Page 101 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

He took a deep breath, his chest pressing into her back. “We ended up in a different life than we were supposed to be in. And...in the end we changed too much. Or the world changed too much and we didn’t change enough. Hell, I don’t know. But I remember looking at her one day and realizing it was the first time I’d really done that in months. That’s some stupid stuff.”

“But the divorce was...”

“Very mutual. We were done,” he said, shifting against her, his chin resting on her shoulder. “You make vows, you know. And you think you know what they all mean. Richer and poorer, sickness and health. And you think, yeah, sure, if my wife is sick, I’ll take care of her. If we’re ever broken, we’ll stick together. But...they don’t cover some things.”

He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough. “Do you really want to know about me, Gracie?”

“Yes,” she said. “And if you want me to, I’ll forget it in the morning.”

She felt him nod. “Okay. You can imagine a lot of bumps in the road, but I don’t think anyone ever... I don’t think anyone imagines what losing a child might do to them. I know we didn’t.”

Grace’s heart stopped, everything she knew about Zack twisting, turning. Changing.

“When Tally was born,” he continued, “it changed our family. It brought us closer, you know? Stephanie wasn’t just my wife, she was the mother of my daughter. But it became clear quickly that not everything was right. That Tally was sick. Her heart... She had a heart defect. And they missed it on all the ultrasounds. They missed it until she was three months. She wasn’t gaining weight, and she was short of breath all the time. It was treatable. They said it was treatable. And she was small but...fine for a while.”

“Oh, Zack,” she said, not realizing she’d spoken the words out loud until he tightened his hold on her.

He cleared his throat. “When she was three, she got a bacterial infection. The hospital said it was common for kids with her condition. And we knew that. We knew to watch for it. But it...” He took a deep breath. “She died in the hospital three days later.”

A tear ran down Grace’s cheek, and there was nothing she could do to stop it, her heart crumpling into a tight ball she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to release. “I think we were both wrung out after that,” he said.

“I don’t think Steph or I had anything left to give. Because she couldn’t look at me and see the father of her baby girl anymore. She looked at me and saw everything we weren’t. It was just too big for us to fix. And in the end...it was better we tried to fix it alone. Tally died eight years ago, but you know that stuff doesn’t go away. Steph got married again, they have two little boys. I’m happy for her, and I really mean it. I’m glad she got away, glad she got...filled up again. But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to care like that. I don’t even think I could.”

Grace held tightly to his arm. not sure what to say. He’d had this whole life, this whole depth of love that she’d never even fathomed. And then he’d lost it.

She shouldn’t have asked. It was dangerous to know this. To know him this well. To feel this much.

“I’m sorry,” she said. It was a stupid thing to say, maybe, but she didn’t really know if there was anything else that could be said.

“Me, too,” he said. “More than I am about anything else. But I can’t change it. That life is gone, and I’m living this one. That’s why suites and galleries and things don’t matter sometimes. It’s funny, I always did art. But it wasn’t until...something in me changed after, and I had to do it, to keep from going crazy. I worked in my studio—which is just a barn really—all the time. It was the only place to put all that grief. It made me famous. I think that’s why I hate it sometimes, as much as I need it.”

There was nothing to say to that. Nothing at all. So she just held him. All night. And when she woke up the next morning he was gone.

Chapter Seven

Marsha was never thrilled about him using his “social time” to get all “broody artiste” on her. Her words. But his art was her paycheck, so she never said no.

Which was why Zack was in a borrowed studio today, torturing metal until his muscles burned. He’d basically turned the place into a forge, which was another reason Marsha didn’t necessarily love accommodating him. Because he essentially took over whatever studio he inhabited.

But whatever. He made a ton of money. More than a lot of other living artists. So everyone could deal with it.

And they did.

Which was one of the best things about the art world. He was eccentric here. Not just a jerk. With great genius came great jackassery, or whatever. It worked out for him because it meant he got to do whatever he wanted.

He needed to work today. Needed to get this piece finished. He’d started it back home, and it had come over with the rest of the pieces for the show, but this one wasn’t done. And he wasn’t sure exactly what to do with it.

It was a giant iron figure, like the rest of them. The vague shape of a man, faceless, as they all were. He was standing. Just standing. And Zack didn’t know why. He didn’t know what the hell the thing was supposed to be.

And today he’d taken the thing’s arm off, bent it at the elbow and reattached it with what would be its palm facing upward.

He had no idea what in hell he was doing.

But then, that was fitting. He didn’t know why the hell he’d told Grace about Steph and Tally. He didn’t know why he’d spent the night, only to wake up feeling like his chest was being crushed by an anvil.

He’d left at 5:00 a.m. and wandered around until six, then he’d called Marsha about getting the studio space for the day.

Yeah, there was something about Grace that turned his head to oatmeal. And he just did crap. And said crap. And he had no idea why.

---