Page 11 of Huckleberry Hill (Saddles & Spurs #1)

Chapter Ten

The Ranch

“Ow, ow, ow, ow.” I hobbled down the stairs, grimacing with each step.

“Is that you, sugar?” Muddy called.

“Yeah,” I replied, slowly making my way into the kitchen.

Muddy was at the stove, wearing her faded strawberry print apron. She looked at me over her shoulder and grinned.

“Stop it,” I said with a laugh.

“Want me to get you some aspirin?”

“I’d prefer bourbon,” I replied.

“That, I can do.” Muddy fixed me a stiff drink and brought it to me and ran a soothing hand across my back. “A little out of practice working the ranch, huh?”

“It’s like riding a horse,” I quipped. “Literally. It’s a good sore. I miss it.”

She returned to the stove, her back to me. “Saw you out riding with Declan.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to be out alone with the bear, you know?”

Muddy made a non-committal noise.

“What’s that mean?” I demanded.

“It means nothing.”

“Liar.” I laughed. “You have an opinion about everything.”

“The last time I gave you my opinion, you walked out of the dining room.”

“Well, I promise I won’t leave the room if you speak your mind. I can hardly move anyway, so I’m kind of my own hostage.”

Muddy didn’t say anything for a moment and then she said, “Why didn’t you ask your father to go riding with you?”

“Didn’t think about it.”

“Hadley.”

“Muddy.”

“You like him.”

“Yeah, I like him.”

“No, I mean you like him.”

“I’m not ready to like anyone,” I stated. “I’m still getting over my engagement ending.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

I frowned even though she wasn’t looking at me. “Declan and I are friends. Friends ride horses. Friends talk.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, stuff. I told him about New York and what I was doing there.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, and? That’s all.”

“He really listens,” Muddy murmured. “Declan, I mean. He listens when you talk.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “He does. Is dinner going to be ready soon?”

“A few more minutes.”

“Is Dad joining us?”

“Yes.”

“You promise not to talk about Declan when he’s here?”

“I thought nothing was going on between you and Declan?”

“Nothing is going on. But you know Dad. He’ll make a mountain out of a mole hill.”

I fell into silence as Muddy continued to cook. I nursed my drink and thought of the afternoon ride with Declan. I internally winced when I remembered how abrupt and short I’d been about the hot spring.

We’d raced back to the stables and then worked in silence, tending to our horses. He hadn’t tried to speak to me again.

Guilt swamped me.

Dad came home and poured himself a drink. He sat at the table, laughing and chatting with me. Being home was like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

I felt safe, protected.

My phone chimed in the middle of dinner. It was Salem. Her message made all good thoughts suddenly flee.

“What’s wrong?” Dad asked as he reached for the bread basket.

“Nothing,” I lied.

“Who texted?” Muddy demanded. “Gianni?”

I shook my head. “No. Not Gianni. I haven’t heard from him since he . . . it was Salem. She was just telling me she’d gone to Gianni’s apartment and packed up the things I had there. And left the key with the security guard.”

My finger absently stroked my left ring finger.

She’d returned the engagement ring, too. Leaving it in a box on his nightstand.

Dad and Muddy didn’t say anything.

What was there to say?

I picked up my plate and walked to the sink. “Thanks for dinner. I’m going to go upstairs for a bit.”

After I made it to my bedroom, I closed to the door and flopped down onto the bed, half my face smushed into a pillow. I texted Salem back.

A moment later, she called.

“Hello,” I mumbled.

“You sound exhausted.”

“I am exhausted. I got soft in my city life.”

“Ah, you went for a ride today.”

“Yep.”

“By yourself?”

I paused. “Nope.”

“You went with the hot wrangler in Wranglers, didn’t you?” she teased.

“How long have you been sitting on that one?”

“It just came to me. What can I say, I’m a genius.”

I chuckled. “Hey, thanks for getting my stuff from Gianni’s. Did the security guard give you any trouble?”

“No. None.”

I sighed. “One less thing I have to deal with. Thanks, Salem. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

“Did Poet go with you?”

“No . . .”

I paused. “What did you do?”

“Do? I did nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. You were supposed to take Poet so she could make sure you were on your best behavior.”

“Relax. I didn’t do anything crazy. Except write asshole in silver sharpie on every mirror in the apartment. And on the glass stove top.”

“You didn’t slice his mattress?”

“No.”

