Change Rein (Willow Bay Stables #1)(9)

Aurora gasps, covering her mouth with her hand at the same time I wince. I know what she’s thinking, because I’m thinking it too. Were any horses hurt?

“Thankfully, no one was injured in the fire, but he’s in need of a property to board his twenty-seven horses that is available immediately. We are one of the few stables in the province with enough space and amenities for Mr. Tucker’s racehorses to continue their usual training and management for the winter during the time it will take him to build a new barn in the old one’s place.

“While Mr. Tucker would employ his trainers and groomers, we will still be shorthanded when it comes to tending to that many horses as well as our own at once. We haven’t had a farmhand in years though. If we were to go through with the offer, I can look into hiring one, but until that should happen, it will require more work from all of us to maintain the property.” He pauses to look us all in the eyes. “You are in no way obligated to saddle yourself with this responsibility. If any of you are uncomfortable with this as a solution, we will not proceed. My children come before my pride.”

Owen is the first to speak. “Next weekend is the windup for the rodeo out in Edmonton, and then I’m done for the year, Dad. I’ll bring the trailer over when that’s done and park it around back.” He tips his cowboy hat towards the man he mirrors so much. “I’m all yours, old man.”

Laying her head on his shoulder, Aurora wraps her arms around one of his. “Me too.”

“Me three,” I say, taking his hand in mine from across the table.

My heart compresses at the thought of the man I love so much harboring this while my dreams bled him dry of money. Sure, Momma had life insurance. Daddy split it among the three of us and into separate trusts, but he never once let any of us dip into that if he could help it. He always said the trusts were a representation of our futures. The money was for us to buy houses and start families of our own with someone who loved us as much as he loved our mother.

“I’ll call Mr. Tucker’s assistant back with our answer then.” The relief surrounding him is palpable in the air.

The only thing more present in our kitchen is love.





I’VE BEEN PACING THE LENGTH of this god-awful hotel room for nearly two hours. While patience has never been a virtue of mine, the lack of it in this moment feels like it’s trying to suffocate me.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I tug at the knot in my tie and flick the top two buttons of my dress shirt open in an effort to promote breathing, as I seem to have forgotten how to do that as well.

It was eager, or perhaps stupid, of me to have jumped the gun like this, but my emotions were a wreck. Reckless is hardly a choice word used to describe my personality, but in this moment, it is of the utmost accuracy. The unsteady roil of feelings trying to purge from my chest are scaring me, and I am feeding their starved attachments like a foolish child.

My iPhone wails on the bedside table, a welcome interruption to the mental chastising rattling around inside my skull. I withstand the urge to lunge for it, instead picking it up and resuming my pacing.

“Tucker,” I answer.

“Good evening, sir. The call you’ve been waiting for came in a few minutes ago,” Lydia, my assistant, informs me.

As I pinch the bridge of my nose, anxiety at the thought of this having not worked swarms me. Truthfully, I never expected the man would have to discuss it with his children.

“And?” I snap.

“Larry Daniels has accepted your offer.”

I run my hand up to the top of my head, fisting it into my hair. Thank f*cking Christ.

“Wonderful. Thank you, Lydia.” Calmness makes its way back into my tone. “Please have everything scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. You can coordinate with Charlotte as she’ll need to be in the loop for transport.”

“Of course. Will that be all?”

Leaning my back against the wall, I cradle the phone between my shoulder and ear, unbuttoning the remainder of my shirt. “That will be all. Sorry to keep you so late on a Sunday.”

“Perfectly fine, sir. Goodnight.”

I vaguely hear the line go dead before tossing the phone back onto the bed. There’s an energy building inside me that, no matter what I do, I can’t seem to burn off.

I’m nervous.

That’s another feeling I’ll admit I’m not used to, and the anxiety surrounding it is increasing.

I need a drink.

After unbuttoning my slacks, I let them pool on the floor, knowing full well I’ll stick out like a dirty shirt dressed like that in this town.

After changing into a pair of Wranglers and a black t-shirt, I sit on the bed again to pull my cowboy boots on. Satisfied I can find a place to soothe my aching chest within walking distance, I forgo car keys and slide my wallet and my room key into the back pocket of my jeans.

When I reach the lobby, I nod towards the eager hostess, who’s beaming at me.

“How is your room, Mr. Tucker?”

“Lovely, ma’am. Thank you.”

Her eyes widen as I make my way over to her desk, and I withhold the urge to shake my head at her. “Manners make a gentleman,” my mother often reminded us children.

“Is there anywhere nearby to get a drink?” I ask, politely removing any flirtatious vibe from my tone. Although, these days, most women can twist even simple kindness into something it’s not.