Leading Cash into the barn, I pat him on the neck before tying him up and removing his gear. The old boy is tired but loves getting out for the long cattle moves.
“You coming to The Wildflower tonight?” Wyatt asks as he ties his horse, Bolt, next to Cash and starts unsaddling him.
“No,” I grunt, shaking my head.
“You never come out,” he pouts, before urging, “It’s Friday night.”
I rub Cash down and feed him some carrots from the box on the shelf. “And? I have work tomorrow, I’m tired, and we’re not even done for the day. All I’ll wanna do tonight is eat, have a hot shower, and go to bed.”
Wyatt laughs. “Come on, Gray. You used to be fun. Back when you were with Avery, you actually lived.”
The mention of her name sends a pang of something I refuse to acknowledge through my chest, much like the one earlier. I sigh, breathing in the smell of horses and hay before replying, “Back then, I didn’t have all of this”—I outstretch my arms before dropping them to my side—“on my plate. Do you know what it takes to run a billion-dollar business? Because it’s not easy, Wy.”
He lowers his chin before removing his hat and running it through his fingers, meeting my gaze and sighing heavily. “You know I want to help, to take on more.”
He’s right. I do know that, and I know that I should give him more responsibility, but I also don’t want to ruin his fun. There’s no need for the two of us to be so business focused and having to make decisions that are for the greater good. We’re not struggling, far from it, but that doesn’t mean the place runs itself, especially when it’s not just the ranching side of things we operate. There are ties with ranches in Texas, the agricultural side to manage, rodeo sponsorships, breeding contracts, land leases… The list goes on.
“I know. I’m sorry. We can talk about what you want to help with next week.”
Wyatt nods, and we fall quiet as I untie Cash from the hitching post and walk him to his stall. When he’s settled inside, he nuzzles into my shoulder, and I smooth my hands over his neck, grounding myself.
When Avery and I were dating, I was more fun, but I didn’t have the responsibility then that I do now. Back then, Dad was still alive and kept the pressure from us. I’d be a fool to pretend that Avery didn’t make me fun, especially when she’d always be teasing and taunting me into doing shit. A flash of an image appears in my mind: she’s running through one of the fields, her hair blowing in the breeze. I can still hear her laughter if I listen close enough.
Cash nudges my shoulder, pulling me back from the memory of her as if he could sense where my head had gone. Maybe going out tonight is what I need. Clearly, working myself to death and isolating myself on the ranch isn’t working out so well for me.
When I step out of the stalls, Wyatt is waiting. “I’m heading out after dinner, if you change your mind.”
Running a hand over my stubble-covered jaw, I blow out a breath. “I’ll come.”
His eyes light up, and a shit-eating grin spreads across his face. “Fuck yeah.” He shoves my shoulder, bouncing around on his heels like a kid high on sugar. “It’s gonna be fun.” He winks, like he knows something I don’t. “You never know who you might meet.”
I scoff. “I know exactly who I’ll meet: half the town, asking dumbass questions about my love life.”
Wyatt pushes me toward the barn door, his hands holding strong on my shoulders. “I’ll protect you, big brother.”
More like throw me to the wolves.
2
AVERY
Mountains fill the landscape as I cross the town border into Coldwater: population 543. As soon as I saw the snow-capped peaks, I could feel every inch of my body relax, like the weight of everything—the mistakes, the pressure, the constant need to be someone I’m not—I’ve carried all these years is finally gone.
It’s been at least eight years since I returned home, but Montana is still as beautiful as I remember. The vast landscape of fields and mountains is enough to make you forget that anything exists outside of this pocket of the country. But when you’re not here, it’s impossible to forget.
Just like a certain cowboy I left behind twelve years ago.
I clear the thought of him from my mind and refocus on the road ahead of me. I’ve been doing a lot of that on this drive.
It doesn’t take long to reach town, where the mountains and fields do a not-so-great job of hiding behind small two-story white and red brick buildings. Planters are dotted along the sidewalk of Main Street, the flowers in bloom and adding pretty specks of color as I drive through.
There’s no denying it. Coldwater is as far from Nashville as you can get. The hustle and bustle is swapped for a calm that could lull you to sleep. It’s got a lazy charm to it that influenced a lot of my earlier music; it’s why I’ve come home. I need to find the girl I used to be, the one from whom the music poured out of.
I ease up on the gas, my attention darting around Main Street as I navigate the rental car along the cobblestone road. Nothing’s really changed in the time since I left. The thought conjures a memory of that same cowboy with a lazy smile, a mouth that would make me moan, and sparkling blue eyes that would rival the crystal lakes we’d visit on hot summer days.
Grayson Wilde.
A thickness forms in my throat, making it hard to breathe, and I squeeze my hands around the steering wheel as I struggle for air.
