Chapter Nineteen
Hunter stared down at his to-do list. He’d written out fifty-three things to keep him busy for the next few days—all of them marked urgent so he wouldn’t be tempted to stop and wallow in self-pity. Or miss Zoey. He should have written “miss Zoey” at the top of his list because then he could mark something off. Even though he’d replaced several broken slats on the barn, harrowed all the fields, fertilized, grated the road, brought in all the strays, filed charges against the horse thieves, made dinner for the whole family, washed the dishes, and even cleaned out the linen closet—much to his mother’s joy—the only thing he really accomplished was making himself miserable.
He was on his way to the indoor arena with a sander—intent on getting rid of those rust spots on the support beams if he had to sand all night. Most of the family was at the festival. They had four days until the whole chaotic mess packed up and hid away again for a year.
He couldn’t wait. The fewer people in Harvest Ranch, the better. All he wanted was to be left alone with his horses to train, his dreams of becoming the best-known trainer in the South, and his broken heart that would never mend.
Man—he was dramatic in his melancholy. Zoey would have called him out on that.
“Hunter!” his dad called from the back porch. “Wait up a second.”
Hunter paused his steps, grateful for a distraction from his distractions. His muscles were tired and his body sore. Most of all, he felt empty and didn’t know how to fill himself back up. “Yeah?”
Dad worked his arms into a jacket and zipped it up, burying his hands in his pockets as if it were five degrees outside. “I’ve hardly seen you these last couple of days.”
“Just working to get everything ready before the first snow.” Hunter shuffled his feet, suddenly anxious to be sanding. The sound of the tool against steel would block out the kind notes in Dad’s voice. He really, really didn’t want a pity conversation.
“Look, I know you’re hurting …”
Hunter spun on his boot and headed for the arena.
“Wait a second!” Dad’s voice was all fatherly expectations of being listened to.
Hunter had heard that tone enough times growing up to know that Dad meant business. But he was a man now too, and that meant he didn’t have to stand around and accept pity.
Dad grabbed his elbow and pulled him to a stop. “You’re wound tighter than a rattlesnake.”
Hunter yanked his arm away.
Dad leaned back, appraising him. “You’re in love with her.”
“So what if I am—was!” he spat back. “Doesn’t change a thing.” He suddenly wanted to act like one of their bulls when trapped in a corner—bellow and come out swinging. Only his deep and abiding respect for his father kept him from unleashing the anger and frustration swirling inside his chest.
Dad shook his head. “Aw, son. It’s a hard thing to give your heart to a woman.”
“How would you know?”
Dad gave him a look that said he knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about real life.
Maybe he didn’t. He didn’t care, though. He headed for the arena again, this time walking slower, more in control.
“There’s an auction this Saturday—are we going?” Dad called after him.
“No.” Hunter couldn’t bear the thought of sitting there for hours with nothing to do. Keeping his hands busy kept his mind busy. “I haven’t looked at the stock.”
“There’s still time!” Dad yelled.
Hunter shook his head. He was out of time, out of luck, and out of love.
