More than that, no one wants to help me figure out whatmynew job would be. We don’t need any more ranch or stable hands, and my brothers have filled any other positions that might interest me.
I’ve thought about working with Ava, but I’m more interested in racing itself than teaching people how to do it. I’m also no expert, not like Ava, and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t need an extra trainer on her roster at the moment.
Blinking, I will myself to finish the invoices that need to be sent out by the end of the day. The minutes creep by. I pay some bills. Chat with a hugely unhelpful rep from the accounting software we use about an issue I’m having reconciling ouraccounts. I skip lunch with my family and eat a sad turkey sandwich at my desk.
After a long day, I’d ordinarily tack up my horse and go for a ride before supper. There’s nothing like being in the saddle to help you blow off some steam and wear out your body. I miss how tired I’d be after a good ride. I would grab a quick, satisfying rinse in the shower, and then I’d collapse into bed where I’d sleep like a baby for eight hours straight.
But Dr. Mansfield gave me strict orders not to ride for another three weeks. Maybe more, depending on how my arm continues to heal.
I miss the smell of the barn and the feel of sun on my skin. I feel like I’m turning into a fucking vampire being stuck inside all day.
I also miss Ryder. He’s texted me a couple times to check in. My heart always skips a beat when his name pops up on my phone screen. We don’t text all that often, so it’s always a thrill to hear from him. Even if his texts were more friendly than flirty.
Would he play that humming game again with me?The game itself was simple, but there was something almost…magical about the way Ryder opened up when we played. I saw a side of him I haven’t witnessed since we were kids. He was silly and sweet and vulnerable.
He also looked really happy. Or maybe carefree is a better word. Of course he wasn’t happy we’d ended up in the ER, but he didn’t seem to mind goofing around with me for a bit.
Is it wrong that I wanna see that side of him again? Being with him when he was like that—relaxed, real—was comforting.
I wonder if I could convince him to dust off his guitar.
It’s a breath of fresh air I could really use after a hellish day. Truth be told, I’ve felt lonely at night. Xander’s been bugging me to get together, since I haven’t seen him since my fall. I know heonly wants to have sex—it’s what he always wants—and I wasn’t up for it then.
I’m definitely not up for it now. Which is kinda strange considering how I was always the one initiating sex with him prior to my accident.
Yeah, I’d definitely rather go hang with Ryder. First, though, I gotta get through my first family supper since the accident. We don’t eat together every night anymore, but Mom always invites everyone over when she’s cooking.
Walking into my parents’ kitchen, I’m hit by familiar smells: Ivory dish soap, baking bread, a hint of Mom’s jasmine-scented hand lotion. My chest cramps.
I may hate work, but I love my family, and I’ve missed being around them. Even if I have loved the excuse to rot on my couch every night for the past three weeks.
“There she is!” Beck flashes me a shit-eating grin from his perch beside Mom at the stove. “Glad you’re joining us for dinner again, sis.”
Taking a deep breath through my nose, I paste on a smile. “My freezer is stocked for the next hundred years, thanks to all that takeout you dropped off. Sorry not sorry I’ve been pigging out on that.”
That’s why this is one of the first times I’m joining my family for supper since the accident. They’ve brought over so much food that I haven’t had to come to Mom and Dad’s for meals.
“Just out here doing the Lord’s work.” Beck taps the metal tongs he’s holding to his forehead in a salute. “The food’s good, right?”
I set down my phone on the kitchen island. “Delicious. You should be proud.”
Usually I’d roll up my sleeves and help set the table or wash whatever dishes are already dirty. But that’s physicallyimpossible at the moment, so I stand there, not quite sure what to do with myself.
“Sit, honey.” Mom reads my mind. “You’re still healing, and I imagine you’re pretty dang tired. How’d the first day back at the office go?”
It was even more awful than I thought it’d be.
“It was fine.”
“Just fine?” Beck raises a brow. “Try not to sound so excited.”
“Not all of us are lucky enough to have cool jobs like you.”
He grins. “I do have some pretty cool jobs.”
Beck, who’s a major foodie, recently invested in the Homestead Hen, Hartsville’s very first farm-to-table restaurant. He had the chef make me a ton of food after my accident, which Beck delivered to my house when I got home from the hospital.
My parents wanted me to live with them after I graduated high school and began taking online accounting courses. I did that until I convinced them to let me move into the teeny-tiny apartment above an old equipment barn on our property. I’ve been happily living there for close to three years now.
