Then, I let her go.
She got in her truck and didn't look back. Smart, because I'd have run after her if she had, busted ankle or not, dignity be damned.
I’m onto my fourth beer, when the headlights come up the drive a little after sunset.
I clock them and tell myself it's just a hunter looking for the Jefferson place or a delivery truck that misread a number—since hope, at this point, is a punch to the gut I'm not able to take.
But then Riot's head snaps up like a gunshot.
Both ears come forward at once.
He breaks into a trot along the fence, then a gallop, his black tail flagged, his whole body pointed at those headlights.
He hasn't moved like that since…
My heart picks up a faster beat.
The silver truck rolls into the gravel and parks, and I'm on my feet before I remember deciding to stand. The driver's door opens, and there she is.
She’s in jeans and that gray tank top I can't look at without losing time, hair pulled back in a knot that's mostly given up. Her eyes find mine and they’re absolutely wrecked all over again.
Riot whinnies from the fence so loud she turns and laughs. "Hey, buddy," she calls to him, and her voice cracks halfway through.
She turns back to me.
I'm not sure I can breathe through whatever this is. A breeze comes through the porch and lifts strands of hair off her cheeks.
"I made it as far as Lubbock,” she says, and takes one step. She stops at the bottom of the porch with one hand on the rail as if she needs it to hold her up.
"Got there last night. Found a motel off the interstate, ate a bag of vending-machine pretzels for dinner. I cried in the shower so the people in the next room wouldn't hear me through the wall." She lets out a short, broken laugh and squeezes the railing.
"I’ve been crying a lot," she says. "From the second I crossed into New Mexico. I told myself I just needed to get there and get to work and I'd settle. But the closer I got, the worse I felt."
She takes a shaky breath. "I know I told you that I had to do this on my own. That if I let a man have an opinion about my life again, I'd lose myself. And I meant it." Her chin lifts. "But I drove eight hundred miles before I figured out the problem wasn'tmen having opinions. The problem was one specific liar I let take control of my life. And I've been making decisions based on the consequences of his hold on me. Including leaving you."
"Oh, darlin'."
"He doesn't get to keep having a say in my life.” Her voice steadies. "I thought taking that job was listening to my heart. But it wasn't. It was listening to the part of me that's still afraid to trust myself because of him. In reality, my heart's been begging me to turn the truck around since the on-ramp."
I give her a watery smile.
"Now I'm listening to it." She glances up at me through wet lashes. "I love you, Beck. My heart tells me you’re a good man. And I won’t let the people in town who can’t seem to let go of the man you used to be affect my feelings for you.” She swallows. “I want to stay here with you…and Riot."
Riot whinnies and paws the ground hard.
She laughs.
My eyes continue to fill up fast and I have to look up at the porch beam for a second to keep my face together. "And what about building your life your own way? By yourself? I'm not gonna be the man who gets in the way of that."
She nods like she expected the question.
"I’ve always wanted to work for myself. Be my own boss," she says. "I think building the life I want, my way, is running my own business—working with the horses I want, living where I want to live, and choosing who I get to spend my time with.” She gives me a small smile.
"You’re welcome to run your business here," I say. "I’d love that."
"Me too. Because you’re here, Beck. And where you are is where I want to be.”
Hearing that…I'm done. “Come here, dammit. If I was able, I’d run to you and spin you around.”
