Lily followed me out the front door, where the ranch drive was well-lit by pole lights. The night was cool, even for Montana, the kind of cool that tasted like early snow. The moon hung low and swollen above the tree line, and the world outside the house was a peaceful reprieve from the chaos inside.
We walked in silence at first, boots crunching over the gravel, the porch light throwing long shadows behind us. The stables were maybe three hundred yards from the house, but the air out here was different—sharper, and full of the smell of cut grass and horses and hay.
The new building rose up out of the dark, bigger than I realized, as it went back three times as far as it was wide. Its red siding was already weathered by brutal winters. The paint was peeling in places, but the roof was fresh and the doors were hung perfectly square—a far cry from the lopsided barn I grew up with. I wondered if Gray had hired someone to build it, or if he and Walker and Mason had done it themselves, one late night after another, the way we used to fix everything else.
I held the door open for Lily. Inside, the overhead lights came on with a heavy thunk, bathing the aisle in yellow. It was empty except for the horses in their stalls, most of them already drowsing, a few with heads poking out to see who’d come to visit. Their eyes reflected the light in greenish sparks.
Lily ran her hand along the wall, fingers trailing the new wood. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Cost a fortune, I bet, but worth it,” I said.
“Walker runs his therapy stuff out of here now. Equestrian programs for local kids, people recovering from injury or mental health challenges. I think he likes horses better than people sometimes.” Lily said with a laugh.
She stopped at the first stall and reached over to pet the nose of a brown mare, who snorted and immediately started rooting for snacks.
“I always wanted to learn to ride,” Lily said, not looking at me. “We never had money for riding lessons when I was growing up. And my ex was afraid of horses, so I was never allowed . . .” Her voice trailed off, as if she wanted to take that last part back.
“Still time,” I said, and I meant it. “I could teach you.”
She smiled at that, really smiled, and for a second it was easy to forget the world beyond this aisle.
“Now that Gray and me are talkin’ again, maybe he’ll sell me some.”
“Really?”
“Hell, Chickadee needs some life in her again. Might as well start with some horses in the stable.”
She considered that and nodded with a smile.
We walked the length of the stable, pausing at each stall to greet the horses. Their names were written on little plaques next to each stall door. We laughed at some of the names, like Nugget and Pookie.
We reached the last stall, where a gray mare was still up, ears pricked forward.
“This one is Athena,” I said, reading the name aloud.
Lily reached for the mare, palm out, and Athena nuzzled her wrist, leaving a smear of hay-scented drool behind. Lily laughed, and the sound bounced off the rafters.
“She likes you,” I said.
“Doesn’t everyone?” she said, but the sarcasm was soft. “She’s beautiful.”
We stood there for a minute, both of us quiet. I wanted to say something, to fill the space, but the words jammed up in my throat. Maybe it was the way her hair caught the light, or the gentle patience in her face, or the smell of the horses and hay, but I felt more exposed in that moment than I had in years.
Finally, Lily broke the silence. “So you miss it?”
“What?” I said, though I knew exactly what she meant.
“Ranching. Working with animals, being outside all day.”
I rested my forearms on the stall door. “Every damn day.”
She leaned next to me, shoulder to shoulder, both of us looking out over Athena’s ears. “So why did you leave?” Her voice was small, like she expected me to push back.
I shrugged, but I could feel her watching me. “My dad was a bastard,” I said, voice flat. “That’s the short story. I know you’ve heard rumors. I know I owe you the long story, but it’s . . . complicated.” That sounded like a cop out to my own eats, but it was true. How the hell could I explain why I left when I didn’t even know what actually happened that night?
“I was scared. My dad told me to run. So I ran. Took a bus to San Fransisco, and fell back on my IT skills. Got a job at a start-up and worked my way up.”
She nodded, like this made sense. Nothing about any of my past made much sense.
