Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(49)

He was leaning on the other side of the bay, had set his steaming coffee on the ledge, and was slowly scratching his short beard and looking over his son, who all at once looked like a lethal weapon.

“He is now.”

“You have a long day in front of you, then,” Beckett said with a glance to his phone. “Your mother wants us to ride Ghost, Chopper, and Easy Money, and that new bay. See who’s handled enough, then haul them over to her barn.”

“For what?” Wyatt said, only halfway acting like he cared. He was basically at war at the moment with Avowed, trying to tighten his girth.

“For Harley.”

Wyatt had just gotten the girth on and looked right at his father.

“Is she trying to kill her?”

“No, challenge her, but apparently you are. What’s your deal? You think you’re gonna ride this bad boy today, knock some sense into him, and then prance over to Harley and say, ‘Ha, I replaced you’?”

“What the hell?”

Beckett chuckled. “Don’t act like that’s not in that head of yours. If you’re worried about Harley riding those horses, or any other students, then maybe you need to mosey on over to your mother’s side of things for a while, you know, to smooth the transition.”

“Is this a game to you?” Wyatt asked his dad. “Is it some running joke around here that the rich girl is back? Let’s put Wyatt and her side by side and see if he can stand it?”

Beckett stood up a little straighter, even lifted his chin. “You’re a Doran. We don’t play games with women. We say what we say. What we mean. What comes after is up to them.”

“Why? Why do they get to decide? They can just march around, smile all sweet, then like a beast they rip you in two. And what are we supposed to do? Beg for more? Not this cowboy. Hell no. I don’t have time for that shit,” Wyatt said, turning from his father and giving all his attention back to Avowed.

“I thought you loved the girl?”

Wyatt stayed quiet.

“I’m speaking to you, boy.”

Wyatt turned to face him. “Dad, this is some fluke. Some kind of twisted sense of humor from the Man upstairs. She’s so far past us that I doubt she remembers any of it, or cares to. She has some rich son of a bitch that can give her the world. Nice and cozy with a boy her mother handpicked for her.”

“Did you knock your head when you got thrown the other day? Lose your sense somewhere? That boy can’t give her the world; he’s not a Doran.”

Wyatt shook his head in fury, even looked away.

“I’m still speaking to you,” Beckett said. Wyatt met his eyes like a man, like his father always taught him to speak to others. “Willowhaven Farms is Harley Tatum’s world, it’s her heaven. No Grant boy can give her this farm. A Doran one can.”

“Maybe four years ago, Dad. Not today.”

“You need to get your facts right, son. Your mother has been on the phone with Garrison Tatum for at least four hours across last night and this morning. Harley’s flown through farms and trainers since she left here. This place being her heaven, that was her father’s words. I heard the man, I saw your momma smile when she heard them.”

“There’s more to it.”

“Like what?”

“She’s with him, Dad. He may not have this place, but he has her.”

“Oh, so years ago her momma—hell, maybe yours—was your excuse. Today, it’s some Grant fella? I don’t recall teaching any of my boys to make excuses. I believe I told you when it got hard to dig a little deeper, fight harder.”

Wyatt held his stare but didn’t say a word.

“Your problem, boy, is that you have promised yourself a fail. You always thought you couldn’t give her what she wanted or that someone could give her more.” Beckett lifted his chin. “Maybe you ought’ to ask her what it is that she does want.”

“All of a sudden you’re the matchmaker?”

“Nope. I’m just telling you how I convinced your momma to run away with me. Long day, get to work,” Beckett said as he took his coffee and made his way to his office.

Wyatt was almost sure he saw him grinning.

He didn’t know much about how his parents got together. He knew they grew up close to each other, and around the time Wyatt was born their families merged their farms. That his father brought out the rebel side in his mother, and when Beckett had no other choice, she brought out the charm and class in him.

Wyatt’s mother’s parents passed away when he was five or so. All he really remembered about them were the suits he had to wear to the banquets. He hated those suits. To this day, he hated them, the ones he had to wear to all the dinners at the horse shows or when the Dorans held a gathering at the main house to raise money for local farms or the rescue shelters they had established for more than just horses across this state and nine others.

Wyatt was sure his daddy was trying to tell him that there was nothing stopping him from getting back the only girl he loved. But he and Harley were not his parents. This was not merging two different sides of the horse world. It would be merging two different classes of the wealth in general. Beyond that, their backgrounds were not keeping them apart; it was the fact that she had someone else. She outright replaced him like he was some backwoods horseman she once knew.