Page 29 of Maverick
“This way,” I say, gesturing up the road. “I’ve got a large stable. There are quite a few people who board here.”
“Are you a full-time rancher?”
“That’s the idea. Eventually. Right now, I’m dependent on the boarding because I’m gone so much. But someday.”
“Oh. After you win it all?”
“In theory.”
“No offense, but you’re a little bit older than a lot of the other guys that are still riding.”
“None taken,” I say, and I feel every one of those years in my bones as she drives over a pothole and pulls us up to the white and green stable. Not my color choice. That bright white, with the brass fixtures, which looks great, was all Sadie.
“I got derailed,” I say. “So, when I came back, I was a little older.”
“Oh. I didn’t know that you quit for a while.”
“Yep,” I say.
But I don’t elaborate. She takes the hint. Which is funny, because she seems almost as afraid to tread on the things that I’m keeping to myself as I am to talk about them. Maybe I’m putting off more unfriendly energy than I realize. A lot more caution tape.
Well, good for me. Apparently, I’m great at social cues, actually, as long as they’re negative.”
“Life is complicated, I guess,” she says. “Compared to so many of these barrel racers, I started really late.”
“But you’ve already won a championship,” I say. “I haven’t. So in that sense, you’re one up on me.”
“Well, the bull riding championships are bigger. With so much money at stake…”
“True. And it’s not hard to find a bunch of men who are stupid enough to risk themselves like that for glory and cash.”
“You said it,” she says, putting the truck in park and unbuckling. “Not me.”
She gets out of the vehicle and moves to the back to get her horse. I open up the stable and go ahead of her, moving down the line until I find an empty stall. “Number eight,” I say as she leads her horse inside. “You can put her in here.”
“Is… Is the horse you want me to ride in here?”
“Frank,” I say. “Yeah. Let’s get her put away, then I’ll introduce you.”
It’s so stupid. I feel like I’m introducing a kid to a new nanny or something. But I guess Frank was really the only child Sadie and I had.
I ignore the biting regret in my stomach. I just have so much fucking regret and so little else. I’m tired of that.
I’m tired of being so keenly aware of it. This side effect of bringing Stella into my actual life.
I stand back while she gets her horse situated, and then I gesture down toward the end of the row of stalls. “He’s down here.”
“What is Frank short for?”
“Oh, it’s not actually short for his name. His registered name is something like… Dawn of the Mist. I don’t know.” I’m lying. I know what his name is. It’s Early Morning Dawn, one of those insane show horse names. I made fun of it terribly when she registered him and started calling him Frank – stupid when I could have called him Dawn – which stuck. So here we are.
Frank is a fine horse. A gorgeous bay with incredible bone structure and musculature. He’s perfect. And the way that he performs moves is absolutely flawless.
I don’t even have to be an expert to know that. To recognize that he is a rare specimen. “He’s beautiful,” she says, her eyeslighting up. I watch her look at Frank, and honestly, I haven’t felt anything like this for a long time.
I recognize that face.
Because Sadie used to get it. When she would see a horse that just illuminated something inside of her. She loved horses. I can see that Stella does too. Loves them and appreciates them. So, in that sense, I feel like I’ve made the right choice. That it isn’t just about me. That it isn’t just about her spectacular breasts, but about the connection that I felt like she could have with Frank. The one that’s been missing.
