My hands are sore. The burn in my arms the only release as I repeat the movement. Over and over.
“Wait. You’re leaving?” The look in her eyes matched the tone in her voice—confused, uncertain . . . rejected.
I won’t be a mistake.
Those were the words that ran through my head but were so very different from the ones that I said to her. “It’s probably best this way, Tate.” A tight smile, a soft kiss on her lips, and then a step back when all I wanted to do was dive back in again. “We blurred a lot of lines tonight. You need to make sure you’re still okay with this. With what just happened.” Another brush of lips before I slid my hand over her hip and let it come to a rest on her ass. “Sleep in tomorrow. You might have a hell of a headache from the wine anyway.”
My shoulders ache, but I force myself to remember why I walked away. Of why I had to. Of what the fuck I just did.
But the ache doesn’t do shit to erase the hurt that was in her eyes or the war that waged over her features as she kissed me one last time and then closed the door.
My chest burns. My breath is harder to catch. My heart is pounding in my ears.
“Jack. Son. I need you to come home. There are some things I need to tell you. About your sister and your brother.”
That first phone call my Dad made to me. Who knew it would be the one that would start this whole goddamn ball to roll down the hill and lead me here?
My muscles scream with an ache that can’t even begin to rival the one in my chest or the emotions I felt—still feel—after all was said and done.
The need to outrun or outdo the memory of that day is still burning strong.
But it’s the guilt that eats at me. Why I felt it then and why I couldn’t give a fuck less about it now.
“Jack-Jack . . . I’m so sorry. Dad died.”
My arms falter on the pull-up. My strength wanes as I am hit with the emotions of that day. I’d been in the airport, rushing to get home, with my phone to my ear in the middle of hundreds of people trying to get somewhere and feeling as if I were lost.
It was as if I had lost something I hadn’t realized I needed.
All the hatred I held on to was gone.
All the rebellion had no purpose.
All the love I felt for him would never be known.
At least I had the chance to though.
At least I was given that.
21
TATE
I hate that I wait for the sound of his engine and that I expect to see his truck’s headlights flash through my bedroom window as he heads to the bar.
I hate that I wish he would have stayed tonight and that he was probably right. We’re adults who work together and need to keep working together. We won’t be able to do that unless we are on sure footing despite the desire still burning beneath the surface.
I love that, even as the night burns into the morning, his truck never starts. Its lights never cause shadows to dance over my walls.
I love that, for the first time since Jack has come here, he doesn’t go to the bar.
As I sink into sheets that used to smell of my husband, I replay the events of the night and dream of another man instead.
And I’m okay with that.
22
TATE
“You needed to talk about schedules?” I ask when I enter the stable. The butterflies that have been flittering with anticipation of seeing Jack again are in full flight.
When he looks over to me from where he’s teaching Will something, I know he feels the same way I do.
Unsated.
Satisfied.
Wanting more.
So many contradictions at the same time.
The slow spread of the smile on his lips does more than should be legal to my insides. The subtle soreness from the sex we had last night is forgotten as the sweet ache of wanting him again spreads throughout my body.
“Good morning,” Jack’s voice rumbles.
“Morning, ma’am,” Will says, and it takes all that I have to look his way and smile.
Because it’s Jack who owns my attention as I remember what the rasp of his goatee feels like against my skin. What his fingertips can do. What his cock can accomplish.
“Did you have a good night?” Jack asks with a lift of one eyebrow and amusement loitering in the chocolate-color of his eyes.
“No complaints here,” I say, and I’m sure my cheeks flush because I swear I’m wearing a neon sign above my head that reads: This girl had great sex last night. “What about you two?”
“Homework’s always a good time,” Will jokes.
“Television. A workout. A good dinner. Can’t complain either,” Jack says, but when Will looks down to what they were doing, Jack flashes me a megawatt smile followed by a wink that erases any and all awkwardness I had feared would be between us.
“Schedules?” I ask as I suppress my own grin.
“Yes. Will and I are coordinating with a local ranch as well as a few from farther away to get quotes so we can keep the bloodlines from becoming too linear.”
“That’s always important,” I muse as I step forward and look at what they have worked up. Austin is about two hours away. Dallas two. Oklahoma four.
I twist my lips and worry about the logistics and the costs associated with his proposal. And then, of course, the veterinary bills, having to pay Jack his salary, and not having sold Ruby yet . . .
The sigh I emit is one reflecting serious concern.
“This is extensive,” I murmur, silently adding everything up.
“And much needed after looking at how the breeding was handled before. You need to go outside.”
I meet Jack’s eyes over the paperwork, and for the first time ever, I truly trust him. Blame it on the sex or the conversation last night or whatever works, but I feel like he really is out for the good of the ranch.
“I know.” I twist my lips and take a step back. “It’s just going to take me some juggling on money to make it all work.”
“As is expected. If it helps, I do have a few of the owners of the studs who are interested in keeping the foal. Some are willing to hold off on your payment for the stud fee so long as, upon the delivery of a healthy foal, you deduct the fee from the purchase price.”
I can’t remember anyone ever offering this to us in the past. “I don’t understand,” I say even though I do.
“It’s good to know people,” Jack says nonchalantly, as if he has no idea he’s just secured the ranch a future income without me having to outlay any cash on the front end. “And I’m working on a deal that might secure things on a consistent basis.”
Apprehension smothers any hope that might attempt to take hold. Fletcher used to say much the same thing, but instead of questioning Jack about it, I review his income projections on the sheet. I also try to work through how I’m going to stay afloat for the next twelve months until those foals are born. Sure, I’ll have the income from the current batch of foals that will be born soon, but that’s only if I can sell them.
And then if I don’t sell them, if I don’t—
“Hey, Will, can you go grab that binder on my desk?” Jack asks, interrupting my thoughts.
We both watch Will’s long legs eat up the space, and the minute he’s out of earshot, Jack lowers his voice. “We’ll figure out the in-between, okay? I know that look on your face, and I’m working on it.”