I blink, a little overwhelmed. My son is so excited about this cowboy, about Clint. I can’t escape him, not even in my son’s imagination.
But the idea of Clint teaching Charlie, of him becoming a part of our lives… it’s too much.
“We’ll see, sweetie. We’ll see.” The words are a flimsy shield, but it’s all I have.
Charlie talks the whole drive home, his enthusiasm never dimming, his mind filled with dreams of being a cowboy, of roping cattle, of riding horses like Clint. I nod occasionally, trying to keep up with his rapid-fire chatter, but my mind keeps drifting back to that moment with Clint.
How he’d looked at me. How I’d frozen. How everything had come rushing back in an instant.
We finally reach the house, and I can’t wait to get inside, away from the rain and away from the memories that threaten to swallow me whole. But Charlie, still full of energy, doesn’tseem to notice my discomfort. He runs ahead to the living room, dropping his soggy coat by the door, his voice echoing through the empty space.
“Mama! I’m going to watch a horse cartoon. I want to see cowboys.”
I close the door behind us, the silence of the house pressing in. I feel a weight settle on my chest, and I just stand there, staring at the door like if I just focus hard enough, I can block out the past.
Charlie snaps me out of my thoughts, and I force a smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up first, okay? We’ll talk about the horses after.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s not just about horses anymore. It’s about Clint. And me. And Charlie, who doesn’t know anything about the complicated mess that’s been haunting me for six years.
I wonder how long I can keep pretending everything is fine.
CHAPTER FOUR
Reid
Yesterday’s stormisfinallyletting up, but the sky’s still got that heavy, overcast look. It’s holding onto something, as if waiting for a crack.
Or maybe it’s just me, trying to find anything to focus on other than Clint’s mood.
And right now, it’s not a good one.
I’m just wandering through the ranch, whistling, because that’s what I do. Whistle, hum, make noise. It’s what keeps things light around here.
But even my tunes can’t seem to cut through the storm that’s hanging over Clint.
The guy’s usually pretty chill, but there’s somethingoffabout him today. He’s walking around with that look that says he’s just one wrong question away from blowing up.
I stroll over to Sawyer, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he scribbles on a notepad.
“You notice anything weird about Clint today?” I ask, leaning on the fence next to him. “Because the guy’s got a temper that’s about to pop, and I have no idea why.”
Sawyer barely glances up, adjusting his glasses, deep in thought. “Isn’t he always like that?”
I snort, but it’s a dry sound. “Yeah, yeah, he’s got his moods. But this one’s different. You feel it too, right?”
Sawyer hesitates, looking at Clint, who’s doing his best impression of a stone statue over by the cattle. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Well, yeah. The guy’s usually all about moving cattle, fixing fences, not glaring at the horizon, waiting for the apocalypse,” I say, watching Clint out of the corner of my eye.
Sawyer shrugs, his attention back to his paper. “Maybe he just didn’t get enough coffee this morning.”
I laugh. “That’s Clint’s magic potion. Dude needs a whole vat of it.”
Sawyer smiles, but his brow furrows a little. “I don’t know. Maybe we should just leave him to it. He’s not a big talker.”
I roll my eyes. “There’s something going on, man. I can feel it.”
Sawyer glances at Clint again, his face stoic. “Yeah, but we’ve gotta let him come to us, Reid. He’s not the kind of guy to open up unless he’s ready. You know that.”
