Dad was right. It was a pretty day. The sun cut the chill from the air. The rays reflected off the snow, and on the back of my horse, my mood instantly improved.
“Foster is here,” I told Neptune because my horse was the best listener around. “I have no idea what he expects from me other than he wants to go out to dinner and talk.”
Neptune snorted.
“Yep. That’s what I think too. It’s all horseshit. No offense.” I loosened the reins, letting Neptune pick up speed to a trot. “What could there possibly be to say after so long?”
Neptune didn’t have an answer this time.
Neither did I.
We rode in silence for hours, weaving a wandering trail in the snow until the crisp air cleared the fog from my mind.
I took the long, familiar path to my favorite place on the ranch.
Garnet Flats.
In the spring, the meadows would be a lush green dotted with wildflowers in red, yellow, white and purple. In the summer, the warm sap from the evergreens would infuse the air with the scent of pine. In autumn, the leaves would change, coloring the mountain foothills before they slept through a white winter. One hundred acres of sheer beauty.
My dream had always been to build a home here. To experience the seasons through every sunrise and sunset. As I stared across the snow, my eyes flooded.
That dream had included Foster once.
For the first time in my life, it hurt to be here.
With a nudge of my leg and a tug on the reins, I turned away from the meadow. Neptune and I returned to the stables at a gallop, and by the time we arrived, we were both out of breath.
After I put my saddle away, took care of Neptune and led her back to the calving pasture to rejoin the other horses, I headed back to Mom and Dad’s. I didn’t want to go home, so I didn’t. Tomorrow, work would be a welcome distraction, but for today, I’d use my family.
I finger painted with my niece and nephews. Mom made me a grilled ham and cheese sandwich for lunch before I helped her put the kids down for a nap. And every time Dad made eye contact, I smiled, doing my best to reassure him I was fine.
It wasn’t until the sun was dipping toward the horizon that I finally said goodbye and climbed into the Jeep. Then I took the long way home so I could savor the pink and orange sunset behind the jagged mountains that surrounded Quincy’s valley. And by the time I turned down my street, it was nearly dark.
Just not dark enough to miss the black truck with Nevada license plates parked in front of my house.
“You infuriating, obstinate man.” I gritted my teeth and turned down the alley so I could park in my garage. After marching inside, I flew through the house and ripped open the front door to find Foster on my porch. “Why are you here?”
“Dinner.” He held up a plastic bag from our local Mexican restaurant. In the other hand, he had a bottle of white wine.
“God, you are stubborn.”
“It’s a little cold for a picnic. Gonna let me in?”
“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Are you seeing someone?”
“I can’t see how that is any of your business.”
“That’s a no. Come on, Tally—Talia,” he corrected. “It’s just dinner.”
It would never be just dinner. Not with Foster. “No.”
“Fine.” He tucked the wine under his arm and used his hand to dig in his pocket, pulling out that damn blue pouch. “You left this at the gym.”
“Seriously? Stop with the ring.” Didn’t he realize how hard it was for me to see it?
“It’s yours.”
“When did you buy it?”
He held my gaze. “Right after you left.”
“Why? You married another woman.” Before he could answer, I waved both hands. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. That ring has never been mine, and I don’t want it.”
“Tally.”
“Don’t!” My voice carried past him and into the night. “Don’t call me Tally like you know a damn thing about me. Don’t call me Tally like we’re old friends. Don’t call me Tally like you didn’t lie to me each and every day we were together.”
“Okay.” He sighed. “I just . . . I want to explain. Please.”
“Why? I can’t believe a word you say.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I can’t. I won’t. I’m an intelligent woman, Foster. I’m trusting. I’m loyal. And you made me question everything about myself. You made me doubt my intuition. My heart. Myself. So no, I don’t want dinner. I don’t want to hear your explanation. I don’t want you here. Go away.”
How long had those words been bottled up? I waited for that sweet relief, for the good feeling that should have come after yelling at Foster. But my heart . . . hurt. It hurt. Shouldn’t it feel good now? How many years had I held this anger inside? Why didn’t it feel cathartic to set it free?
“I’m sorry.” Foster swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not enough,” I whispered. “It’s not enough to be sorry.”
“You’re right.” He nodded. “I just . . . you’ve always been my Tally. It’s how I think of you. It’s what I call you in my head.”
He’d thought of me. He’d said my name in his head. The hurt doubled. Then it tripled with the apology written on his face and the regret brimming in his eyes.
This had to end. I had to be the one to end it this time. So I took a step away, gripping the door. “I stopped being your Tally the day you married my best friend. You want to give that ring to someone? Give it to Vivienne.”
It should have felt good to slam the door in his face.
It didn’t.
CHAPTER FOUR
FOSTER
Sweat dripped down my face as I hauled the last ceiling tile outside the gym, tossing it into the dumpster I’d rented last week. The cold air was a welcome break from the heat inside.
Every muscle in my body was on fire. Jasper wouldn’t have to worry about me missing training sessions or cardio. Renovating this building was some of the hardest physical work I’d done in years.
I took a moment to cool down, my body steaming as my chest heaved. But long breaks weren’t an option, so I headed back, surveying my progress. Luckily, this cleanup had only required energy. I hadn’t run into any major structural issues that would require construction.
In the past week, the gym had become, well . . . a gym. Or the makings of one.
The cement floors hadn’t been in bad shape after I’d spent hours on my hands and knees, scrubbing away the dust and grime. Whoever had owned this place before me had put mats down with some sort of tape. Idiot. Getting the adhesive off had taken hours.
The drop ceiling had made the space feel cramped, probably part of why that dumbass previous owner hadn’t been able to keep members, so I’d ripped out the tiles and the hanging grid. Now it had an industrial vibe, with the air ducts exposed. The electrical wires I’d hide with some coverings I’d bought yesterday. Then I’d start on paint. Two five-gallon buckets were in a corner next to my ladder, rollers and brushes.
Most of the tools I’d bought had been from the Quincy hardware store. If I was going to live here, I wanted to support the local businesses. But there were some specialty items that they didn’t keep in stock, so in addition to busting my ass here, I’d spent a glut of hours behind the wheel of my truck, driving to Missoula to hit up Home Depot.