I knowofMason. His pain in the ass daughter tried to get in my face when all hell was breaking loose over my ex-wife.
But I’ve never had a conversation with Mason, despite the fact I used to see him helping her get set up at several rodeos in the past.
Haven’t seen him lately though.
“What can I do for you?” I keep my truck in park. If I start driving home, I’ll hit a dead spot and lose the call.
He takes a deep breath. “Well, two things. We had a fire a couple of weeks ago on the main lodge and need some work done to fix it. I also want to talk about putting in a house.”
“I’m sorry to hear about the fire.” I glance at the clock on my dash, weighing how long it will take me to drive to Pendleton like I planned. “What kind of timeline are you looking at?”
“I’d like to get started on the repairs right away,” he grunts. “The new place you won’t be able to do much on until the ground thaws.”
Fuck.
I have a few guys that would jump at the chance.
“I’m gonna be out of town, but I have a crew that could likely handle it. Can I swing by now and take a look?” I’d trust Denny and Mike to take care of everything.
“I’ll be here, thanks.” The click echoes through the speakers as the line goes quiet.
I like him already.
Promises, promises
Sophia
“One more, girl,” Iwhisper, then prod Misty with my heels.
I want her tired and relaxed before I load her on the trailer for the long drive to Oregon.
The first rounds are supposed to start in the morning there, so I know I’m already pushing my window to make it before nightfall.
I don’t want to be penning her in the dark, but I’m also dreading the drive by myself.
Mountain passes in winter are no joke, especially hauling a horse.
But I’m supposed to meet Rachel there, she’s one of the best retired barrel racers in all of Washington state.
It’s an opportunity I’d be stupid to pass up on.
Char has a wealth of knowledge herself, she built the foundation that Misty is thriving on.
Yet I want more.
I was so close last year after breaking my leg the previous summer.
There’s no doubt in my mind I’m making it to the championships this fall.
Misty powers through the second turn and races towards the last barrel. The crisp cold January air burns against my cheeks as she leans into her final arc.
A flash catches my eye, a reflection from a windshield driving down the lane.
But my mare is too fast for me to see who it is as she digs in to gallop back to the starting line.
Only after I ease her down and start trotting her into a cooldown loop do I get a glimpse of the logo on the white panel door as the truck pulls in front of the main house.
Brookes Construction.
