Page 15 of Want You Back (Second Chance Ranch #1)

Chapter 15

Maverick

Now

“What precisely is happening here?” Faith wandered downstairs a little after noon in a black satin robe. Her bleary eyes widened as she took in the parlor, or rather the lack of parlor—most of the furniture and all the ancient paintings had been removed. I was in the process of taping off the room for painting.

“I’m redoing the parlor.” I shrugged like this was no big deal, rather than a personal mission to tackle the past, wrestle it to the ground.

“Are you seriously that bored?” Faith shook her head, leaning against the banister and not venturing farther into the work zone.

“That tired of living in a museum. Redoing your old room for Hannah was fun.” I’d spent the last few years delegating most of the hands-on labor in my projects, especially after the TV show started. Working on the ranch house was a nice way to flex my rusty skills. Hannah had been assisting me until Kat messaged that she could use a helper at the barn. Probably for the best since Faith didn’t look particularly ready to parent. “I’m going to tackle the other rooms in the house, one by one, bring them into the current century, make it more palatable to buyers.”

I added the part about buyers thinking Faith would like that as she had a singular focus on selling, but she frowned.

“Any buyer will likely raze the ranch house and start fresh with something befitting an estate of this size, not a hodgepodge of design styles dating back a hundred years.” Faith gestured at the house around us. “But feel free to knock yourself out in the meantime.”

I didn’t care for the pinch in my chest at the thought of this house being demolished. It had strong bones. The right buyer could do a lot with it. The pinch became a dull burn as Faith made a beeline to the dining room liquor cabinet.

“Is that your breakfast?” I asked. I’d run with Hollywood types. I knew full well that drinking could start with brunch and continue onwards, but since we’d been back at the ranch, Faith seemed determined to punish her liver—and the rest of us—for her fate.

“Maverick.” She gave me a chilly glare. The older sister who had driven me into town so many times that summer before high school to see Colt, the one who’d arranged for birthday and graduation presents, the one who’d tried hard to soften the impact of our father’s indifference seemed long gone, replaced by a stranger with a familiar indifference and talent for dismissal. “It’s a lunch cocktail, not a red flag.”

“You should get out,” I urged. Fixing whatever ailed Faith wasn’t within my power, but perhaps I could distract her. “Go into town, maybe to the salon.”

“I’m not trusting anyone in Lovelorn with my hair.” She sighed dramatically like she hadn’t spent years doing exactly that. “And what’s with you getting all comfortable here? Redecorating? Signing up for that trail ride with Hannah? Hanging around with Colt Jennings again?”

“His kid is friends with Hannah, and he’s the sheriff.” My voice came out testier than I’d intended. I hadn’t seen Colt beyond a few moments when dropping off or picking up the girls, but I was counting down to the trail ride. Something seemed to have shifted the night I’d made pizza, and I wanted to explore further, get to know who Colt was now, not simply remember who he’d been to me. “Our paths are going to cross.”

“That all that’s crossing?” Faith gave me a pointed look before cackling. I’d never confirmed anything for her, but she’d been one of the few people to guess I had a crush on Colt in high school. She’d been nicer about it then, though, softly hinting and later breezily accepting my coming out. “Too soon for that joke?”

Rather than reply, I made a frustrated noise. I wouldn’t out Colt, but I had to admit the attraction was still there, on my side at least.

“Whatever.” Faith waved the hand that wasn’t holding her whiskey tumbler. “I’m going to take the weekend of the trail ride to head to Denver. I’ve scheduled a consultation with a different law firm.”

The first firm she’d consulted had quoted an eye-popping fee for challenging the will with no guarantees it would be successful, so I wasn’t surprised Faith was shopping around.

“Okay. Are you driving there?” I glanced meaningfully at her drink.

“Flying. Friend with an estate near Durango owes me a favor.” Faith shrugged like agreeing to fly in a small private plane was no big deal. I’d always admired her brashness, the ability to seize what she wanted, whether a designer dress or a particular oil baron.

