’s got him smiling like that?
I clear my throat.
Wade jumps like I just fired a gun, nearly dropping his phone.
“Jesus Christ, Colt.” His hand’s on his chest, breathing hard. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Didn't mean to interrupt whatever that was.” I gesture vaguely at him.
He puts his phone screen-down on the desk real quick and starts brushing at his shirt like it needs it.
“I wanted to talk to you about the riding school.” He's trying to smile, but it looks painful. “You got some time?”
This is so awkward I might actually die.
“Yeah, Mrs. Mae mentioned. Can I shower first? I'm pretty gross.” I lift my arms to make my point.
He nods and turns back to the computer. I grab clean clothes from the spare drawer and take the fastest shower the ensuite’s weak pressure will allow. Ten minutes later I’m back, towelling my hair as I drop in the chair across from him.
“Bring your chair over here, son.” He gestures to the space next to him. “Need to show you what's on the screen.”
Son. He hasn’t called me that in… Well, a long damn time. Hearing it now feels strange. Can't decide if it's a good or bad kind of strange. Let’s put that onto the growing list of things Doctor Palmer will be helping me unpack tomorrow.
I scoot my chair over, and that’s when I see it.
A full business plan lights up the screen. Graphs, contact lists, financial projections, even a logo mock-up. It's very detailed. A level of detail that takes hours to put together.
“What's this?” I hear the confusion in my own voice. When did he have time for this? And since when does he know anything about riding schools and horse racing? That's my thing, not his.
“After we talked a few weeks back.” He clears his throat. “You left some of your research papers here. I made copies. Hope that's alright.”
I let that sit for a second.
“I took what you'd already worked on,” he continues, “and built it into a proper business plan. Thought we could go through it, skip the bullshit and get straight to the real stuff. Logistics, money, actually making this thing happen.”
I don't say anything. Can't bring myself to. Because this is him trying. Really trying.
And I don't know what to do with that. Like at all. Something is happening in my chest that I haven't felt for Wade in years, and I don't have a name for it. I'm not sure I want one.
Wade’s watching me with that steady look of his, but my eyes are stuck on the screen. Jumping from detail to detail. I reach over and take the mouse straight out of his hand, scrolling. Seventeen pages. This is insanely impressive.
I can feel Wade beside me, body all tense as he waits for me to say something.
“What you think?” He gives in first.
“Great start.” I glance at him, letting a smile slip. “Who knew you had it in you.”
All at once his body relaxes, then he nudges me slightly with his shoulder, almost playfully… As if things couldn’t get weirder.
“Oi, watch yourself, boy. I've been running this ranch just fine for years.” He laughs again, and it sounds genuine.
“Sure.” I raise my eyebrows with a smirk. “Only took a city girl coming in to sort out how you run your own stocks.”
He huffs. “I'll give you that one.” There’s a brief pause, one that almost wouldn’t have been noticeable if I wasn’t so hypervigilant about this whole situation. “Maybe I’ve been too stuck in the way things have always been. Haven't thought much about what we could be.”
We? As in a father and son ranch?
“It's good,” I say, turning back to the screen. “There's stuff I'd want to tweak, some bits that need more research. And if we're going for competition horses, we need to think about bringing in a proper trainer.”
He nods, lets me keep reading. I can't stop smiling. This could actually put Meadow Bell on the map.
“Well, son.” There it is again. “This was only ever a start. Thought we could build on it together.”
“Got time now?”
He checks the corner of the screen. “Let me get one of the boys to head into town and pick up the supply delivery, and then I'm all yours.”
I nod. He grabs his phone and heads to the corner. I slide into his chair, pull up to the desk, start marking up sections.
When he comes back, he pulls up beside me. Fully present. Fully in this.
It feels good. And right now, that's all I need it to be.