Page 49 of Hidden Memories

Unfortunately, like all my thoughts lately,the horses today have me wandering back to Kat. Does she still ride? Does Theo? And then the more serious questions that have been plaguing me return. What the hell is going on with her car being seized? Her farmhouse ravaged?

I felt entitled to ask Callum for more details, but he didn’t have any. I tried to figure out a way to maybe ask Ava or Enzo to search a bit deeper, see if anything came up, but that might open a can of worms I’d rather is shut for now. The only option that won’t stir up too much drama is to ask her myself. Maybe I could find something online…

I wish I could get myself not to care, but it’s always been impossible when it comes to her. In fact, for many years I tried to train my brain and heart to hate her for lying. For leading me on.

But I never succeeded. Never could I feel anything but desperate wanting for that woman even after she did me wrong. I was as pathetic as every other rejected human on the planet. Somehow, not being enough for her also made her the only person who could ever validate me.

I tried for years to forget her and to stop wanting her to see just what I’ve made of myself. There were times I wanted to slide into her DMs or find some way to show her what I’ve become. Kat lied about her engagement while letting me fall in love with her; it stole nearly all of my self-esteem for a very long time. But I was determined not to become a bitter man.

So I went to therapy, quietly, in private, without anyone knowing, and eventually, I started to see she was a gift to me. She broke my heart, but equally, nothing spurred me toward my success more than our demise. My anger, my pain, my humiliation… I was so desperate to turn that sense of unworthiness into value. And I did.

I glance around at what I’ve built over the last thirteenyears here at Monarch Hills. I’ve been able to help my brothers, too. Thing is, I’m successful in every way a man can be on his own. But some things in life require the love of a woman. I had to leave those things behind because for as much as my past with Kat empowered me to succeed, it obliterated my ability and desire to ever love again.

The horses eat up the track, and the jockeys slow them down.

Owen rests his chin on the fence. “They’re so fast,” he says, his voice full of awe. “Do you think I could ride one someday?”

I grin. “Maybe. But you’ve got to work your way up to that endurance. And those saddles? Believe me when I tell you, a Western saddle feels like a recliner compared with that tiny thing. It’s like sitting on a thumbtack.”

“They stand the whole time anyway.”

“They don’t want to be tweezing leather out of their butts for days.”

Owen laughs, and I treasure it. It’s rare as he’s such a serious boy.

“I stand when I gallop on Hector,” he says.

“That’s a start. Plus, quarter horses are faster than thoroughbreds. Quarter horses have top speeds of fifty-five miles per hour. A thoroughbred can only reach forty-four.”

“Really?”

“When I first decided to breed and train, I couldn’t get the cowboy in me to appreciate thoroughbreds. I tried one out myself and thought, this thing isn’t all that. Why are they so expensive and fancy when my boy Hector could outrun them? But a quarter horse burns out fast. People aren’t interested in a twenty-second race. I’ve learned to appreciate all horses have their beauty about them. Just like people. All are different.Most are worthy.”

Owen lifts his eyebrows. “Most?”

“Pardon my French, Owen, but some people are just straight…” I stop myself from swearing, “dirtbags.”

“Horses, too?”

“Yeah. Even horses. Anyone who knows horses well knows some of them are jerks.”

I get my second laugh of the day just as the morning sun rises above the tree line and warms my face. I shift my baseball hat down slightly to shield my eyes from the blinding light.

We start walking back to the barn to do our chores. Owen’s started to come here before school to muck out the stalls, and I have to say, I’m impressed. That’s what a real cowboy has to do. Some of those cold winter mornings in New Mexico, snow up to our thighs… it wasn’t easy, but it’s necessary. It’s the grit it takes if you want to care for these creatures.

But today, he only has a half day of school because we’re meeting with the foster company together. It’s not typical that Owen would be here for one of my home inspections. But I suppose the social worker thought she could kill two birds with one stone.

My gut weighs heavy. I don’t get nervous much, but I know even though Monarch Hills looks like paradise, I’m sure I’ll get flagged for a million and one health and safety issues.

“So which horse was the worst one you’ve ever had? What did he do that made him so bad?” Owen asks.

This isn’t a tough question to answer. My Dad’s old horse, Daisy. She hated me. But just then, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out. An unknown number.

“Hold on,” I say to Owen. I swipe to answer. “Santiago Mendez.”

“Santi, it’s Kat.”

My gut tightens. She called. I told her she could but…

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