Page 100 of Close Match
“Oh my God, Monty!” I’m freaking out and screaming with laughter at the same time. And God help me, it feels good to laugh. Lord, I can’t remember the last time I did. Was it a month ago? More? I know it’s been at least fourteen days—that’s when Ev popped the first pill to kill off his immune system. It’s been about a week since Monty’s tender declaration of love—not the one where he shouted it randomly to the whole household. And in the time between, we’ve clung to each other as Ev’s deteriorated even more each day.
Yesterday morning, Char drove him to the hospital. She told Monty she’d be back later to see us before we all go tomorrow for my procedure.
In the meantime, Monty’s determined if I’m not going to be able to walk, it should be for a reason like being up on a horse. I told him there were more fun ways. Even though his eyes sparkled with interest, he still told me to “Braid your hair, sweetheart. Let’s see if you can manage a lap around the ring on your own.” I agreed because it’s beautiful out. The sky’s an incredible cerulean blue without a streak of white marring it. Knowing I’m going to be housebound for the next few days after the procedure, some fresh air sounded like a good idea.
That was until Hatchet realized I was “in charge.”
Horses must have this innate sense of knowing who’s doing the riding, I muse, giggling, while Monty curses a streak as blue as the sky. She walked docilely around the ring to show off before deciding she had an itch and just had to scratch it. Unfortunately, she didn’t care I was still in the saddle.
“Hatchet, you crazy horse. Get up,” Monty orders. But even he can’t keep the humor from his voice. Hatchet, realizing neither of us is angry, rolls partially off my trapped leg enough so I can free it from the stirrup. I shuffle back while she proceeds to scratch her side in the dirt animatedly.
“This is a fine example of my skills of a horsewoman,” I declare, pulling my knees up to brace my arms against them. Hatchet continues to ignore me as she smooths her face and side back and forth in the dirt before attempting a full roll, saddle and all.
Monty’s look of disgust as he tries to right his horse sets me off in hysterics again. “What in the world is wrong with you?” he demands of the 1800-pound animal. Finally getting her to her feet, he finds me exactly where I’ve been the whole time—on my ass. “Up and at ’em, Brogan. Time to teach you both who’s boss in the saddle.”
“If you think I’m getting back up on her, you’re crazy.”
Monty leans down and wraps an arm around my waist while holding Hatchet’s reins away. “Crazy about you, that’s for damn sure.”
“Then you won’t make me get up on that horse again.”
“Sweetheart, life’s already thrown you much harder than this. How did you face it? By giving up?” he challenges me.
“No,” I answer, truthfully.
“Just like riding, you dug in your heels and didn’t let go. Now, I’m going to boost you up so you can do the exact same thing.”
My breath hitches. Monty’s face is so close I can see each spike of his eyelashes. I realize if I’d had him supporting me along the way, the knocks I took after Mom died wouldn’t have been so devastating.
I can do this, not just because he’s autocratically ordering me to, but because I’m not the same person I was before. There isn’t anything in my heart and soul that he hasn’t seen and accepted. It has nothing to do with who I am on a stage, but who I am off of it. I could choose never to play another role, never sing or dance again, and the man who’s muscular arm is pulling me to my feet would support that.
Support me.
And just that quickly, I realize home isn’t New York, nor is it the farm.
Home is Monty.
Because when you find the one place you know no matter what you’ll always be able to lay your head down and find peace, it doesn’t matter if that’s a penthouse, a barn floor, or a street corner. That place is home.
And the right one can give you the strength to conquer all of your fears.
“Okay.” I wrap my arms around his neck.
He pulls me the rest of the way to my feet before ordering, “Now, get control of your horse.”
“Don’t you mean your horse?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “Whatever. Get Hatchet on her feet and get back in the saddle.”
* * *
“How are you doing?”I’m on the phone with my father. I couldn’t talk to him yesterday because he was too ill every time Monty or I tried to get him on the phone. We were in the middle of preparing lunch when Char said she was going upstairs for a nap. After she woke up, she said, “Let’s give Ev a try. I know he wants to talk with both of you.”
Monty spoke with him first. I let the two of them have their time alone. God, when Monty came out of the room shaking, I could feel the blood drain from my face. He shook his head and muttered, “I need some time and a drink. He’s on the phone waiting for you.”
Torn between the man I love and my father, I hurried into the study uncertain of how much energy my father would have. And I knew there were things I wanted to say.
“Tired, sweetheart. And if I ever mention wanting ginger ale after this, shoot me.” I’m curled up in the chair in his office. But at his weak attempt at a joke, I laugh softly.
