“Grady, I don’t know. I just figured we were done with that.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t.”
“Really? You made it pretty clear that you were.”
After pinning her with a stare that Maren felt in the pit of her stomach, Grady shot his focus forward as the traffic light morphed into green. He lowered his foot to the floorboards and pressed the gas pedal, the engine roaring thunderously under the hood.
“Thank you for bringing Remy by today.” He changed the subject, but the small muscle at the back of Grady’s jaw ticked and Maren knew that although his words said one thing, his brain focused somewhere else entirely. “It’s late. We can just leave Josie’s truck and trailer at my place for the night. I’ll drop you off at your place and we can figure out the vehicle situation in the morning.”
“That’s fine. I don’t have much going on tomorrow, anyway.”
Grady nodded. “Good. I’ll need to help Kiley get settled into the house, but I can do that later in the afternoon.”
“Settled into the house?” Maren hesitated before she asked, “Who’s house?”
Like a child caught in a lie, Grady labored a moment in forming his answer.
“Who’s house, Grady?”
“My house,” he offered, finally.
“I see.”
“She’s supposed to take it easy and it’s just her in that tiny second-story apartment right now. My house is set up much better for this last month of pregnancy. Plus, I’ll be right there if she needs me. It’s the only solution.”
Waving her hand at him, Maren said, “Listen, Grady, you don’t need to explain any of that to me. It’s none of my business who lives with you. You’re a grown man.”
“She’s not going to be living with me, Mare. I’ll be sleeping in the loft.”
Like she’d crested the top of a rollercoaster, Maren’s stomach went weightless. They had spent so much of their youth in that barn loft, games of truth or dare played well into the depths of long summer nights. Growing up, they weren’t allowed to be alone up in the loft. At one point, Grady’s mom had been steadfast in that rule. Yet somehow, over the years, that rule became more and more lax in its enforcement, to the point that if anyone ever had any question of their whereabouts, the loft was the first place they would look. It was their space.
“You’re a good man, Grady,” Maren said, remembering the time he’d rescued her from an awful date at the rodeo when they were just kids. She’d said the same thing to him back then. And all these years later, nothing about that fact had changed. Grady was a good, honorable man.
The one thing that had changed, however, was that he was no longer hers. It was a truth she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to wrap her brain—or her heart—around.
16
Grady
There wasn’t much worth moving. Kiley’s one-bedroom apartment was hardly more than a box with a couch, a tattered, secondhand accent chair, and a folding card table set up in the kitchen. Her twin bed was a mattress on the floor with a stack of books for a nightstand. It was simple, like a college dorm room. As hard as he tried to envision a baby crib and changing table making the place feel more homey, Grady just couldn’t. But within a matter of weeks, there would be another person to share that space. Maybe he should convince Kiley to stay at the ranch a little longer than planned.
“Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Eat?”
He placed a pillow under her bare feet which were propped up on his coffee table. She’d settled in that afternoon and was on the fourth episode of some reality series about veterinary mishaps. The goat suffering through a particularly difficult birth on the screen didn’t seem like the best viewing choice for a woman about to face a similar task, but Grady didn’t offer his opinion.
“A glass of lemonade would be great. Extra ice, please.” Kiley rested her hands on her protruding belly, using it almost as a shelf. “But I’m happy to get it myself, Grady. You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot.”
“It’s no trouble.”
He retreated to the kitchen to pull the pitcher from the fridge. On the counter, the mess from yesterday’s culinary challenge remained untouched. He’d clean it up later. At the moment, the only thing on the agenda was a trail ride. He needed to clear his head and nothing could accomplish that quicker than tacking up his newest horse, Dusty, and riding out on the ranch. After he’d handed Kiley her drink and made sure there wasn’t anything else she needed, Grady set out for the barn.
Like any good horse, Dusty was eager for the opportunity to be put to work. He gladly lowered his head to accept the bit while Grady secured the leather bridle. Standing still, the sixteen-hand dun waited as Grady tossed his saddle onto its broad back and tightened the cinch. In one swift step, Grady hoisted himself up and onto the animal. He grabbed the reins and pressed his heels into Dusty’s side to spur him into a trot.
The sky above was a vivid blanket of blue, every cloud on hiatus. There was local chatter of a rare summer storm brewing, but nothing about the clear skies indicated any chance of rain. Even still, Grady didn’t rule it out. The weather could turn just as quickly as a hot temper. With that knowledge, he would enjoy the warmth of the sunshine while it lasted.
Dusty liked it, too, his breath sputtering forth when Grady asked the horse for another gear. They sped into a canter and loped up the ridge toward the crest of Cutter Ranch. The clomping hooves on dry ground were like a heartbeat to Grady, a connection he felt deep in his being. He’d only owned Dusty six months—got him with a string of three other fantastic, tried-and-true pickup horses—but he’d quickly become the barn favorite. He was an honest, no nonsense horse who never offered any opposition.
Grady laughed. How he wished relationships had been as easy with the women in his life.
Pulling up on the reins, Grady slowed his horse at the very peak of the hill. His brow was shaded by the generous brim of his hat, but he still needed to squint against the rays of light that drenched the valley. Crisp sunbeams highlighted every crevice, from the pale yellow Friar farmhouse to their horse paddocks down the way. And even though he made every effort to avert his gaze, it landed solidly on the grand oak at the periphery of it all.
He had half a mind to fire up his chainsaw and level the dang thing to the ground. But even left as a stump, that tree’s roots would still twist into the earth, still weave themselves into the landscape like fingers clawing and coiling into the hidden layers below. Its looming presence would always remain there, if only under the surface.
Much like the man who had died slumped against it.
It surprised Grady that someone who no longer walked the earth could still have such an influence on the trajectory of Grady’s path on it. It frustrated him. It angered him. But mostly, it saddened him. This shouldn’t be his cross to bear. It was exhausting to do right by someone who, when it came down to it, never tried to do right by Grady.
But he’d made a promise. And if Grady’s word meant nothing, then he meant nothing. He wanted to be worth something.
Swinging his leg out of the stirrup, he dismounted his horse and wrapped the reins loosely around the saddle horn. Immediately, Dusty lowered his head to the ground and stole a mouthful of dry grass.