DAISY
Thewhooshof the brush is almost therapeutic as I run it across Storm’s back. Her tail swishes side to side as she munches on hay happily.
I don’t usually work on Storm. The beautiful chestnut mare is Grayson’s personal horse, and he prefers to work on her himself, but he’s been MIA lately, so Hunter asked me to give her some attention when I had a spare moment.
I tend to avoid the grumpier Calloway brother when I’m on the ranch. His scowls are kind of a mood dampener whenever he decides to grace the rest of us with his presence. Unlike a lot of the staff, I don’t find Grayson intimidating. I spent a lot of time around him growing up. I knew the man he was before Rueben died, and I know that deep down, that same man is in there somewhere.
As someone who ran away from the hardships in life, I identify with Gray in a lot of ways. While he never ran away physically, he still hid from the people close to him. He’s still hiding now.
The small, private barn next to Grayson’s house is blissfully empty as I work on Storm and I welcome the reprieve from the hustle and bustle of the main barn.
The few stalls reserved for untrained horses are mostly empty with the exception of Storm and Casper, the white stallion a few stalls down.
When I’m finished with Storm, I throw my supplies in the bucket and pull a few treats from the pockets of my coveralls, offering them to her as I leave. I shuffle into the small tack room, dump the bucket under the wooden table and head over to the sink to wash my hands.
The sound of an engine approaching draws my attention over my shoulder and my stomach drops as I quickly dry my hands on a hand towel. I had hoped to avoid Grayson. Hunter told me that no one had heard from him in days and that he was holed up in his house feeling sorry for himself so I was confident I would be in and out without ever running into him.
With a deep breath I ready myself for his wrath and step out of the tack room. I come to a screeching halt as the vehicle in question comes into view.
Ashby Trees.
Shit.
I hold my breath and sink into the shadows behind the barn door as Killian climbs out of his work truck and stomps his way up to Grayson’s front door. His fists bang against the door with purpose, and I startle as he shouts, “Gray, open the door.”
I’m suddenly grateful to my earlier self for opting to walk down here instead of driving.
The front door of Grayson’s house abruptly swings open, revealing a very dishevelled version of the man himself.
“You look like shit, man.”
“Thanks,” Grayson mutters as Killian pushes past him, giving his shoulder a pat as he all-but forces his way into his house.
“Come on in why don’t you,” is the last thing I hear as the door swings shut. Without wasting another second, I collect my things andhightail it out of there.
CHAPTER 19
KILLIAN
Grayson mumbles something behind me as I park my ass on his sofa. My eyes do a quick sweep of the open-plan living room and kitchen, and I try to keep my expression neutral.
It’s a mess in here.
The curtains are drawn, casting the space in shadows. There are empty beer and whiskey bottles littering the kitchen island and the trashcan looks like it hasn’t been emptied all week.
I reach for the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table. “You know, this ain’t gonna help you.”
Gray shrugs. “It might if I drink enough.”
I twist the lid off and gulp the brown liquid straight from the bottle, the burn lighting a path in my chest as it glides down my throat.
If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, I guess.
“Why are you here?” Gray asks as he takes the seat I assume he’s occupied all week.
“Because I am the only person in this town that understands the way you feel right now.”
I have been exactly where Grayson is right now. Hell, I was here only a few months ago after I stormed out of the bar after laying eyes on my girl again for the first time in years.
