Bitterness rose in his throat. She was right. Why should she give up her family, her freedom to move across the country forhim? He was a fool even to have imagined it.
"If you can ask me to give up everything, why should I not do the same?" she asked quietly.
His stomach lurched. What was she saying?
"Come to Wyoming. Make your life there. You could do whatever you wanted. Start a paper. Raise horses. Write a dime novel. We could make a life together. There."
We could make a life together.For a few seconds, the possibility stretched out before him. He could almost see it, taste it. A little cabin of their own. Raising racehorses, both strong and smart. And kids, little towheaded versions of Breanna that ran wild with their cousins.
And what of his father? And Reggie? Should he just abandon them?
He shook away the daydream, allowed himself to see only the darkness around him. "I can't. You know I can't."
Breanna had knownAdam would say no, but for one shining moment, she'd felt his stillness, felt him considering her suggestion.
She tipped her head back against the corner of the stall where she'd curled up with her bedroll. Forced her eyes to close. She needed rest for the race tomorrow. Two more days of difficult terrain and then the twenty-four hour stretch where she'd see what she and her gelding had left. Whether they could beat the remaining competition.
But apparently, Adam didn't consider their conversation finished.
"When I was younger... I don't know. Maybe about ten. I was horse crazy. My brother, too. He was two years younger and followed me everywhere. Father worked all the time, and Reggie and I decided to visit a friend of ours who had a stable full of horses."
Adam's voice was so serious in the darkness. This was the first time he'd mentioned his brother. Why was that?
"It was all in fun," he continued. "We'd ridden before. We saddled up two of our favorites and set off."
Her stomach twisted as his words made her anticipate something ominous.
"Something spooked his horse and it reared. He was tossed to the ground. He broke his back."
"Oh, Adam," she breathed. She wished they weren't separated by the stall wall. Her hands itched to reach for him, to comfort him.
"It had been my idea to go riding that day. Father blamed me. I blame myself."
"Is he...?"
"Confined to a wheeled chair. He never leaves the house."
A small relief flitted through her. She'd been afraid Adam was going to say his brother had died. But no. Confined to a chair.
It sounded awful to someone like her, someone who cherished her freedom and the ability to ride where the wind took her.
But then, Hattie sometimes found herself confined to a chair when her multiple sclerosis made it impossible to stand upright. And she was a doctor! She still practiced, still bore her load of patients even if she didn't perform surgery on bad days.
"And does your brother not want to help in acting as publisher for the paper?" she asked softly.
He was quiet for a long moment. "When I was a child, I dreamed of horses. Reggie was always so serious. I think he dreamed of ink-stained fingers and the paper." There was movement from his side of the stall, as if he'd shifted restlessly. "It’s impossible. He doesn’t leave the house."
And because of that, neither of them would live their childhood dreams. Life had crushed them both.
It was clear what drove Adam to take over the family legacy, even though she believed he didn't want it. A terrible guilt.
"It wasn't your fault," she said, her voice small in the darkness.
"Of course it was." His bitterness was palpable. "If I'd been a less adamant that we go, ormoreadamant that he stay home..."
He didn't finish his thought, but she could guess his meaning.Everything would be different now.
She knew a thing or two about guilt. About unmet family expectations. The mere idea of her as an infant had been so terrifying that her own mother had disposed of her. That left some kind of stain on Breanna's heart, one that would never heal. Three years ago, she'd hoped to find answers, but there were none to be had.
