Page 2 of Careless Hope

A lead weight settled in my gut as guilt for lying to Mason hit me hard. He believed in me more than anyone else, except maybe Mama. But I told myself it was the result that mattered, not the process. I’d get the damn thing done if it damn near killed me.

Leading Zeus back to the stables, the air seemed to shift around us, heavy with the scent of hay and the musk of horses. Mason clapped me on the back and returned to his office just off the other side of the building.

I slipped into the rhythm of ranch work like a familiar melody, scooping feed into troughs with practiced ease. The horses greeted me with soft nickers, their breath warm and sweet as they nuzzled my palms for treats. I couldn’t help but smile; these creatures were more than just animals—they were companions, confidants, symbols of a legacy that pulsed through my veins.

A couple of the other guys had already done most of the mucking out, but I preferred to do certain stalls myself. I loved allthe horses, but I had a special bond with some of them, and others, like Zeus, were just downright tough to control.

Gray probably didn’t realize it, but with every stall cleaned and every flank brushed, I felt my connection to the land and our legacy grow stronger. It’d always been that way, I was just shit and showing it. But you don’t grow up on a horse ranch that’d been around for over a hundred and sixty years without absorbing that heritage, and the sense of duty that came with it.

My movements were pure muscle memory, an ode to the long days spent here and the generations who had worked this land before me. It was comfortable.It was a comfort.But that restlessness still stirred within, a hunger for something more than just the same old daily routine. An urge to expand our legacy into something bigger.

“Easy there, Apollo,” I murmured, running a gentle hand along the dappled gray coat of an old gelding. He leaned into the touch, his trust a testament to years of care and kinship. If only people were as easy to win over as horses.

“Good boy,” I whispered, the words hanging in the air like a promise. In this realm of leather and straw, of sweat and dreams, I was building something—a future where my name meant more than just another Anderson on the payroll.

Zeus watched me from his stall, his dark eyes holding a glint of respect now, or maybe it was simply the reflection of the overhead lights. Either way, I knew we had reached an understanding, a mutual recognition that we were both striving to find our place at Red Downs Ranch. Maybe to find our place beyond it, too.

The rhythmic sound of my boots against the stable floor brought a kind of peace that only a man who’s carved his soul from the land could understand. I was shoveling hay, lost in thought, when the shadow of my brother filled the doorway—a looming presence that set the dust motes dancing in a shaft of late afternoon light.

“Got a minute?” he asked, voice gruff as the stubble on his face.

“Always got time for you,” I replied, leaning on the wooden handle of my pitchfork, knowing full well our ideas of ‘time’ differed like night and day.

Gray stepped closer, his eyes scanning the stalls before landing on me. “Zeus give you trouble again?”

I hesitated, because I knew Gray was thinking about selling Zeus. He had a good lineage and the potential to produce some great foals but he was rough and the training was taking longer than it should. In my mind, that wasn’t a reason to ship him off. Some of us just need more time than others.

I shook my head.

“More like a conversation without words,” I said, the corner of my mouth twitching at the understatement. Zeus was a storm in equine form, but damn if I didn’t respect him for it.

“Those types of conversations can be costly,” Gray muttered, his gaze flickering to the fence post outside that still wore the scars of Zeus’s last ‘chat.’

“Speaking of costs . . . ” I started, brushing a stray piece of straw from my flannel sleeve. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking can be more costly than talking,” he quipped, but I caught a hint of curiosity beneath his skepticism.

“I want to present my business plan to you. For real. We’ve been talkin’ in circles for almost a year now and you’ve gotta sit down and really listen.”

“Walk, I have listened?—”

“And I,” I interrupted, undeterred, “have gotta prove to you that I’ve done my research and it’s a good idea.”

He grunted, which was one of his usual responses, and could have meant any number of things.

“Alright, when d’you wanna do this then?”

“I’m workin’ on it now. How about next Friday?” Hopefully that would give Mason enough time to look it over. This was a spur of the moment thing and I was already regretting saying anything to my brother.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I’ll listen to what you have to say and look over your plan. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m not makin’ a single promise.”

“Right, I said, sighing. That’s how it’d been for the past year. I just had to hope it would be different this time. And work like hell to make it so.

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