The Way We Loved Read online

  “I think Samson is in good hands,” Beau says, and I turn my back on them both so Cal won’t see the grin pulling across my teeth.

  “Yeah, me too.” I pass an apple slice to Samson from my pocket and kiss his forehead.

  “It’s your hand. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Calvin storms off, kicking up dust as he goes, and Beau takes a step closer, coughing into the crook of his arm to hide his laughter.

  “How much does he know?” I ask. It never occurred to me to have Beau fill Calvin in on everything that happened. Not that I wanted the whole world knowing the personal details of my life, anyway.

  “Nothing. Every time I tried to bring you up, he walked away.”

  “So he doesn’t know we’re working together? That I’m here to give PRR a new-age facelift?” I turn to him, my brow raised.

  “Nope.” His answer is swift and to the point.

  “What about Brad? Did you tell him?” I ask and hold my breath. I don’t know why, but the thought of Calvin knowing I was engaged burns deep in my chest. I’m not sure he would even care, but a part of me, some long-forgotten piece of my heart, aches recalling the promises we made to each other the year before I lost my mom. Promises of marriage and babies and the names we had chosen for our dogs and cats and horses.

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, shit.” I don’t know what else to say. The rush of relief should concern me, but I’m busy basking in its sweet release. One day, he will learn about it all. I know I can’t keep it from him forever. But the idea of starting our new friendship off fresh without more broken promises and hurt feelings between us is a welcomed one. It was years ago, back when we still held the ideals of children in love, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt. This makes things more interesting. At the very least, when he’s being an ass to me, I know why.

  “Yeah. This is going to be funny as hell. Well worth a punch to the jaw,” Beau says, injecting a little humor into the situation.

  I grab his face in my hand and twist it from side to side. In the low-lit barn, it's hard to see anything. “So he hit you? I thought I saw a bruise coming up but didn’t think he would do that.”

  He grins and I shake my head. “It was just a small misunderstanding.”

  I wait for him to explain more, but he doesn’t, so I let it go and move on. Exploring the barn, I find a lead line in a room I can only assume is the tack room. It’s filled floor to ceiling with equipment for everything from riding to shoeing. In a small refrigerator, I find various vials of medicine and syringes. It’s a beautiful setup, pristine and well organized. I feel like I need a library card equivalent to check something out.

  “How long should we wait before we tell him Samson is mine?” I ask, returning to the main part of the barn.

  The barn is wide and dirt packed with stalls on each side of the rectangular area. Above the stalls is a flat easel structure running the length of the entire barn. On the left, square hay bales are stacked to the roof. On the right, the roof slants down, creating an awning for the outdoor pasture that each stall leads out to. Calvin has placed all the mares and geldings on the right side of the barn, far away from the studs, Samson included, who is at the far end of the barn in a large stall. He’s separated from the rest of the horses by an additional empty room containing feed. If I had to guess, I would say his stall was meant for a mare and her foal. Beau crosses the aisle and leans against a stall door on the left side of the barn, well out of the reach of Samson’s hooves.

  “Let’s wait for now. He already made the biggest mistake in underestimating you.”

  I smile, the first real one in a while, and unlatch the door to Samson’s stall.

  “Let’s get some fresh air, boy.” I lead him out into the corral. My smile shifts into a full-fledged giggle when Calvin’s eyes widen. He takes a step out of Samson’s way. All these men, terrified of a misunderstood pony. He really is the biggest baby in the world, but as a rescue, he has a few quirks. One of which is his outright hatred of men.

  I assume his original owner had been a male, and for whatever reason, Samson had a true distrust of all men now. When he arrived at the shelter, he had everyone scared. A few comments had been tossed around about putting him down, but when I saw him, I knew that couldn’t happen. He’s easily the most beautiful horse I have ever seen. His coat, a glorious shade of black, covers every inch of his body. I’d never seen a solid black horse before. Most have white stockings or a white blaze down their face. He’s at least sixteen hands tall and pure muscle. I stepped to his stall much the same way I did today, and instead of pinning his ears back and charging forward, he nudged my hand with this nose, searching for the apple he smelled there.

