All the King's Horses (28 page)

“Oh, nonsense.” I could almost see her waving the thought away like it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “Whoever this guy is, you can tell him I said it’s about damned time he came waltzing into your life.”

I laughed again but without a lot of feeling. “I still don’t know what I’m doing with him, though. I told him I needed to rein it back for now, but…”

“But he’s walking, talking temptation, isn’t he?”

“
Ooh
, yeah.”

“So what do you have to lose?”

“You mean, besides getting involved with someone when I’m planning on leaving eventually?”

“Oh. Yeah, I can see your point.” She paused. “But maybe he’d be okay with things just being short-term. Kind of, something for fun since you both know it’s not going to last.”

“Hmm.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Then I wouldn’t be leading him on.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m still not sure. But I’ll think on it.”

“It’s worth considering,” she said. “And anyway, I’m glad to hear—”

A male voice in the background cut her off. I was about to tell her to say hello to her husband but then I heard her tell him, “Just leave her alone. She’s got a lot to deal with right now, and she doesn’t need your shit.”

“Let me talk to her.” My brother’s voice made me cringe. “Come on.”

Mariah sighed. To me, she said, “Hey, Curt’s here. Do you—”

“Sure. Put him on.”

A second later, Curt snarled, “Where the fuck are you, Amy?”

“Hello to you too,” I said through my teeth.

“Cut the crap. Where are you?”

“I’m getting my head together, if that’s—”

“What the hell?” he asked. “You have a business to run, Amy. This is—”

“And it sounds like Mariah has it under control.”

“It’s still
your
responsibility,” he snapped. Then his tone softened but not by much. “Look, I understand you’re grieving. None of us have had an easy time with what happened to Sam. But really? Taking off and just leaving the whole world behind? Do you have any idea what this is doing to Mom and Dad?”

I winced.

He wasn’t finished, though. “You’ve had enough time. You’ve—”

“And how is that your decision, Curt?” I asked through my teeth. “I’m sorry for leaving everyone in a lurch, but I’ve—”

“You’re being selfish.”

“You know what? After what I’ve put up with for the last eleven years, I think I can be forgiven for being selfish for a little while. I need this, Curt.”

“What you put up with?” He snorted. “Please, Amy. Without Sam, where the hell would you be? You’d—”

I hung up before I said something that would irreparably damage my already shaky relationship with my brother. I loved him, I really did, but there were times when the man could be nothing short of insufferable. Everything was business and image to him, and quite frankly, I’d had about enough of that for one lifetime.

He was right about one thing, though: this had to be killing my parents. In fact, now that I realized just how long it had been since I’d spoken to anyone but Mariah, I felt even guiltier. If I knew them, they must’ve been beside themselves worrying.

I replaced the ice pack on my elbow with a fresh one and then picked up my phone and scrolled to my parents’ phone number. For the longest time, I just stared at it. I had no doubt Mom was going crazy right now, and I owed it to her to let her hear my voice and hear it from me, not just my sister, that I was all right.

Holding my breath, I hit Send.

It rang once, and then, “Amy? Oh goodness, I’ve been so worried. Where are you, baby?”

“Hey, Mom,” I said. “I’m…just taking some time away.”

“Some time? Honey, it’s been…
weeks!
”

“I know. And, I’m sorry. I really am. I know this has been hard on everyone—”

“I’m not concerned about that,” she said. “I’ve just been worried sick about you. Your husband dies suddenly, and the next thing I know, you’re gone before he’s even buried.”

I winced. Yeah, that sounded pretty fucked up in hindsight, even if it had made perfect—almost perfect—sense in the moment.

And before I realized I was saying it, I blurted out, “Mom, what did you think of my marriage to Sam?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did we seem happy to you?”

“Sure you did,” she said. “You always looked like you were getting along okay. Marriages always have their ups and downs, but I never thought there was anything wrong.” She paused. “
Were
you happy with him?”

