Reckless(7)

Sadness washes over me as I look at our faces in the photo. At the hope in my eyes. I thought I could have it all.

Stupid motherfucker.

I’ll never make that mistake again.

It happened so fast. One day we were sitting down to dinner and making plans for the weekend, and the next she was packing her bags and leveling me with those four deadly words: I want a divorce.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I half wonder if she ever loved me and the life we built together, or if she was always full of shit.

I’ll probably never know because that would require clear communication, and we’ve only been having screaming matches lately. I can’t decide if that’s better than when she gives me the silent treatment. Isn’t there a happy medium where we talk like adults?

But the thing that keeps me up at night, the thorn I can’t quite dig out of my side? If I woke up tomorrow and found her on my front steps, admitting that she still loved me and begging to be a family again? I’d probably take her back.

At least then I wouldn’t have to hear my kids cry at night while they clutch old photos because they miss their momma. I can live without love, but I’m not sure that they can.





3





Ethan





“Morning, gorgeous,” I whisper, my voice raspy since I’ve only been in the company of horses for the last several hours. “Keeping these boys in line?” The mare whinnies as I brush out her mane.

The colts in the stalls on either side of her glare at me. I swear they know I’m busting their balls. Horses are smarter than people give them credit for.

I yank back my baseball cap and wipe the sweat away. It’s not even seven in the morning, but the air is already thick and humid. It’ll be a scorcher.

On days like today, I try to get to the stables along the back of my property as early as possible, usually around four in the morning, because around ten or eleven, it’ll be too hot to go riding. I’ll have to wait until early evening to attempt it, but that’s Texas in the summer for you.

All morning, I think about that conversation with my brother last night and wonder how I’m supposed to find someone who’ll love and nurture my kids half as much as my mom. It feels like an insurmountable task.

By the time my nine o’clock lesson shows up, I’m a grumpy fuck.

Eyeing the BMW that pulls up the drive, I groan. Mallory Mathers is richer than God and pays an obscene amount of money for me to board and train her filly and give her lessons, but it’s a tradeoff in my sanity for several reasons. One, she’s my wife’s friend and our families go way back. Two, she always hits on me. I can only convey my disinterest so many ways before I lose my patience. Three, I need the business right now, so I can’t be a dick.

“How’s my girl doing, Ethan?” she coos when she enters the barn, flicking her red hair over her shoulder.

I don’t have to force the smile since we’re talking horses. “Doing awesome. She’s a natural.” Baby Got Back is young, so we’re still taking it easy, but between her pedigree and her own natural athleticism and cow sense, I’d say Mallory has herself a winner.

There’s a lot of money to be won in cutting events. Even though I could use some of those winnings now, it’s the competition I’ve always loved. But the thought of getting back in the arena is bittersweet, so I push it out of my mind and focus on the sorrel filly in front of me.

It takes a special kind of animal to go toe-to-toe with a six-hundred-pound cow and “cut it” from the herd. A cutting horse has to be agile and lightning-fast to stop, turn, and juke the cow, keeping it away from the herd. Not only will Baby be excellent in the ring, she’d make an incredible work horse if that was what her owner needed.

Judging by my client’s designer duds, though, work is not what Mallory has in mind. While she knows her horses, Mallory’s probably better suited for an equestrian ring than cutting, but who am I to judge?

“You bring a change of clothes? Gonna get those nice threads dirty if you go riding.”

A smile tilts her over-painted lips. “These old things?” She laughs, and Baby jerks in her stall, startled. “I don’t mind getting a little dirty when I ride.” Her hand drifts across my shoulder, and I roll my eyes, grateful she can’t see my face.

I should probably appreciate that an attractive woman is paying attention to me. Looking down at the mud on my boots and the grime on my hands, all I see is a filthy rancher who trains other people to win.

What’s the old adage—those who can’t do, teach? That’s me.

But no amount of self-pity will get me interested in someone from Allison’s circle of friends.

Mallory scratches Baby’s ear. “Think I can ride her soon?”

“Nope.” The woman whines like my five-year-old, and it’s all I can do to not throw her out of my facility. “You wanna teach her some bad habits? Maybe get thrown off ’cause neither of you are ready? Then be my guest. Otherwise you’ll be learning on one of my horses until Baby can handle you.”

After a staredown, she huffs, “Your daddy was nicer.”

No shit. “Well, he ain’t here, so buck up, buttercup.”

The mention of my father darkens my mood. Pops was a champion cutting horse rider and loved by everyone who trained here. He would’ve charmed Mallory into thinking it was her idea to ride one of our other horses.