He’d asked casually enough, but Chey turned to him then and he saw, as few did, straight past the bluster and fierce independence, to the big, mushy heart she worked so hard to keep concealed. Chey had told him once she felt emotion made her look weak, and her rivals would use that against her in competition, both inside and outside the ring. That might have been true enough, but Wyatt had long suspected that the hardness of life on the road, not to mention the cutthroat competition, especially given her young age, had made Chey tamp down that soft heart to help herself remain tough.
She had been plenty tough, maybe too tough at times, but he couldn’t fault her for that. In all the ways that mattered, she was all heart. He knew how conflicted she must have felt about Buttercup; finding him as she had must have stirred up her most protective instincts. Just as he was certain she knew how poignant and powerful the reunion between him and the horse that had been his first true friend would likely be. Despite what she’d said earlier, in the heat of the moment, he had no doubt she’d let him reclaim his horse, especially if she thought, even for a minute, it would be what Buttercup might need most.
Horses lived a long time, and their memories lasted just as long. Wyatt had no doubt his horse would remember him, by scent and sound if not appearance. He just didn’t know what Buttercup would think about him suddenly stepping back into his life, especially given what had transpired since they’d last seen each other.
Chey nodded, her gaze directly on his, her serious expression signaling to him that she was well aware of the momentousness of this particular occasion. For man, and for horse. He appreciated that she trusted him to handle the reunion properly.
“Thank you,” he said, hoping she could read his thoughts as easily as he read her.
He stepped outside the barn and walked over to Tory’s mares. He made sure there was water in the trough and dug a few carrots out of the cooler in the trailer and fed them each a few. Minutes later they were both happily trotting around the paddock, feeling their oats a bit after the long drive. Wyatt leaned his arms on the fence and alternated between watching them and looking to the field in the distance where Buttercup was grazing. Maybe he should leave well enough alone. The old gelding didn’t look so great, and Wyatt didn’t want to imagine how bad off he must have been when Tory first found him, if months later, he was still looking so thin and ragged.
Nonetheless, he looked settled, content. And Chey would see to it that he had the best of everything going forward, of that Wyatt had no doubt. Maybe the best thing he could do for his childhood friend was to leave him be, not stir up past memories, past pain. For the horse, or for you?
He honestly didn’t know the answer to that. Both, probably, though he’d like to think he was putting Buttercup’s best interests first. Why reunite, stir up whatever might be in that big, majestic beast’s heart, only to walk away again? The truth of the matter was Wyatt didn’t know where he’d be a month from now, or a year from then. He couldn’t traipse around the world, doing what he did for a living, with a horse in tow. On the other hand, he had property. He didn’t have to board the horse out. He could make a life for Buttercup, a good one. But the truth was, he’d been home less than thirty days, total, in the past year.
Wyatt ducked his chin. Buttercup was better off here. The gelding knew Chey, too, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
“He doesn’t look so good, I know. But he’ll be happier to see you than you can imagine. He’s up to it.” Chey came to stand beside him at the rail and rested her folded arms next to his.
A glance showed that she was looking beyond the paddock to where Buttercup was cropping grass.
“I was thinking it might be more cruel than kind,” Wyatt said. “To Buttercup, I mean.”
Chey glanced at him. “Because you’re not staying.”
She didn’t make it a question, but he nodded anyway.
“I’m not offering this because I think you can’t do it, but because I think I should do it. I could take him home, support him, his care, whatever medical attention he needs, for as long as he needs,” Wyatt said, then turned to look at Chey directly. This close, the impact of those brown eyes of hers was like a one-two punch to his heart. “The truth is, though, I won’t be there much. I’d have someone I trusted care for him, but—”
“You trust me. And I have the added benefit of knowing him as long as you,” Chey said again, not making it a question or needing a response. “All that is to say that he will be fine here. You know I’ll care for him like he’s my own. Honestly, I already feel he is.”
“He deserves you,” Wyatt said, leaving the “more than he deserves me” part silent, knowing she heard it anyway. “And I’m grateful. Thank you, Cheyenne. For all of it. Truly.”
She swallowed hard at his use of her full name. He’d been pretty much the only one who’d ever called her that. But he’d thought it such a cool name when he was a kid. Later, it had meant something entirely different to him; so he was the only one she let call her that.
“Maybe you’re right, then,” she said quietly, looking back out to the field. “Maybe best to steer clear.” She glanced at him again. “For now.”
Wyatt suspected she wasn’t just talking about him steering clear of the horse. He nodded and left it at that.
They both watched Tory’s mares in shared, if not completely comfortable silence. He spent some time taking in the full scope of the property, the row upon row of budding lavender, the magnificent backdrop of the hazy, deep blue peaks.
He debated remaining silent, simply taking the moment for what it was, and being grateful for that much. He was still reeling at the suddenness of this reunion, after so many years and endless conversations he’d had with himself about how this exact situation would play out, if it were ever to happen. And, frankly, he’d long since given up hope on that even being a possibility.
“I don’t have too many regrets,” he heard himself say, deciding life didn’t hand out moments like this often, if ever. He’d only add to the list of regrets if he let it pass without telling her how he felt. “I used to think I should have run away, should have escaped sooner.” They were both looking straight ahead, but he felt her side-glance at him, even without seeing it. “I told myself that I couldn’t have saved our horses if I’d done that, much less our bulls, and I would never have left any of them with Zachariah. But it was more than that.”
“Wyatt,” she said, so softly he hardly heard it, even though their elbows were almost touching as they continued to lean on the rail.
“Let me finish, Chey,” he said, just as gently.
He looked at her then. Given their difference in height, her face was mostly obscured by the brim of her cowboy hat, but he saw her nod. And keep her focus straight ahead, as if she was bracing for whatever he was about to deliver. He wanted to assure her he’d learned his lesson on that score. She’d gut punched him more than once today, though he didn’t blame her. Beyond her shock at his sudden appearance, which he’d had no control over, he hoped to spare her from even one of the same.
“I used to dream about running, but then I’d think, what in the hell would I do out in the world alone? And how would I take care of myself, much less my animals? So, I stayed, and it was hell. Worse than hell. You and Cody and your aunt and uncle were the only good part of my life. The only thing that felt like a real family. Your friendship meant more to me than you’ll ever know.”