  I passed him a slice then, too, and watched as every man shook his head, confused. We formed a bond those first few weeks, but I decided the first day that I would adopt him. He deserved someone to love him. It was months before I tracked down his previous owner and his papers. I was the least surprised to learn that he came from impeccable bloodlines. I could see it in the way he carried himself. Proud and noble. It also explained a little more about his temperament. No doubt, he’d been used to breed and nothing more. Abused to cooperate. Little did they know that they couldn’t break his spirit. They ignited a fire in him and a will to survive.

  In the end, they couldn’t handle him anymore and sold him off to another man who eventually turned him over to us.

  I release his halter and sit back to watch him prance through the enclosure. His tail is held high, his neck arched he dances across the pasture. It’s the only way I know to describe the graceful movement of his hooves.

  I’ve been working on his acceptance of men for several months now. The first time Beau traveled to Arizona to see him, we spent days going through drills with Samson, but after a couple of visits, I decided to send him down here so he could get the help he really needed. I’m so thankful for Beau’s help in getting him here, and maybe one day, Samson will be too. I just hope Calvin isn’t too angry when he learns of my deception, but I wasn’t sure he would be willing to work with Samson knowing he belongs to me.

  Calvin leans against the hitch post, watching Samson trot. His jeans hug every inch of his muscled thighs, stretching across his firm ass in a way that would make a nun’s mouth water. His arms are crossed at his chest, and the ball cap he’s wearing blocks his eyes from my view. I want to know what he’s thinking, but I don’t have the guts to ask. We’re walking a fine line here, and I’ve got a feeling things will get a lot harder before they get any easier.

  Taking a deep breath, I leave Samson to his prancing and make my way over to Calvin. Time to bite the bullet. For the hundredth time during the last twelve hours, I ask myself what the hell I’m doing back here, wondering if I’ve made the biggest mistake yet by returning. Jumping on the hitch post next to Cal, I shake off thoughts of failure and mistakes. Maybe I screwed up. Maybe I didn’t. I can’t worry about it right now while my palms are sweating and my heart palpitating. The shock of first seeing Cal has worn off a little, but the idea of working and talking to him without Beau around to whisk me off if I need him is terrifying. Luckily, I’ve spent the last few years overcoming my fears, and Calvin Hunt has nothing on stage fright.

  “So, where should we start?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Hmph,” he grunts, stepping away and leaving me to follow after him.

  Grouchy ass.

  I match his stride step for step once I catch up to him. “Where are we headed?” I try again to make small talk. This isn’t easy for me, either, coming back home, admitting defeat, and then having to practically grovel . . . okay, I’m not groveling. I’m a successful, attractive woman. I don’t need or want any man at the moment, especially not Calvin Hunt, but I would like to be on speaking terms with him.

  When he lifts his left foot, I lift mine. After a few minutes, he catches on and swaps up his gait to mix me up, but I’m a pro at this. He should remember that. He spins on the ball of his foot and ch
anges direction. I spin with him, and then when he stops, I stop. This time, I copy the movement of his hands too, swinging mine loosely at my sides. Before I know it, we’re back at the barn. Calvin sits on the swing hanging from a large pecan tree in front, and I huff out an exasperated sigh. “That’s cheating,” I say with a frown. It’s a fake frown. I push my bottom lip out as far as I can, wondering if he will follow through. Years ago, as children, we would play this game together, and it always ended the same way, with Cal quitting and me winning.

  “No, that’s called winning.” I smile when he says his line.

  “Cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater—” I call out, but he cuts me off.

  “Loser, loser, double loser.”

  It’s the first time I’ve heard his laugh in eleven years, and the deep, rumbling sound does things to me I’m not expecting. My answering smile isn’t forced, and it isn’t fake, put on for an audience. This feels good. Right.

