“What a pleasure to meet you, Sampson. This is Milo.”
Dallas’s eyes find mine, and for a moment, I forget where I am, and it feels like time stops. His gaze drifts over my body, like he’s studying every inch of me.
“So, do you have a trail in mind?” I ask.
“Yes, I want to show you something. I need you to keep an open mind, okay?” he asks, his brow furrows slightly. He’s nervous about taking me wherever it is we’re going; I just can’t figure out why.
“You asked me about Billie’s Mum,” he begins. “I thought it might be easier if I just showedyou.”
“Showedme?”
He’s silent, confirming my suspicions of him being nervous. He takes a deep breath and nods before gesturing towards the open plains as if offering me an out. I look over to the trees scattered across the property, nod in agreement, and we edge the horses on. Side by side, we ride together across the field and away from the boundary line.
As we continue onto a trail leading out past the edge of Blackridge Station, I let my gaze linger on the man riding alongside me. He’s wearing a dark green flannel shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows, exposing a beautiful array of ink that fills his left forearm.
The first few buttons of his flannel are undone, and a black T-shirt peeks out from beneath it. His jeans are a faded blue, with subtle stains lining the denim at the knees. His boots are also faded, the heel peeking from his stirrups coated in scuff marks. Dallas looks so comfortable in his saddle – a black Tucker Old West Heritage trail saddle; intricate stitching lines the skirt. It’s a bloody gorgeous piece of leather, and it makes my trusty Braden leather King Series look incredibly underwhelming. What I would give to own a saddle like that.
Dallas and Sampson pick up the pace, and it’s only then that I notice we’re in the middle of nowhere. I take in my surroundings, noticing every detail of the land beneath us; how the trees sway lazily in the breeze, the rolling hills up ahead, the cattle grazing in the pasture beyond the fence line, the sound of the river rushing in the distance. Every inch of the trail – well, the entire area, really – is full of history and beauty. There really is nothing like seeing the world from the back of a horse, especially bareback. Milo and I often have ‘nudey rides.’ I call him up and use a giant rock in the paddock to mount him bareback and we set off. We’ve ridden together so long that he knows my commands without the need for aids or tack. Just me, my boy, and the trails.
Dallas and I continue our ride up over the hills at the edge of the property until we come to an old bridge that spans across the Hawks Hollow side of the creek. Dallas gestures to an old fence post that lies beneath one of the oak trees. The horses nicker to each other as Dallas and I dismount, loosely tying our horses to the post.
“I want to apologise for how I behaved at Maverick’s the other day. It was disrespectful of me to brush you off and make you feel like youdidn’t deserve to be heard. I can never take that moment back, so for that, I truly am sorry. I also wish I did thisbeforeI made love to you. I’m sorry for that too. But, I need you to understand some things, and I hope once I explain it, you’ll still want to be here,” Dallas says, his tone serious and almost sombre.
“You’re scaring me, what’s wrong?” I reply.
Dallas gently extends his hand to me, offering me to hold it and go with him. I accept his invitation, and he leads me through the clearing and towards another oak tree. As we get closer, I feel tension flowing through him, and I swear I can see his eyes watering.What the hell is going on?
My heart thumps rapidly in my chest, my breath catches, and I feel like I’m going to explode. Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I can feel my hands begin to tremble in his.
“Dallas…” I begin.
He turns to look at me, tears welling in his eyes, his lip quivering as he says, “Annabeth, I want you to know that I haven’t spoken about this in years, and I don’t kno—” His voice breaks as he speaks.
I reach for his face, he flinches slightly at my touch, but he allows it. My hands gently rest against his cheeks, now damp from tears. He no longer looks like the gruff cowboy I was just riding with; he looks vulnerable and almost… fragile.
“Hey, you don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t ready for, okay?” My own voice trembles as I try to get the words out. At this point, I have no idea what’s going on or what to say. All I know is that right now, he needs me, and I don’t plan on going anywhere.
His voice comes out barely a whisper as his eyes meet mine. “I’m scared, Annabeth.”
“It’s okay,” I reassure him.
“I’m scared that I’ll fuck this up, because I’m the guy that didn’t even realise his own wife was struggling until it was too late,” he confesses.
I don’t know why his admission takes me by surprise. Of course he had a wife, he has a fuckingdaughter,Annabeth.
Wait, does hestillhave a wife?He said was.
Are they divorced? Separated?
What is going on?
Seventeen
Dallas
Her hands are soft and comforting as they slide over my tear-stained cheeks. I know I need to get this out, need to speak, but fuck if I can find words right now. I lift my hand, cupping it over hers, my calloused palms a stark contrast from her velvety touch. I gesture to the tree behind me; the one Sam and I carved our initials into.
The tree we’d sit under for hours, planning the future. The tree we fell in love under. The tree we met under for years as teenagers, when we’d run away from the rodeo and our parents. I proposed under this tree. She told me she was pregnant under this tree.
