I stand back, watching the gentle mares walk the round pen. Despite my annoyance at Warner’s comment earlier, I’m feeling happy enough to tip my eyes to the sky and appreciate the beginning of a sunset.
“Are you seeing anything good up there?”
My lips curl involuntarily into a smile at the sound of Dakota’s voice, but I tuck it back. She stands a few feet away, a flattened palm over her eyes to shield them from the sun. She comes to stand beside me, propping a foot up on the fence and resting a bent elbow on the top rung. Her chin nestles into her hand and she watches the kids ride. The breeze lifts her hair off her shoulders and swirls it around her face. She laughs at something Peyton says, tipping her head back while her shoulders shake.
I think about the picture we make standing here, limbs propped on the pen. Probably a pretty good one.
Dakota looks over to me. “It’s fun to see you with your family. For years whenever I thought of you, I could only picture you at the lake house. Seeing you here paints a better picture of who you are.”
My thumb runs the length of my jaw. “You thought of me?”
She shoots me a withering look and gently smacks my arm. “Are you telling me you never thought of me?”
“I—”
“Uncle Wes, I’m bored,” Charlie calls.
“Remind me not to take him on a trail ride,” I mutter, hoisting myself over the fence and leading Priscilla to the gate. Charlie hops down with my help. I grab hold of the reins and offer them to Dakota. She shakes her head.
“You scared of horses?” I ask, eyebrows raised. It would be nice to find something that ruffles her feathers. She seems so calm and in control all the time. The opposite of me.
“I’m wearing a dress.” She pinches the fabric above her belly button and pulls it out from her body.
“Right.” I nod. She releases the dress and it floats back to her body.
“You can ride sidesaddle.”
She makes a face and shakes her head. “I think I’ll skip this time.”
Peyton’s horse stops a few feet from me and she dismounts. “I’m done, Uncle Wes.” She keeps a tight grip on the reins and waits for me to give her instructions.
“Here.” I reach for the halter. “I’ll put the horses away. You can go on up to the house.”
“Your grandpa said he was setting up a projector and movie screen in the backyard,” Dakota tells Peyton, pointing over her shoulder toward the house.
“That means ice cream and popcorn.” Peyton smiles at Dakota. To me, she says, “Thanks for putting the horses away.”
I nod and she turns, heading for the house.
“I’ll take one,” Dakota offers, stepping into the round pen and taking Priscilla’s reins. She leads the horse out and stops, waiting for me.
“I take it you’re not scared.” Pumpkin and I walk out of the round pen and I stop to close it before continuing on to the stable.
“Of horses? No.”
“What are you scared of?” I glance at her from the corner of my eye as we walk.
“Not being a good person.”
That’s not what I was expecting her to say, especially because she’s the best person I know. “I think you’re a pretty good person.”
“Was he fun like that when you were a kid?”
I blink, confused by the abrupt subject change. “Who?”
“Your dad. Did he set up projectors for outdoor movies and serve ice cream and popcorn?”
I make a grunting sound in the back of my throat. “Hardly. He worked us. We were up doing chores before school, and our summers weren’t spent traveling, that’s for damn sure.”
“That’s what dads do, you know? Turn soft when they become grandparents.”
“Is that right?” We reach the stable and I walk in ahead of Dakota. I lead Pumpkin into her stall and do the same with Priscilla.
“My dad was really strict when my sister and I were growing up.” Dakota grabs a brush from the tack hanger on the wall and steps into Priscilla’s stall. She holds the brush in the air and looks at me. “May I?”
I nod, remembering the night we spent together and the few things she’d revealed to me about feeling guilty for being away from her parents. She brushes the horse using slow, rhythmic strokes. I’m about to tell her I get the feeling she has spent time around horses when she starts talking again.
“My dad was so strict that I left home at eighteen.” Her gaze flickers over me. “I still went to college, but I lived with friends. I loved my parents, but I just couldn’t handle how tightly he tried to hold on to me. The more I wanted freedom, the less inclined he was to give it. It broke my mom’s heart when I left, but they were a package deal, and I just wanted out. I did my own thing for a long time, only seeing them every so often. The longer I was gone, the harder it was to return.” She meets my eyes, then resumes grooming. “Eventually I met you, and a few days later, I went home. I decided it was time to get my shit together and be a real daughter.” Tears shine in her eyes. “But I never got to, not really. I showed up to find my mom had suffered an aneurysm two days prior, and she was never the same again. I cut all ties to the life I was living, and moved back home to take care of her. As much as I could, anyway. I wanted so badly to make up for what I did to her.” She looks up at me. “Did you know stress can contribute to aneurysms?” She shakes her head sadly. “Well, I managed to give her plenty of stress.”
“It’s not your fault that happened to her.” I can see the regret assailing her, and I wish I could take it away.
She gives me a sad look. “You don’t know that.”
“I’m about as certain you didn’t cause it as you are that you did.”
She frowns at me, but I see gratefulness in her eyes. “How about you, Wes?”
“What about me?”
She replaces the brush on the tack hanger and steps from the stall, closing it behind her. “What’s in here”—she taps lightly on the center of my chest—“that’s giving you so much trouble?”
My mouth goes dry. My weight shifts. “Nothing,” I say, my voice like sandpaper.
Her eyes fall.
I have the overwhelming urge to tell her, to split open my chest and release all the painful memories. “Dakota, I—”
“Wes!” Wyatt runs in. His eyes are terrified. “It’s Dad. He… he just…” He shakes his head, lowering his hands to his knees and sucking in a deep breath. “He was playing catch with the kids and he said he wasn’t feeling well. He sat down on the couch and then he fell over. Wes, he fucking fell over.”
Fear grips me instantly, but I make it a point to remain calm as I walk over to Wyatt. An emergency situation is hindered by hysteria. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I lift him until he’s standing upright. His eyes are wide and his skin is flushed. It reminds me of when he was six and terrified of how quiet the ranch was at night. Mom had to put a sound machine in his room to soothe him.
“Has anybody called 911?” I ask.
“Warner did. Mom was still on the phone with the operator when I left to run over here.” Wyatt looks at me with pleading eyes. He needs me to be the big brother, to assure him Dad will be fine.