Page 13 of Every Promise Broken

Not exactly feasible when you run a ranch, but thankfully, over the years, I’ve been able to switch around my way of thinking.

It’s almost eight by the time I make it back into my house after doing morning chores. After putting on a fresh pot of coffee, I head to the laundry room and start a load of clothes.Laundry is my least favorite chore, and if I don’t stay on top of it every single day, it’ll get backed up before I know it, and then I won’t have any clean underwear. You’d think the older I get, the better I’d get about keeping up with this shit, but that’s just not the case.

Once I’m finished, I fix up my breakfast, same as every other day. Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and a slice of sourdough toast. I check the clock on the wall, making sure I’m doing good on time. Whit should be here soon, and I’m not sure how it’s going to go.

Although, knowing Whit, he’ll probably be as professional as can be. If there’s one thing Whit is a pro at, it’s keeping things strictly about business when it comes to him and I.

Well, usually.

Whit has big feelings; he always has, but he’s great at shoving them to the back of his mind for the sake of his clinic. Like Whittaker Bowman, Sr., that clinic is of the utmost importance to him. From the moment he graduated veterinary school—with honors—he’s worked for his father. And when his mother died and Senior wasn’t able to run things anymore, Whit stepped up and took over the family business, no questions asked.

We’re alike in that sense. It wasn’t easy taking over the ranch when my parents died, but I did it because there was no other option. I’ve always known the ranch would be mine one day, but I figured I had a lot more time before that happened. Figured it would be a process I could ease into. Instead, I was thrown into it in the blink of an eye, all while grieving the loss of my mother and father. Whit’s no different. He had to step up and figure out how to run a business while grieving his mother’s death and the loss of his father, because while Senior may not have died with his wife, his spirit sure as hell did.

Once I finish eating, I rinse my plate and put it in the dishwasher before I head out to the barn. It’s a chilly morning,reminding me of how quickly fall is fading, and how winter will be here before I know it. It’s not long before I hear the door of Whit’s truck shutting outside, and a zap of adrenaline shoots down my spine, excitement furrowing low in my gut, knowing I’m about to come face to face with him for the first time since the night we shared together weeks ago.

Playing it cool, I wait a moment before I walk toward the entrance of the barn, meeting Whit just outside. His dark hair, like always, is styled in a way that looks purposely mussed up. Like he’s spent all morning raking his fingers through it anxiously. His forest green eyes peer up at me from behind his thick, dark-framed glasses, and his jaw flexes as he bites down on his molars.

“Morning,” I grunt when he says nothing.

“Good morning, Conrad.”Oh, we’re back to Conrad now.“Something’s wrong with one of the bison?”

“Yeah, something spooked Bogart because he tried running through the fence yesterday afternoon,” I explain as Whit grabs his bag out of the truck. We start toward the pasture my one-year-old bison are in as I continue. “For the most part, he seems fine. He’s got a gash on his front leg that I cleaned yesterday when I found him. I don’t think he’ll need stitches, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Whit turns his head, looking at me with an expression I can’t quite place before he nods. “Do you know what it was that spooked him?” he asks.

“No. I didn’t see it happen. I was doing my rounds when I noticed he was stuck. Had to fix the fence afterwards.”

“Was Biscuit okay?”

I adopted Bogart and Biscuit as calves last year. They’re just over a year old now.

“She seemed a little off, like maybe whatever spooked her brother scared her too.”

Whit nods again, but doesn’t say anything else. The rest of the walk toward the pasture is spent in silence, which isn’t unusual for us, but I can’t deny how much it grates my nerves today, especially. Mostly because since the night of the party, I’ve found myself wanting to reach out to him, for no reason other than hearing his voice, or to find out how he’s doing with everything he confessed to me. Or maybe, most of all, how he felt about our night shared.

Did he enjoy it as much as I did?

Does he regret it?

Has it replayed in his mind as much as it does in mine?

These are all questions I’m dying to know the answer to but know I’ll never voice. I’ve never been a great communicator, especially when it comes to feelings and being vulnerable. Something I didn’t even realize was an issue until Whit pointed it out to me when we were married.

Growing up, there wasn’t room for feelings in my household. My parents were very old-fashioned in the sense that you did what you needed to do without bitching about it. We didn’t express when something bothered us, didn’t sit down and talk about our day and how it went. And I guess, in turn, I brought that same old-fashioned mindset into my adult life. The fall of my marriage was a very eye-opening moment for me. I don’t think I truly understood my faults until they took away the one thing that meant the most to me, and by the time I realized it, it was too late.

The bison come into view, and my gaze immediately flits to Whit and the way his whole face lights up when he spots them. My lips curve up as I watch his steps become quicker the closer we get to the large animals. He’s always excited to see these two.

Biscuit spots us first, abandoning her brother as she lazily trots over to us—or more specifically, over to Whit.

“Good morning, big girl,” Whit coos in a baby voice that I’ll never get tired of hearing. “How you doin’ today, hmm?”

Biscuit waltzes right up to Whit, letting him stroke a hand along the top of her head between her curved horns. Most people would be terrified of these large creatures, but not Whit. For as long as I’ve known him, bison have been one of his favorite animals. When he was much younger, he used to dream about one day owning a bison rescue. It’s not exactly something I’d hold my breath about, but I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t in the forefront of my mind when I found Biscuit and Bogart for sale a few towns over.

It’s silly because we aren’t together anymore, but it feels worth it when he comes over and lights up just being near them.

“I’m going to check on your brother really quick,” he murmurs to Biscuit before his feet carry him through the grass toward Bogart, who’s doing his best to ignore Whit, almost like he knows Whit’s here to poke and prod at him. “Howdy, big boy. Heard you tried to run through a fence yesterday. That’s kind of silly, huh?”

With the utmost care, Whit crouches down and inspects the injured leg, all the while Bogart lets him. These animals have a reputation for being aggressive and a little unpredictable, but either Whit’s the bison whisperer or I adopted the world’s most docile bison, because both are pretty tame.

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