“You don’t get nervous flying?”

“Lightning doesn’t strike the same tree twice.” Faith pursed her lips. “And I refuse to be held prisoner by this family’s bad luck.”

“Was it all bad?” When I was younger, all I’d been able to see was my father’s withdrawal and bitter shell, but now that he was gone, I’d found myself questioning the accuracy of my assumptions. Our mother had been the photo taker, seldom the subject, but in the few photos we had of Mom, she was smiling, squinting off into the Colorado sun. Nearly twenty-five years had passed, and I could still hear her laugh. On better days, Faith had that same laugh. “You’re older. You remember more. Were Dad and Mom ever happy as a couple?”

“Hell if I know, and I’ve given up caring.” Faith floated back toward the front stairs, whiskey in hand. “Don’t go romanticizing this place.”

With that warning, she left me alone with my project, which felt far more foolish now. Faith had always run hot and cold. When she wanted to be, she was a generous big sister who had tried to fill some of the cracks in our father’s parenting. I’d put a lot of memories into the truck she’d made sure I had in high school. However, when she wasn’t in good sibling mode, she could be bitter and sullen, and the drinking wasn’t helping at all.

I hadn’t expected her to help with my plans for the house, but her outright dismissal had me less than eager to return to work. Accordingly, I moved on to checking my empty inbox. It was a down market for tourism, and no hotels were in the market for a washed-up reality star advisor. Funny how when I was in California, I’d inwardly celebrated my growth as I’d found my talent in turning broken hotels into beloved retreats. Here, though, I was surrounded by broken things that refused easy fixes and by memories that called into question whether I’d done any growing at all.

As I shut my laptop with a decisive click, I caught sight of the wall calendar in the kitchen. The trail ride was coming up, and I had yet to get my butt in a saddle. The trail ride meant seeing Colt, so my pulse predictably went giddyup at the thought. I needed to check on Hannah anyway, so I made my way to the big horse barn. Off in the fields, some of the summer hands worked with the crops while others, likely the more permanent hands, moved cattle from one pasture to another. Learning names was a work in progress, but noticing familiar faces was a step forward.

“What can I do for you?” Grayson, not Kat, loomed large in the doorway of the nearest stall, holding a pitchfork as I entered the barn.

“I was looking for Kat. I’m doing that trail ride with Hannah. I…uh…need to pick a horse. And possibly get some practice.”

“Smart, not waiting till the day of.” Grayson might have been making a joke, but he didn’t laugh, so I didn’t either. “Kat took Hannah out for some practice of her own and a chance to check some nearby fencing. But I can get you saddled.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I held up my hands. “I’m sure you’ve got a million other things to do.”

“Yep, and you’re one of them.” He gave a firm nod, shutting the stall door behind him and heading down the row of horses. “I’m gonna take the opportunity to run some numbers by you. Busy season here, and I want to make sure you’re up to speed.”

“Okay.” I trailed behind him as he passed Willow’s horse, Pepperjack, and the empty stall where Magnolia usually resided. He paused near a fierce-looking chestnut horse of mammoth proportions named Firecracker. “Pick me something…biddable.”

“Old, slow, and sweet.” Grayson chuckled as he moved slowly along the row of horses, limp less pronounced than sometimes. “Got it. You never were a bronco buster, were you?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I remember you though. You always looked like you were born on a horse.”

“Near enough.” His eyes narrowed. “I was seventeen when my dad and I arrived at the ranch. You were a little guy, maybe ten? Eleven?”

“Somewhere around there.” I did some fast math in my head. “You’ve been here thirty years? Wow. Any quarter horse operation in the country would likely be lucky to have someone with your experience as foreman, not to mention most cattle ranches. And before you go citing your injuries again, I know you’ve had offers.”

