“I won’t talk up the joys,” was all I said. Eden knew all about my Austin woes, and now wasn’t the time for a pity party.
“Dad’s a little ticked they paid for four years of college for her to make soap for a living, but I think Mom’s just glad she’s stuck around. She likes that we’re all close by.”
Her comment struck a nerve, a little needle finding its way home with a sharp pinch. My pop couldn’t say he had the same benefit of me living close by. Only forty miles separated Austin from Magnolia Ridge, but the short distance didn’t mean much when I rarely traveled it.
Coming back and being reminded in a thousand tiny ways that my mom was gone just pushed again and again on that bruise, keeping the ache fresh. The city couldn’t magically bring her back, but it didn’t confront me with her loss quite so viscerally, either. Yet, whatever my motivation, it still meant I didn’t see my pop or brothers nearly enough.
“Eliza makes soap now?” I asked before the shimmer of guilt tossing around inside me could turn into something tangible and trample my night.
“She’s become the belle of the central Texas farmers’ market ball. I guess she’s doing pretty well with it. She hasn’t asked to borrow money lately, anyway.”
I couldn’t really imagine Eliza as a business owner. I wasn’t sure I could even imagine her as a pet owner at this point in her life. Twenty-five, all flirty impulsiveness—Eliza didn’t exactly scream sensibility.
“What?” Eden asked, curling her fingers open and shut, stretching out the ache I felt in my own fingers from all the intricate work. “It’s not that shocking. They’re really good soaps.”
“I believe you. I’m just surprised. Starting your own business isn’t easy.”
“You know Eliza. She jumps into everything she does with both feet, no looking back. She might regret it the next day, but you can’t fault her enthusiasm.”
I’d had a toe in my own business the last few years, but I hadn’t yet fully jumped in. In theory, I did freelance work on the side of the online job, but in practice, I hadn’t put enough effort into it to get more than a few bites. Even my plans to start a firm with Kim had been more like wading in the shallow end, holding someone’s hand. I kind of envied my younger cousin’s ability to throw herself into new things. I wasn’t sure I’d ever really jumped into the unknown with both feet like that.
Stupid bets with grumpy ranchers not included.
EIGHT
ty
“I’m sorry about this, Ty,”Seth Jenkins said as he secured Cisco in his trailer. “You know how it is.”
“I understand.”
I couldn’t rightly say anything else. I’d called my clients that morning to let them know their horses’ training had been put on an indefinite hold. Aaron could help with some of the lighter training tasks, but I wouldn’t make promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. All commitments were off the table for the time being. Bullet’s owner had apologized repeatedly for the kick and had already sent over a bottle of whiskey ‘to help with the pain.’ Everyone else had been some degree of sympathetic to my situation.
Everyone except Jenkins. He’d showed up within hours to collect his horse.
I had expected more disappointment than the rest of my clients had shown, but watching Jenkins claim his horse gnawed at me. Would my other clients be so accommodating if I still couldn’t manage their horses in a few weeks? How many more horses would be carted away before I healed up? Andwhenwould I be healed up? These questions without answers were like slivers under my skin.
Jenkins locked up the trailer and held a hand out to me. “No hard feelings. I just can’t wait around the next couple of months.”
I shook his offered hand. “I understand.”
As the truck and trailer rattled away down the lane, I mentally checked Cisco’s training routine off my list of to-dos. I should have had everything crossed off my list by now, but part of my brain hadn’t yet accepted I couldn’t do the work. Every hour of every day brought some mental reminder of my regular tasks—time to get Ransom started under saddle, time to do ground work with Opie, time to bring the horses in—but I couldn’t actuallydoany of it.
This morning, I’d tried a little experiment just to see if I was really in such bad shape as all that. I’d called my horse, Bonanza, to me from the pasture. He had come and waited while I opened the gate. I’d held the lead rope out, thinking maybe I just needed to get used to working around the pain; maybe I could find some way to avoid tugging at my chest. But just tossing the halter over the horse’s neck had nearly knocked me to the ground.
That settled it. As much as I hated it, I wasn’t ready.
Waiting around for my ribs to heal wouldn’t be easy on me, but it might be hell on my business. This little setback probably wouldn’t put me under financially—my insurance would cover some of the lost income, and I wasn’t likely to burn through what money I had socked away in the short-term. But the possible long-term effects had my gut clenching these last two days. Horse training like I did relied on a strong reputation, and Jenkins would be sure to let folks know he’d taken up a new trainer to start his colt. I might have to make inroads with ranchers all over again.
Just my luck, the dust had barely settled behind Cisco’s trailer before June pulled down the lane. I’d figured her insistence on helping me around the ranch would have died out after she went home covered in sweat and horse piss, with her hands ripped to shreds, but here she came again, eager to prove me wrong two days in a row.
She hopped out of the car and walked right over to me, all breezy and lovely.
“That horse trailer that just pulled away, did someone drop off another horse for you to train?”
I almost laughed at her optimism. “Not dropping off, taking away. He didn’t want to wait for me to heal up.”
Her expression crumpled. “Oh, Ty, I’m sorry.”
