Page 39 of Tempted By the Broken Cowboy
“What happened?” he asks.
I don’t answer—I can’t. If I open my mouth right now, it’ll all spill out in a way I’ll regret. My fists curl, nails biting into my palms, and I shoulder past him without a word. His hand twitches—he’s tempted to stop me—but he doesn’t. He knows better.
“Beck—“ Quinn starts, but I’m already walking away, needing distance and space before I combust.
Behind me, I hear Jace’s low murmur as he turns to Quinn. “What the hell happened?”
Her sigh carries to me. She’ll tell him.
I don’t stop to listen; instead, I keep moving, because if I stop, I’ll fall apart. I stalk past the house and barn until I’m standing at the fence line, hands braced against the wood. The horses shift in the paddock, ears twitching, soft snorts carrying on the breeze.
They recognize me even though I’ve been scarce the past couple of days. Too scarce. Guilt twists in my gut when one of the geldings strolls closer, nudging at the rail like he’s asking why I’ve been gone.
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter, voice rough. “I’ve been a shitty trainer.”
I reach out, running a hand down his neck. The familiar feel of warm hide under my palm should calm me, but today it only sharpens the ache. This is where I belong. Horses don’t judge, don’t whisper behind my back. They don’t care about the mistakes stamped onto my name. They only care if I show up, if I’m steady.
And I haven’t been steady, not for them.
My chest loosens a fraction, but not enough. The noise in my head keeps circling: what’s the point? No matter what I do, it’s never going to be enough.
“Damn it!” I whisper, my throat tight.
The air hangs cool and heavy, thick with hay and dust and the kind of silence that seeps under your skin. I lean against the rail, one boot braced on the bottom plank, fingers absently stroking down the gelding’s neck. He’s patient with me, always has been. Just stands there, breathing deep and steady, trying to loan me some of his calm demeanor.
“You don’t care, do you?” I mutter, scratching under his jaw. “I could burn the whole damn world down, and you’d still just want a handful of oats.”
A soft laugh drifts from behind me, light and unexpected. I freeze.
“That’s ’cause horses are smarter than people.”
I turn, shoulders tense, and find Daisy standing a few feet away. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, but her eyes are steady on me—bright, curious, and far too perceptive for a kid her age.
“Shouldn’t you be inside?” My voice comes out gruffer than I mean.
She shrugs. “I saw you come out here and wanted to see what you’re up to.”
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
She grins, small but mischievous. “I didn’t mean to. You just looked sad. Are you okay, Uncle Beck?”
The gelding nudges me again, and I use the excuse to look away, running my hand along his mane. “I’m fine.”
Daisy steps closer to the fence, slipping her small fingers through the rails. The mare on the other side noses toward her, and she laughs, soft and easy.
“You always say that,” she murmurs. “But you don’t look fine.”
Something in my chest squeezes. I don’t want to do this with her. She’s a kid—she should be dreaming about being a pop star like her Aunt Ava, as she’s always proclaiming, not reading her screwed-up uncle like a book.
“I want to be like you when I’m older,” she says simply.
My head jerks toward her. She’s looking at me without flinching, eyes fierce in the dim light.
“I want to ride bareback and train horses too.”
I blink at her, stunned, my mouth opening then shutting again. “I thought you wanted to—“
She cuts me off with a roll of her eyes. “It’s not the ’80s, Uncle Beck. Girls can have it all.”
