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“Meditation.” She didn’t even miss a beat.

He rolled his eyes. “You know meditation is something someone made up so people would pay them to do nothing while they sat in a room listening to bells or whatever the heck they recorded, right?”

She didn’t laugh. He couldn’t tell if the return of his sour mood was because of his own internal problems or because he didn’t get to hear that laughter he found he enjoyed so much.

Instead, she offered him a smile and shook her head. “I suppose we can agree to disagree on that one.”

They plodded along in silence for a few more minutes. He nearly thought this was how their whole ride would go, but then she spoke up again.

“I’m curious, why is your therapy court-ordered? I mean, you don’t have to answer that question if you don’t want to.” Her face flushed and she looked away. “I know I’m not supposed to ask any super personal questions.”

Riley worked his jaw. That was actually one question he didn’t mind answering. But it was something that would open doors to more questions—there was not a doubt in his mind about that.

Was it worth the risk? Could he open himself up to her on this and just hope that she wouldn’t pry further?

A sigh burst from his chest and he tightened his hold on the reins. The even clip-clopping of the horses seemed to soothe him more than he would have ever expected. “I was arrested for disorderly conduct.”

The utter lack of response was deafening. It might even be worse than her asking a hundred more questions about him. He was almost willing to spill all just so she would start talking again.

Almost.

Instead, he slouched in the saddle and scowled at the trail.

“Once, the sheriff caught my sister sneaking into a bar when she was underage. He threw her in a cell and called my dad.”

“You’re joking, right?” Riley turned to glower at her only to find her fighting back a smile. “You are joking.” Mild irritation anchored deep within him. This wasn’t a game. He actually had a court date.

Callahan shook her head. “I’m not joking. And while it might be the worst thing—”

“Worst thing? I just told you about my court appearance and why I’ve been saddled with this sorry excuse for penance, and you tell me a story about your teenage sister being locked up for a few hours?” He’d lost the ability to keep his tone light.

“You don’t know my dad.” She straightened in her seat and moved her horse closer. “Let me give you some perspective. My father practically raised us by himself. Up until last year, he wouldn’t let any of us out of his sight—well, no dating. We could go to school and church and all that. The rule was I couldn’t get married until all of my older sisters were married.”

He huffed. “Sounds like your dad was just trying to protect you.”

“You forget there are seven of us.”

That gave him pause. “Okay, so he was being a little overprotective. If I thought it would help my daughters from not getting scooped up by the latest sorry excuse for a human being, I might do the same.”

“I’m the youngest.”

He glanced at her. “Oh.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “So, you can see that if he was soprotectivethat he wouldn’t let us out to even go to a school dance, then what do you think he did when he found out my sister was in a prison cell for trying to pass off a fake ID in the next town over?” Callahan snickered. “Boy, was he mad. My father actually had one of his ranch hands sit outside the front door for a whole week straight just to make sure she didn’t sneak out.”

“Did she?” He couldn’t help it; he’d been sucked into this story as if against his will.

“Oh yeah. Brielle doesn’t think we know it, but she’s up to all kinds of mischief. I think I even heard my father refer to her as the mustang of the group.”

“You don’t seem the type to sneak out.” His statement was more of a musing. She was ten years younger than him, but somehow it didn’t feel like that long of a stretch.

“You’d be right on that.” Her cheeks blossomed with a pink color that only accentuated her eyes. “I guess I’m just happy with what I’ve been given. Sometimes we have to take a step back and find the things we’re grateful for.” Her smooth features pinched and her eyes darted away. “I’m sorry. That probably sounded preachy. I’m not suggesting that you don’t have gratitude or that you aren’t being grateful—”

“It’s fine.” He’d never admit it to the likes of her, but she had made a decent assumption. He had a hard time looking on the bright side. It was part of his diagnosis. After dealing with some of the stuff he’d gone through, he just didn’t see the point in any of that.

6

Grace