  Almost as soon as I think the thought, Cal sobers. His laughter dies, and the smile that was moments ago gracing his face vanishes into thin air.

  “I need to make a call.” With that, he stands and stomps in the direction of Beau’s. The swing is still dancing in the wind from his hasty departure. I calm it and then I sit in the still warm spot he just vacated.

  5

  #whyme

  Calvin

  Today has been complete and total hell. Sharp lightning-quick pain shoots down my hand every time I close my fist. Not that I don’t deserve it for hitting Beau. Hell, I deserve a more than a few aches for that stupid act. No amount of physical pain in the world could compare to being forced to work beside Blake all day. Every time she speaks to me, I bounce between being overjoyed that she is home and wanting to stick a knife in my ear and cut out the sweet sound of her voice. It doesn’t help that she keeps reminding me of the when she was mine and I was hers and we were fucking happy.

  She’s literally making me lose my mind, and she’s only been here a day.

  I slide onto the bar stool and tap the bar. Little Janie McElroy pulls a Bud from the ice cooler and pops the top before placing it in front of me. It’s still a shock every time I see her working the bar. I can’t believe she’s old enough to drive, much less drink and work at a bar. Too many years have passed without my knowledge. Memories lost to time.

  “Give me two fingers of that Jack, too, while you’re here.” I point to the Jack on the back-wall display.

  “Bad day?” She sets the glass down. I pick it right back up, turning it down in one pass, and hand the glass back. She refills it and sets it back in front of me.

  “You could say that.”

  If you had asked me a week ago—hell, ten hours ago—if I’d be able to handle seeing Blake again, I would have shrugged it off and not given it another thought. I didn’t need to. Blake left and she wasn’t coming back. Or at least, I didn’t think she was. Then she turned up, sending my life into a tailspin of questions and emotions I didn’t want to deal with. Not only was she back, but it looked like she planned to stay for a while.

  I’m not sure I can handle it.

  Blakelynn isn’t the same girl who ran out of this town at the stroke of midnight on her eighteenth birthday. She’s grown, and I don’t mean physically. Although I guess that’s true too. I spent the whole day wanting to avoid her and not being able to take my eyes off her. Every once in a while, time would disappear and it would be like it used to be, and then I’d remember the pain and the longing and the loss. The problem was that I remembered it less and less the longer I spent with her.

  Her hair is longer and maybe a little lighter than I remember, but I imagine it’s just as soft as the last time I ran my fingers through it. Some things haven’t changed at all. Like her warm honey brown eyes, even if the innocence in them is long gone, and the single dimple that appeared when she tried to hide her smile. Speaking of, her smile shines just as brightly, lighting up the room, but those carefree smiles come less often and not at all for me. Not that I’m trying to make her smile, but damn, I would kill for one to be directed at me instead of at the animals.

  “Grab me a Bud too, Janie?” Beau calls out, sliding onto the bar stool next to me. I lift my beer and take a long draw.

  Janie passes him a beer and glances between us, her gaze hoovering on Beau a little longer than normal. She looks like she wants to say something but thinks better of it. Good idea, Janie.

  “Today was good,” Beau says, taking a pull from his bottle.

  I bark out a laugh. If he thinks today was good, I’d hate to see a bad day.

  “Well, it could have been worse,” he tries again.

  I turn to face him then. “Could it? How the hell could it have been worse? You hired my ex—hell, not just my ex but the girl who destroyed me—to revamp the entire ranch. I’m still not sure what the hell that means. Maybe I’m blind, but I thought we were doing pretty fucking well, but maybe that’s something else you’ve been keeping from me.”

  Janie walks to the other end of the bar to give us as much privacy as she can, but I see her eyes widen in realization when I mention my ex. It’s no secret that I was head over heels in love with Blakelynn. I had been young, but even then, I knew I wanted her for the rest of my life. She was it for me. I’ve tried dating a few women since she left, but I cut them loose almost as soon as I start. It’s not fair to them or me to drag out something when I know I’m not one hundred percent committed to it.