“You didn’t accidentally on purpose leave a faucet running with the sink plugged?”

“No.”

“Huh, you must be mellowing in your old age,” I teased.

“Hey. I’m only four minutes older than you. If I’m old, so are you.”

I paused. “I feel old. Tired.”

“That’s the breakup talking.”

“Maybe.”

“You’ll spring back. Also, take some vitamin D. It’ll help your mood.”

“Not a bad idea,” I said. “The winter has been long and gray.”

“I wasn’t talking about that kind of vitamin D.”

“What were you— Salem! ”

“I got you to laugh, didn’t I?” she asked, bursting into giggles. “You like riding. I volunteer Declan as tribute.”

“How much wine have you had?”

“Just poured my first glass. Come on, there’s nothing to do there except ride a cowboy. It’ll bring you more joy than riding a horse, I’ll tell ya.”

“You’re shameless.”

“I’d like that on my tombstone, please.”

“There are other things to do here,” I protested.

“Like what?”

“It might be time I let Muddy teach me how to crochet.”

“Stop. Please stop. You just aged thirty years in once sentence.”

“I’m going to the Copper Mule with Gracie.”

“Great, when? Tonight?”

“No. In a few days. Her in-laws are watching the baby and Cole is working.”

She was silent for a moment and then she said quietly, “Are you ready to talk about it?”

I swallowed. “No.”

“I’m the one who buries stuff she doesn’t want to talk about—not you.”

I once again thought of my earlier conversation with Declan.

“Salem, I gotta go,” I said.

“Go? Go where?”

“None of your beeswax.”

“I want details!”

“There won’t be any details,” I said with a laugh. “Bye.”

I hung up and tossed my phone aside.

Muddy and Dad were in the sitting room with the TV on. I felt like I was sneaking out, and I had a moment of teenager flashback. I grabbed my coat from the hook and put it on and then slid into a pair of comfortable outdoor slippers before quietly closing the front door behind me.

I was halfway to Declan’s cabin when I realized I’d forgotten the bear spray. I picked up my speed and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the front porch of the cabin lit up and Declan sitting in a chair, nursing a beer.

“Hey,” I greeted. “Sorry to interrupt your night.”

He looked at me and smiled. “You’re not interrupting. You want a beer?”

“Oh.” I paused for a moment. “Sure.”

“Sit,” he said, rising. “I’ll grab a beer and the other chair.”

I headed up the porch steps and didn’t protest. I settled into the seat and hunched lower in my coat.

Declan came back outside and handed me a beer in a koozie and then went to grab the other chair at the end of the porch.

“Cheers.” He clinked his bottle neck beer against mine and then sat down.

“Thanks for this,” I said and took a sip. “Oh, that’s good. What is it?”

“A huckleberry microbrew.”

I laughed. “Stop.”

“Seriously.” He grinned. “Gotta love the grocery store in town. They only have local beer. Can it even be called a grocery store? It’s got like eight aisles. Can you even buy sandwich meat there?”

“It has a deli counter,” I said. “A few years ago, a giant corporate chain wanted to build a grocery store here. The town regulations for chains are intense and the company lawyers started to get nasty. The people in town went to the mayor and eventually they tucked tail and ran. After that, Huckleberry Hill passed a law—no corporate chains are allowed to build here. Locally owned businesses only. No fronts, no foreign corporations. If you own a business in this town, you have to live here and prove it.”

“I kind of like that. Keeps the small town small.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair but otherwise didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “For earlier.”

He frowned. “Sorry for what?”

I licked my suddenly dry lips. “When we were talking about the hot spring. And my mom.”

“No apology necessary.” He looked at me. “I didn’t know. About your mother. Connor never mentioned . . .”

“He doesn’t talk about her often,” I said quietly. “So it’s not a shock that you didn’t know. I still feel guilty for how I spoke to you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.” I shot him a wry grin. “I’m a people pleaser. And I never want to make anyone feel . . .”

“Uncomfortable?”

I nodded.

“Maybe you should.”

“Should what?”

“Make people feel uncomfortable. Not care so much about what other people think.” He shrugged. “You can become a recovering people pleaser, you know.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“For starters, you can try not apologizing for your feelings.”

“I’m not apologizing for my feelings,” I explained. “I’m apologizing because of how I talked to you.”

“Oh, okay.” He smiled. “I accept your apology.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that, bear snack.”

His jokey nickname sent warmth curling through me.

