Page 4 of Back in the Saddle

“She might want you to move back.”

She always hinted at me returning, but why would she want me to now, specifically? Had one of the kids said something to her? I hadn’t told her that Taylor and I were separated. I didn’t want to hear her say I told you so or it’s time to come home now.

“I’m not leaving the farm. And I’m not leaving you. You live a kilometre away on the same farm and it’s still too far.”

I pulled them both in for another hug. Then I watched them as they drove their farm car to the house we’d lived in together until recently. The house I longed to return to so we could all be a family again. A house where silence was comfortable, not overwhelming.

Getting back together wasn’t going to happen. Taylor and I had been growing apart before the drought started a year ago. Then…it got worse. It wasn’t only that Taylor worked all the time. She’d become less and less involved with us as a family. We didn’t have any quality time together. Married couples went through this all the time. It happened to families we knew. I just never thought it would happen to us. And I’d always had full confidence that if it did happen to us, we’d be able to fix it.

I sighed and turned the lights off. Fixing it would only work if we both wanted to.

2

Taylor

Istared at the empty food container on my desk. It had been full of Irish stew. Did Ciaron cook it because he was homesick? Was he thinking of Ireland more now and thinking it was time to return?

When the kids had got home last night, Isabelle had shoved the container in front of me and said, ‘Dinner from Dad’. He knew me well. He would have known I’d have toast for dinner. It was my go-to meal when he didn’t cook for us. Until two months ago, that is. After he left, I’d tried to be better for the kids and actually cooked meals. But no matter how hard I tried, I still failed.

I grabbed my to-do list. It took up a whole page. I needed to go out and get some updated photos of horses and the grounds for our website. But none of the dryness of the drought, because no one wants to see that. I didn’t even want to see it. Maybe I could Photoshop a green background in. With the coming breeding season, we needed to attract new clients. But I alsoneeded to update pricing to reflect the current drought situation. I didn’t have time for all that. I needed to enlist help.

I sent a message to Fran: You got a minute?

Within seconds, she was at my door. Her bright red hair was the only thing that brought light to the office these days. “What do you need?”

“I need photos to update the website. Can you send a message to the team asking them to take photos and send them to you? Once you have them, I’d like you to sort through them and send me the good ones. Then we can sit together and work on updating the website.”

She nodded.

“After that, I’d like you to grab the expense statements from the last six months so we can update our pricing.”

“Do you want me to ask Ciaron for help with that? He knows which expenses are abnormal and shouldn’t be included.”

“No. Just get me the figures.”

She simply nodded and walked away. It’s not like Ciaron cared about the business anymore. I couldn’t ask him to help.

But…he had given the kids leftovers for me. So, maybe he cared a little. About me or the business? Who knew?

I sighed. Ciaron still knew me, but I didn’t know who he was anymore. We didn’t talk unless it was about the farm. Not even about the kids. We seemed to have two separate relationships with them. The one they had with him was full of love and conversations. With me, it was attitude and mostly silence. Like I was the one to blame for our separation, even thoughhewas the one who left.

I flicked from tab to tab to tab on my computer, unable to focus. I referred back to my list. OK. The next thing I had to do was look at the schedule of stallion parades to decide which ones I should attend in person and arrange for an invitation to go to our clients. At least we had a few weeks to organise that. Someclients enjoyed the prestige of stallion parades and would choose who their mares would go to based on the animals paraded in front of them. Others were happy to make their decision based on facts and lineage rather than be swayed by the stunning stallions.

My eyes strayed back to the container on my desk, and my mind returned to Ciaron. It was nice that he’d fed me. Or maybe he was pointing out how useless I was. Would Ciaron do that, though? Maybe. Probably not.

How did it even get to this?

For two months I’d thought about that as I lay in our bed, alone. I tried to pinpoint when it all changed and what, exactly, had changed. It’s not like we fought.

I thought marriage was supposed to get easier over time. Like at first, it was all lovely because you were still in that honeymoon period. And then you started discovering things that irritated you, but you accepted them because they weren’t enough to argue about. Then you knew all about each other’s faults, but you were comfortable and loved each other and just accepted them for what they were. And then you got old together. It was at that last step we’d failed.

No point dwelling on it. It’s not like it could be undone. He’d left, and that was it. He hadn’t even said we could try to work things out. He’d made up his mind, and it was final.

I shoved my list of things to do aside. I wasn’t going to get any work done if all I kept thinking about was Ciaron.

I picked up the container, crossed through reception, and went into his office. I took a moment to study him as he concentrated on the computer screen. The golden highlights in his brown hair were more prominent now than the day I’d met him, probably because of the Australian sunshine. And there was grey sprinkled in there as well. He wore it gracefully, like most men could. His shoulders, still wide and strong, drew mygaze. The shoulders I held onto as he railed me. The way I begged for more. How he made me come undone. I blushed and shook the memory away.

Everything about him was bigger, stronger, more beautiful. And I had no right thinking about any of them.

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