  How the fuck I’m supposed to commit to another woman when I still compare each one of them to the girl who got away, I’ll never know. It’s been easier to stay single and put all of my free time into building up the ranch, making a life I can be proud of even if I don’t have anyone to share it with. Now Beau is telling me that all that work still isn’t enough, and his bright idea is to bring the woman I can’t get out of my system back into town to make it better.

  I have no doubt that she will. Blake has always been great at shit like that. But what about when she leaves again? I don’t believe in fate or karma or everything working out for the best. I don’t have a fucking fairy godmother who can wave a magical wand and make all my dreams come true. Blake will leave again. This isn’t her home anymore. She outgrew us years ago.

  Who is going to pick up the pieces when she packs up and heads back to her big city? Who’s going to make sure everything doesn’t fall apart again?

  “We’re doing fine, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do better. Blake’s got some great ideas that I think you would like if you’d just hear her out.”

  I laugh at that too. Does he think I don’t want to listen to her? I’d love to do nothing but listen to the words—any words—fall from her perfect rosy lips. But it’s more than that. Her words come with a price. And change. I’ve worked my ass off helping to rebuild the ranch into something Beau and I could both be proud of after his dad ran it into the ground. It’s taken a lot of time and determination. And now, she’s going to waltz in and start calling the shots, changing everything up when we’ve just got it running smoothly again.

  “You should have run it by me.”

  “I did. I brought it up at least a dozen times, and you didn’t want to hear it. The ranch is earning a profit for the first time in years, and I know a lot of that is because of you. But the competition doesn’t care how long we spent climbing out of debt. They didn’t wait for us to get on our feet, and now they are working with state-of-the-art equipment and have marketing budgets the size of our yearly spending account. We need a fresh start. A makeover. And that just happens to be what Blake does.”

  “Do you really think she can pull it off?” I already know the answer, but I want to hear him say it.

  “Hell, yeah. I know she can.”

  “And I have to work with her?” I know the answer to this too. A part of me is grateful. If another man had been working with her day in and day out, I would be less focused than I am now. Every thought would be centered on her and what the two of them were
doing. I’m not normally a jealous man, but Blake brings out the very best and the absolute worst in me.

  “This part of it is yours. I handle the cattle and you handle the horses. Right?”

  “Fuck me,” I say, exasperated.

  “Just do me a favor and take it easy on her. It wasn’t easy for her to come back here.”

  I nod and toss back the Jack. That makes two of us. I didn’t think I would ever see her again—wasn’t prepared to. Now I have to work with her every day on some bullshit plan I didn’t even agree to.

  Revamp the ranch? What does that entail? I’m not stupid. I know the profit we’re earning is barely enough to keep the bank account positive. It’s been a hard ass road, trying to climb out of debt and run a business we could both be proud of. An honest business.

  I’m sure Blake is the best of the West and can pull bunnies out of hats and shit, but that doesn’t mean I want to be stuck working side by side with her every day. She didn’t even pretend to be bothered by it, which pisses me off even more. I waited and watched for any signs of discomfort today. Not sure how I would handle it, but the fact that she was able to treat me just like any other Billy Bob off the street fucking bothered me.

  Tomorrow, I plan to show her how it feels. Lifting my beer, I chug the rest of it down and tap the bar for another. I swear her scent still clings to me, burning the thought of her into my mind.

  Fuck. Me.

  6

  #tiredofhisshit

  Blake

  I’m not sure what I expected to happen over the weekend. Maybe a relaxing, calm couple of days before the fun began on Monday, but Calvin had other ideas. He showed up Saturday morning at the crack of dawn with a list of things he wanted to go over with me. To keep me safe. I would have laughed at the idea if I wasn’t so damn tired. I’m not sure what caused the change in him, but from Friday afternoon to Saturday morning, he had become someone else.