I cocked my head to the side, unsure where he was going with this.
“As my manager.” He chuckled. “I’d love to have someone like you taking the reins,” he stated, his eyebrow perking up. “Someone capable of handling all the shit but still understanding the meaning behind it all.” He went silent, almost as if he was actually imagining me working for him. “I mean, take this view for example. The way you just described it to me almost felt unbelievable.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “You’re seeing the same thing I am.”
“That’s true, but a lot of people could be sitting exactly where we are and never be able to truly grasp the beauty. They’d take this all for granted. The views, the serenity, the calmness. All of it. They’d see a field, but to you, it’s so much more than that.”
“Because it is so much more than that.”
“Exactly. But so many people get caught up in all the other shit that doesn’t matter that they forget to appreciate all the little things that do. The smell of a horse standing next to you, the color of the trees as they prepare for the winter, or the warmth on your face as the sun rises over the mountains.” His shoulders relaxed as he ran his hand down the side of Cheyenne, her coat mimicking a chewy caramel. “When you’re so busy chasing something and you’re always going too fast, it’s easy to forget to slow down and appreciate the mundane. And then eventually, if you’re lucky and it’s not too late, you’ll realize the mundane isn’t so mundane after all.”
I didn’t think we were talking aboutpeopleanymore, but rather about one person in particular.
I was going to respond, but the silence felt more important.
“You’re lucky,” he said, the low grumble in his voice laced with a hint of jealously.
I turned my head in his direction, but his gaze was still on the landscape in front of us.
“Why is that?”
“Because even though you see this place every single day, you still somehow find the beauty in it as though you’re seeing it for the very first time. I envy you.”
“Ha. There’s not much to envy, I promise,” I reassured him. “I’ve just spent a lot of time in these hills. They pulled me from some of the darkest parts of my life, and they’re here when I need them. They’re stable and reliable and they never judge me, no matter how shitty I might feel about myself. They are always, no matter what, able to bring me back from the edge, center mein a way nothing else can. It’s kind of hard to explain…” I looked down at the reins, readjusting my grip, the leather comforting my skin. “But I owe so much gratitude to this place. I’ll never be able to take that for granted.”
I kept my head bowed and continued to fidget with the reins. I didn’t know what it was about this man, but I felt comfortable sharing these things. I almost felt a kinship with him—from one lost soul to another—and part of me wanted to try to help or at least let him know he wasn’t alone.
“Was that what George was talking about back there?” he pondered. “When he said things hadn’t been easy for you?”
I raised my head, taken aback by both his directness and the fact that he’d even cared enough to pick up that bit of the conversation.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no. It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“You don’t have to answer. I just wondered, because from the few times I’ve been around you, you seem to have your shit together more than most.”
I smirked. “Wait, weren’t you the one who was saying how nosy this town was?”
He threw his head back and let out a genuine laugh, showing all of his pearly white teeth.
“That’s fair. You’re right. Let’s pretend I never asked.”
“I’m supposed to be married right now,” I ejected. “Actually, I’m supposed to be living in Chicago with the man I thought was going to be my husband.”
“Wow.” His eyes widened as he forced his jaw back up. “Let me guess, you were a runaway bride. Let those cold feet get the best of you.”
“Not quite,” I dragged out. “While I have run away from a handful of things in my life, and as much as I’d like to say I’d been the one to call it off, I wasn’t.”
I looked away, feelings of inadequacy and the thought that I didn’t deserve a happy ending beginning to resurface.
“Youarelucky,” he said again.
My forehead scrunched and the annoyance in my voice was hard to hide as I told him, “Can’t say lucky is a word I’d use to describe that experience. I was leaning more toward extremely shitty.”
“Depends on how you look at it,” he said, very matter-of-fact as he slid off Cheyenne and walked toward the edge of the clearing.
I slid off Valhalla, or at least attempted to before my boot got caught in the stirrup. “Shit.”
