Page 98 of Holding The Reins

“It’s not a crisis. Andrew just sold our condo and I have to go back and sign and I really need to face the rest of my things.”

“You’re not staying with him?” Cole asks, horrified.

These men.

“No, I’m not, he’s going to a hotel and I’ll stay at the condo. He’s actually being very accommodating.”

Cole snorts. “That’s when I’d worry the most.”

“I’ll be going tomorrow and coming back Wednesday night,” I say, as Nash comes through the front door.

“You hear this? CeCe is going back to face this ass—butthole of the century,” he says, trying not to lose a dollar.

Nash grunts as he hastily pours himself a coffee and glances at me. “Uh-huh,” he says, setting his jaw again.

“Take one of your girl cronies with you, at least. Ginger might be the most irritating woman I know, but I wouldn’t put it past her to kick some ass for you if she needed to,” Cole says as he stuffs a dollar in the boot in the middle of the table before Mabel can even tell him to.

Mabel notices and smiles, which makes me smile, then she goes back to eating without uttering a word.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told… my friends,” I say, looking between Cole and Nash.

“I’m not some helpless young girl anymore. I can go to Seattle and handle Andrew. I’m doing it on my own. I need this closure. I want it to go smoothly so I can put it behind me.”

Nash swallows the rest of his coffee and sets his mug in the sink hard enough that Mama and Cole both look up at him.

“See you out there, Mabes,” he bites out before exiting.

“What’s got his knickers in a twist?” Cole asks.

“Lord only knows,” Mama says, her eyes on me while she sips the last of her coffee.

We spend fifteen minutes cleaning up in silence after Cole leaves.

“Thank you for the French toast, Mama.”

“Anytime, darlin’,” she says, her palm to my cheek. “Walk with me.” She turns to the den. “Come on, Mabes, get your boots.”

I hear Mabel scramble and we head out the door.

The late August sun is steamy as we walk the short distance to the largest of our pens near the barn. Mabel happily skips twenty feet ahead, stopping every so often to pick up a bug or a flower. The breeze blows around my dress. It’s a soft and gauzy linen in white with tank sleeves and hangs to my knees in the front and trails lower in the back almost to the ground. It’s loose and billowy in the stifling Kentucky heat. Gravel crunches under my tried and true cowboy boots as the horse pen starts to come into view.

“Nash sure doesn’t seem to like the idea of you going to Seattle alone,” Mama says as we walk.

I keep my eyes ahead. Focused. Mama is my best friend, and if I look at her, I’m definitely going to spill the tea.

“He’s no better than Cole or Wade, doesn’t think I can handle anything by myself.”

“Mmhmm. That must be it,” Mama says slowly.

As if speaking about him would manifest him out of thin air, Nash comes out of the barn on his favorite thoroughbred riding horse, Dad’s old Rising River, and just the sight of it almost chokes me up.

Nash rides like a natural, always has, his Wranglers hug him in all the right places down to his worn in cowboy boots, and his gray t-shirt grips his upper arms as he holds the reins tight. His cowboy hat shields his face from the sun and he’s smiling at two of the kids in tow as they jog behind him for the first time on their respective horses in our massive two-hundred-foot arena.

“If you’re relaxed, your horse is relaxed, Sasha.” I hear Nash say to one of the kids.

“Do y’all know horses feel every emotion we feel?” he asks.

“He’s great with those kids...” Mama says as we stand to the side of the barn and watch him when he doesn’t see us.

---