“People like to talk.” Grayson pursed his lips as he stopped near a more reasonably sized horse named Adzuki. The name was undoubtedly a nod to the popular regional bean crop, along with the horse’s brownish-red coloring with white splotches. “This is home, and I have a bunkhouse full of hands counting on me here. Not gonna up and leave.”

“While I appreciate that, it’s funny how no one liked my dad, yet the whole damn town, you included, were so loyal.”

“My loyalty is to the ranch.” Grayson’s tone hardened. “Your father had high standards and set ways of doing things, but he also had a clear delegation of duties. He trusted my father and let him rule the bunkhouse. Same with me. Gave me a longer leash than a lot of bosses would. Especially in his later years, he was happy to just ride the fence or work with his horses. This operation is bigger than one man, and it’s also one of the last of its kind. I don’t wanna be on some corporate payroll.”

“I get that. It’s hard for me to separate the ranch from him and his bitterness,” I admitted as I followed Grayson to the tack room, where he retrieved a saddle. “I asked Faith earlier if she thought he’d ever been happy. You remember my mom, though, right? Were they always miserable?”

“I’m not gonna excuse the way your father treated you kids, but from what I’ve heard, his father was ten times worse. I remember your mom was one of the few who could make your dad laugh or get him to take a break.” Grayson went through familiar, efficient motions in readying Adzuki, slipping into the stall and clipping him onto a lead so he could saddle him. “Not sure on happy, but I reckon he loved her. He didn’t laugh after she and Mel died, that’s for sure.”

“He turned meaner. Like anything good inside him died too.” Outside of Colt and some therapy, I hadn’t talked to anyone else this deeply about my father, and my skin felt raw and hot, like an exposed scrape.

“He did turn mean. Like a wounded animal,” Grayson agreed with a sharp nod. “Doesn’t justify how he treated you. I heard some of your fights. You were headstrong, and he was a born bronco buster, but I understood why you left. Never judged you for that. Figured the ranch would be here if you returned.”

I inhaled so sharply that my chest pinched. “You stayed for me?”

“Maybe in part.” Grayson sounded distracted and slightly cagey like he was reluctant to reveal his inner workings. “I couldn’t intervene back then. I was a green ranch hand. He wouldn’t have listened in any event, and I couldn’t risk him turning my dad and me out. But I could protect your legacy, keep it ready.”

“What if I don’t want my legacy?”

“So be it.” Another of his trademark shrugs. Finished getting Adzuki ready, Grayson held out the reins. “This is a good horse. Sturdy. Good stock. Listens well. Little long in the tooth, but you wanted slow.”

“I did. Thank you. For everything.” I swallowed like I was the one with a bit in my mouth, and my eyes burned with more than my hay allergy.

“Let’s turn you out in the ring, see what you two make of each other.” Grayson gestured at the empty indoor riding arena.

I carefully led the horse to one of the mounting blocks. Yes, I knew perfectly well how to mount up without a step, but it had been twenty long years, and I didn’t want to fall flat on my face in front of my foreman. Once seated, I guided Adzuki in a slow circle, muscle memory returning in little bursts, first the posture, then the commands, and finally, a little more ease in the saddle, a trust that I wouldn’t hit the sawdust.

“Turns out I remember more than I thought,” I said to Grayson as we circled back around.

“Figured.” He jerked his head in my direction. “You look good up there. Almost caught you smiling.”

“It’s more fun without someone barking orders at me. I can almost see why Hannah loves it so much.”

“Good.” He gestured for me to keep riding. “You deserve fun. Keep going. I’ll check back in a bit.”

“What about those numbers?” We never had made it to the business portion of the conversation.

“They’ll keep.” Grayson left the side of the arena, leaving me to my swirling thoughts. He’d stayed loyal to the ranch, to the idea that it was something more than my father, and for the first time, I could see the two as separate entities. Also, it mattered that Grayson had wanted to stick up for me and hadn’t tried to sugarcoat my father’s actions. However, the long, jagged scar Melvin Lovelorn had left on my soul would take far more than a single conversation or horseback ride to heal.