Page 25

The stable was quiet at this time of day, the scent of fresh hay mixed with the sharper bite of leather and horse sweat. I spent a lot of my time here. It was big enough to house thirty horses, with wide stalls and thick wooden beams, making the space feel solid and grounded. It was a place built to last, a place that would soon be sold.
Duke rested against Jasper’s stall door, arms folded. “You can’t be at the funeral on Saturday.”
I kept brushing. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Silence.
I could feel his stare. What did he expect? That I’d demand he let me come to the damn circus? I shouldn’t have to ask. They should invite me, throw a fucking parade. I took care of Nash in the last year of his life. I cleaned his body and his bed, fed him, and was his nurse because he kept firing those we hired. He wantedmeso he could hate me for taking his beloved son away. He blamed me, too. Mama never told him he was being wrong or unfair; she told me not to take it to heart.
If I had a child, I’d never love a man more than my baby.Never.
But I was probably never going to have children. I’d never get that close to a man. Sure, I had sex. That was a need like food and water. What I didn’t have was intimacy. I didn’t have anything beyond a one-night stand and usually with an out-of-towner—not like that asshole smarmy tourist type who’d hit on me at Blackwood Prime but cowboys who came through WildflowerCanyon and went right on away, so I never saw them again.
I had a reputation. I didn’t fuck anyone I worked with or anyone local. Did that burn some asses? Sure. Did I give a flying fuck? No.
My body, my rules.
When the itch came, I prowled. It wasn’t hard to find a dick. Go to a bar, smile at a man, and he was available. I avoided those who wore a wedding band, but some men I knew took off their wedding rings whentheywere hunting. I couldn’t help that. I wasn’t the one who took the vows. That was their responsibility and their problem.
“You’re fine not attending the funeral? You’re not gonna argue?” he asked after he realized I was done with this conversation.
I glanced up at him. “It’s gonna be a spectacle. I don’t do that kind of shit.”
His jaw tensed like he didn’t quite believe me. Like he thought I should be more upset about it.
But I’d already made my peace. The funeral, the formal one, would be held at the church in town where he’d be buried in the Wilder plot. It would be packed with people who never really knew Nash but would show up anyway, dressed in black, whispering the right words in all the wrong ways.
But his body wouldn’t be in that casket.
He’d asked for a closed casket for this reason. Nash, Hunt, and I had talked to Father McCay before he died, and he’d agreed to perform rites twice, once for Nash and once for the world.
The morning before the spectacle, before the hollow condolences, Hunt and I would bury Nash next to Maria, here on the ranch, where he belonged.
At the formal ceremony, Father McCay would perform the rites—bless the grave with holy water, recite the prayers for the dead, trace the sign of the cross over the fresh-turned-earth. The words would be familiar, the same ones spoken at a thousand funerals before this one, but they wouldn’t be for Nash. Not really.
No, the real farewell would come before the last prayer was said.
Hunt and I would bury the man we both thought of as a father in different ways, giving him what he wanted in the end: a place next to Mama for eternity. We’d mark the grave not with a polished headstone but with his old saddle, placed on the dirt like a rider gone ahead, and a cross that I’d carved.
Nash had been clear about this. We were only to tell Duke if we felt he could handle it and if he would allow his wishes to be carried through.
After the way Duke behaved with me, Hunt and I knew it would be unwise to tell Nash’s son where he wanted to be buried. We didn’t even have to discuss it; we just knew.
“I thought you cared for Nash,” Duke goaded.
I reached for Jasper’s other side. “I did care for him. I took care of him. I don’t need to be at his funeral to prove what I feel for him.”
“My mother doesn’t want you around. She’ll come to the ranch house, and I need you to make yourself scarce.”
“Loud and clear.”
Duke breathed out, long and slow. I didn’t look at him, but I could feel the shift in the air.
“Would he have wanted you at his funeral?” he asked softly, his words gentle and surprising.
I rested my hand on Jasper’s warm coat, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my palm. He was solid, dependable—a mountain beneath me when the world felt wobbly.
I clutched at his mane, the coarse strands slipping through my fingers, grounding me. Jasper shifted slightly, adjusting to me the way a good horse always does—listening without words, steadying me without question.