Page 17 of Something Tangled Something True (Rosa Ranch #1)
HITCHED OR DITCHED?
I march down to Mayte’s cabin, hearing Isabela’s wailing cries from five yards away as I approach.
I let myself in, not bothering to knock when I know not much can be heard over those crocodile tears anyway.
Mayte stands in her small living room, a red-faced Isabela on her hip as she bounces her, soothing my little niece.
She looks up at me, and a guilty smile curves her lips. “Hey, Lols. About what I said to Ryder?—”
She doesn’t get to finish her sentence before I cut her off.“ He proposed.”
Her eyes are the size of saucers, but she kicks her feet on the carpet, jostling Isabela as she does. “That infuriating freaking man. He didn’t even let me be there for it? I could’ve taken pictures!” she whines, her face reddening with outrage.
“I didn’t say yes, idiota !”
Her mouth forms an o , and she says, “You didn’t?” She sounds genuinely surprised, her voice quiet. Her pink cheeks return to a smooth, warm tan as she pouts, waiting for an explanation.
“No! I’m not marrying him for health insurance. ”
“Well, why the hell not? You need health insurance, and he has it to offer. Jump on that train, Lols. Choo, choo!” she says, pumping her fist in the air, mimicking a train conductor.
“You cannot be serious right now, Mayte. Didn’t we just agree I couldn’t marry someone for health insurance?”
“No, we agreed you couldn’t marry someone just for the health insurance. You love Ryder! You always have! And he loves you,” she tries to reason with me in her own, completely ass-backward way.
“Who’s to say he really even loves me anymore?
We broke up when I was twenty-one. Newsflash, but I’ll be thirty-two this year.
As much as I like to joke that nothing ever happens around here, I’m not that dense.
” I throw my hands up, collapsing into her worn-out, black leather loveseat.
“Ryder is a thirty-four-year-old divorcé with an ex-wife who has hated my guts since we were kids. He probably just wants to marry me out of guilt. He practically said as much.”
Mayte scoffs at that. “Lemmon’s nothing but a two-faced high school bully with no dreams or aspirations of her own.
The only reason she hated you so much was because Ryder always loved you .
She was jealous of your carefree nature and that you had that man’s eyes locked on you every second of the day.
He still loves you, and even if he is doing it out of guilt, who cares?
You need health insurance, Lola, one way or another. ”
I sincerely hate to admit when Mayte’s right, mostly because she’s a tremendous pain in my ass about it, but she is right. About some things anyway.
“Fine. I’ll think about it,” I tell her.
“ Eres más rollo que película ,” she mutters under her breath.
I roll my eyes at her, standing and reaching my arms out for Isabela. “Hand over my niece.”
When she places her in my arms, my hands almost give out under her weight, and I fight to clutch her to my chest.
“Whoa there, Lola,” Mayte says, grabbing hold of her daughter. “Take a seat. You can hold her then.”
Hot tears fill my eyes, and a watery cry leaves my trembling lips.
This disease has taken so much from me already. And now this?
“It’s okay. We’ll get it figured out,” Mayte tries to assure me, her tone hushed. She sits beside me, resting Isabela in my arms, but my heart cracks further and further with every minute her arm remains wrapped around her daughter, ensuring I don’t accidentally hurt her.
I might have just reached my breaking point.
It’s dark out by the time I make it out to the stables to see Penny, and no matter how much my hands shake with the effort, I’m committed to grooming her the way I should.
I may not be able to ride her at this point, but I need to at least do this. If not for her, then for me.
Living with a chronic illness is a horrendous thing.
It isn’t just the physical symptoms or the visible changes in my body that wear me down. No, it’s a mental battle too.
The thing I love most in this world, other than my friends and family, is dancing. It was my first true love, and knowing that one day, very soon, if I don’t get medical help, I won’t be able to dance anymore, crushes me.
A thread of hope I might figure out another way still hangs on, but a much thicker piece of twine is attached to the idea that marrying Ryder might be the kind of luck I need right now.
I tug on the thin rope by the stable door, yanking on it to illuminate the entry in a soft yellow glow. The usually empty first stable now houses an unnaturally small horse. Its cream-colored coat is bristly, black splotches litter its chest, and warm-brown eyes meet mine.
Ryder reserves this stall for the new intakes, the ones he’s rescued that require the most attention. He keeps them close to the entrance so they’re checked on more frequently than the rest of the more established horses, just like his father had when he was in charge.
I slowly approach the horse, gripping the rough wooden door as I peer into the small enclosure.
“Hi, new friend,” I whisper to her, keeping my voice low to avoid spooking her.
I see she’s got raw skin around her neck, likely from an abusive owner who incorrectly harnessed her, rubbing the skin with the throat strap.
“Don’t worry, little lady. Ryder is the best. He’ll take care of you,” I tell her, extending my arm to stroke the soft hairs between her ears.
Her wide-eyed expression visibly softens with the gesture, and she pushes into my hand for more attention.
I barely register the soft sound of boots over hay-covered concrete before warm arms wrap around my waist, clutching me tightly to a firm chest. My spine goes rigid, the embrace startling me, but I immediately register that it’s him. That I’m safe in these arms.
“I’ve missed you, Lols,” he whispers hoarsely against the shell of my ear, a shiver climbing from the base of my spine. I arch into him, greedy for his touch, though I have no right to seek it, to crave it.
“I’ve missed you too,” I admit, my voice catching as my chest tightens, like the weight of the words is pressing on me, leaving me stripped bare. I’m not ready to lay myself out for him to see all the broken and messy pieces my ex spent the last few years creating.
He nuzzles the side of my neck, his breath warm and steady against my chilled skin as he drags in a deep breath, a quiet pulse of something unspoken giving me permission to do the same.
I’m greedy as I relax into him, allowing the familiar scent of his cologne, a lethal combination of vanilla, whisky, and leather, to wrap around me, invading my senses as his stubble scrapes across my jawline.
For a quiet moment, I allow myself to imagine a world where I do give in to Ryder, one where I take the advice I’d given to the small horse and allow him to take care of me.
Where we get married, he supports me in any way he can, where I have insurance and my pain lessens, and I’m able to hold my niece without fear I’ll drop her.
The thought comforts me in a cocoon of hope.
I peer down to where Ryder’s tan, corded arms are wrapped so firmly around my waist, I know he would never let me fall.
I find myself letting go of the tension in my shoulders, something inside me softening, becoming more pliable to the idea of letting someone take on some of the weight I carry.
“It feels good to hear you say that,” he answers, his deep baritone gruff as he skates a rough palm up my arm, sweeping my hair to one side.
His fingers wrap around my jaw, commanding me to shift my gaze to meet his over my shoulder.
“You seem exhausted. Mayte mentioned you might want to be alone right now, but I couldn’t help myself.
You’re hurting, and it’s breaking my heart to see you suffering. ”
His eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and I have to swallow around the lump in my throat. This man sees right through me.
“I’m so tired, Ry,” I whisper, my lip quivering, giving in to my need to be cradled against his chest and cared for.
My stone walls have turned to glass, and they’re quickly falling around me, resolved to allow Ryder to sweep up every piece.
I’m inclined to let him, knowing a few shards of glass piercing his flesh won’t break him like it might me.
“Let me make things better. I need to make it better for you, Lola.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I try to turn away, but he tightens his grip on my jaw, swiping the lone tear away with the rough pad of his thumb. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s get hitched. ”
I take a deep breath, allowing his familiar, comforting scent to envelop me. I hold it, the stillness and comfort he provides slipping into my bones, before I push it out and whisper, “Okay.”