I took a sip of beer. “It’s peaceful out here, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agreed. “Nice to be able to hear yourself think.”

“Hmm, yeah. I guess.”

“You don’t want to be able to hear yourself think?”

“When does too much thinking become overthinking?”

“When you ask that question.” He lifted his bottle and took a drink. “So, what are you thinking about?”

“My sister called. I asked to her go to my ex’s apartment and get my stuff. She returned the ring for me.”

“Good sister.”

“It’s just weird, you know? One minute, you’re going along and there’s a plan for your life. And then you hit a brick wall. It all changes. Why does it do that? Why does life change without your permission?”

“It’s designed that way.”

“What’s happened in your life that hasn’t gone your way?” I asked. “Anything?”

“Several things, actually.”

“Like what?”

“Ah, misery loves company, is that it?” he teased.

“Something like that.”

He paused for a moment and then he said, “When I was sixteen, I found out the man who I thought was my father wasn’t.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He fiddled with the beer label. “My stepdad was a good man. And he never treated me like I wasn’t his. But when he died . . .”

“Oh, Declan,” I murmured.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Mom came clean. Told me my real father was actually a well-known bull rider on the circuit. She never told him about me. She was a buckle bunny. That was a shocker, too. Finding out my mom was a rodeo groupie.”

“And your stepfather . . .”

“He was a biker, actually.” He grinned. “I thought I was going to patch into his club when I turned eighteen, but I liked riding horses more than a motorcycle, so . . . I chose the rodeo circuit.”

“Have you met your biological father? Do you have a relationship with him now that you’re an adult?”

“We’ve met. He’s not a family guy. He said as much when we met and he wasn’t at all angry at my mom for letting him off the hook. And for all intents and purposes, my stepdad—the man who raised me—I consider him my father.”

“That’s a lot of baggage to saddle a sixteen-year-old with,” I murmured. “How’d you handle it?”

“I didn’t.” His laugh was sardonic. “I became a menace. Drinking and fighting . . . and other things.”

“Women?” I guessed.

He inclined his head. “Yeah. There was some carousing going on. I’ll leave it at that.”

“It’s left,” I said. “So, how did you snap out of it?”

“My manager. He wanted to sign me, but he didn’t want a troublemaker.

He saw potential in me. He told me that if I didn’t want to wind up exactly like my father—my biological father—with a kid I’d never met and no family—that I needed to get my shit together.

His words got through my thick head. So I got my shit together. ”

“His loss, you know,” I said quietly. “Your dad. For not wanting to be a part of your life, even now.”

He shrugged. “I’m okay.”

“How can you just let all that go?”

“I don’t know. I guess I realized that parents are human first. And we’re all just a bunch of teenagers in grown up bodies. And some of us know how to communicate our emotions better than others.”

“That’s actually very . . . emotionally mature.”

“It’s not like I got there overnight. Like I said, I fought and drank my way through it first. And when that was no longer working, I guess I had to figure stuff out.”

“And your mom?”

“Remarried to a nice, boring guy. Lives in Florida. I talk to her once a week. We’re good.”

“Sweet.”

“Yeah.” Declan finished off his beer. “Another?”

I shook my head. “I’m still nursing this one.”

He set his bottle down next to the chair but made no move to get up.

“Do you miss it? The rodeo circuit?” I asked.

“Parts of it. The adrenaline, the attention . . . the money. As far as the crap food and constant travel? No, I don’t miss that part.”

I smiled. “Yeah, I can see how that would be exhausting.”

“I’m old now.” He winked. “I need a comfortable bed and a solid eight hours of sleep a night.”

“On that note.” I stood.

“I didn’t mean you had to go,” he protested. “Stay. It’s still early.”

“Thanks, but I’m tired. I’m out of practice working on a ranch.”

He stood up. “I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s not?—”

“Where’s your bear spray?” Declan demanded.

I sighed. “Okay, you can walk me home.”

We ambled side by side in silence. I shoved my cold hands into my coat pockets and pretended I couldn’t see Declan glancing at me every now and again.

When we got to the front porch, we stopped. I turned to him. “Thanks, Declan. For the beer and . . .”

“Sure thing, bro.”

“Have a good night, buddy.”

The warm glow of our conversation enveloped me as I was getting ready for bed. I realized he hadn’t pressured me into talking about my mom, choosing instead to be open and honest about his own childhood.

And that’s why I wanted to tell him about mine.