Page 64 of A Forever Kind of Rancher

“Why not? Why do other people get all the consideration? Your father doesn’t need you to take over the rodeo commission. That’s about want. His. So why does it outweigh yours? Or why do your wants not even get to be up for consideration? I don’t understand that. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Because what the hell else am I going to do with my life, Wendy?”

“I was thinking about that the other day. And I was thinking about what your dad said. That I could represent the other cowboys. I know we didn’t talk about that for very long yesterday, but I could do that. He’s right. It’s just a matter of going out and making the most of my connections. I’m really good at this. Representing people. I could do you too. But the thing is, opportunities don’t just come to you. And I’ve understood that when it comes to agenting. But I haven’t always been great about that in my personal life. And you’re great. You’re wonderful with the rodeo, you’ve got this property, all of that. But do you know... Do you understand that you can’t just let life carry you down a current? You have to—”

“Yes I know that,” he said. “I’m not just drifting. And I resent the hell out of the suggestion that I am.”

“That isn’t what I meant. I just meant you can’t wait for things to fall into place. You have to get them. And you have to care.”

“I care. I care so much that I have shoved everything I’ve ever wanted to the side. For my mother. For my father. For my friendship with your idiot husband.”

“Well, Daniel isn’t our problem anymore.”

“He’s the father of your kids. He is still our problem.”

She shook her head. “I don’t love him. I haven’t for a long time. I don’t love him, and I don’t want that life back. I don’t. It costs so much. And I didn’t even realize it. It was so expensive to stay in that marriage. I thought it would be too expensive to leave it. But that isn’t it at all. The real expense was in staying there. I wasn’t happy. I liked being in that house by myself. I didn’t like being in it with him. I didn’t like him. I like being alone more. I convinced myself that I liked him, but what I felt was a holdover from what we used to have. What I liked, I think, was the part-time nature of it. I don’t love him. And I was going to just...let duty or honor or the fear of change hold me there.

“I’m not sorry that I didn’t do something disreputable. I’m not sorry that we didn’t... I’m not sorry that I was faithful to him. I’m not. But I am a little bit sorry that I convinced myself somehow that doing the right thing would be what made me the happiest. When I say the right thing, what I mean was this idea of the right thing, this idea of what marriage vows were, this idea my husband didn’t even agree with. I convinced myself it had to be the best thing, it had to be fate. It’s not about fate. It was about fear. Fear of change. Fear of finding out if I left him, I’d have nothing, but that’s a terrible reason to stay married. We get to make choices. And we get to demand more. We get to demand better. Anyway, I’m just... I’m deciding. And I’m here to have breakfast.”

“Breakfast and demands. That’s a whole thing.”

“Well, I’m a whole thing. But I don’t actually want to make demands.”

“Except you want to know what I want.”

“Let me care about that. Please. If you won’t.”

But he didn’t have words. He didn’t have anything. Nothing but a weird, pounding sense of panic moving through his chest, so he leaned in and he kissed her. Because it was better than talking. Because it was better than just about anything. Because when she asked what he wanted all he could think of was her, and everything else felt like details. Everything else felt like it might not matter.

He kissed her because she was what he wanted. Because she was everything.

Because she always had been.

He kissed her because it was like breathing.

It didn’t much matter if it made sense. It had never made sense. He held her against his body, and growled.

“There’s bacon,” she said weakly.

“Fuck the bacon.”

She blinked. “Okay.”

He backed her up against the wall, kissing her, consuming her.

“I want you, Wendy. And none of it matters. None of it matters.”

“Yes,” she said.

Except that was wrong. It was wrong that he just... It was terrifying. Because it couldn’t last. Nothing ever could.

He could already feel himself losing her. He could feel it in the dissatisfaction she was expressing this morning. In her asking for things he didn’t know how to give.

He could feel it in the way his heart pounded when he tried to imagine forever, but could only picture his house empty.

He was losing her.

By inches.

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