I held the phone and icepack tighter just to keep my hands from shaking. “I was miserable, Mom.”

“You were?” Surprise laced the edges of her voice. “Oh, honey, I had no idea. What was going on?”

“I was just really, really unhappy,” I said. “And not just with Sam. I was…my whole life. I was so depressed and so miserable, and when he died, I felt so guilty and—”

“Guilty?” she whispered. “Amy, sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault.”

“No, I know. But I blamed myself, and everything at home reminded me of him. And of what my life had become.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “What your life had become? You were living out your dream.”

“On paper, yeah.” I exhaled. “Just trust me on this. It wasn’t as great as it looked. And I guess I just needed to leave for a little while to get my head together. After my marriage, Sam’s death, everything.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Is it…is it helping?”

“A little.” My gaze drifted to the icepack on my arm. “I’ve got some things going on here that are keeping me busy. That’s helped.”

“Things keeping you busy?” she asked. “Here? Where is here?”

“It’s hard to explain,” I said. “And I’m sorry I left. I promise, I won’t be gone forever, but I just need some more time. Okay?”

“Just promise me you’ll call now and then,” she said. “I worry about you when I don’t hear from you, especially with everything you’re dealing with.”

“I will, I promise.”

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

After I’d hung up, I kept the ice against my elbow and stared at my dark, silent phone.

I’d called home. I’d checked in with my parents and eased some—certainly not all—of their worries. They knew I was alive, they knew I’d be back, even if none of us knew when.

And I didn’t feel even a little bit better.

The longer I stayed here, the guiltier I felt about those I’d left behind and the hell I was putting them through. But every time I thought about leaving, about going back to the place I knew damn well I belonged, it hurt a little more. Which meant, if I had any sense at all, I needed to pack up my things and leave. Soon. Tomorrow.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Not yet.

Chapter Twenty

Dustin

Amy was just finishing up turnout when I came back from town, and we crossed paths as she headed into the barn with a grain bag on her shoulder. She smiled at me from under her baseball cap, probably oblivious to the fact that she sent my pulse out of control every time she did that.

I gestured at the grain bag. “Need help with anything?”

“Nope,” she said. “I’ve got it.” She set it beside the feed-room door. “Man, it is a gorgeous day, isn’t it? And not too hot for once.” She paused. “Still hot though. Jesus.”

“Not used to the heat, yet?”

Amy groaned. “Ugh, do people ever get used to it?”

I took off my hat and wiped my brow with the back of my hand. “Eventually, yes.”

“Great.”

“Well, as long as it’s a nice day”—
Dustin, don’t
—“I was thinking it’s a perfect day for a trail ride.”
Don’t do it. Don’t fucking do it.
“You want to go?”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Seriously?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Uh, well, I still have a few things to do around the farm.”

I shrugged. “An hour or two won’t make or break anything. And I’ll help you bring horses in when we get back.”

She mulled the idea over for a moment, then said, “I also don’t have a horse.”

I smiled. “I think we can find one for you.”

Amy returned the smile. “Hell, why not? I haven’t been out on the trails in way too long.”

Since I planned on riding Ransom, I had Amy get on Mesa. Part quarter horse, part God knew what, and the happiest, mellowest old thing I’d ever had. Not that Amy needed a bombproof babysitter, but it was either Mesa or one of the mares, and since every mare I had at the moment either had a foal at her side or was in season—and good
God
, but those girls got bitchy around Ransom if he wasn’t doing what they expected a stallion to do—I decided a happy old gelding was the way to go.

We saddled the boys and then headed out to the trails. One of the advantages to living out here in the middle of the godforsaken nowhere was the abundance of undeveloped wilderness. Wide-open land, disturbed only by narrow, dirt trails and the occasional road. Narrow creeks meandered across the plains, trickling toward the Snake River. They were usually dry this time of year, but we’d had an unusual—and welcome—amount of rain this summer, so there was plenty of water running down them right now.

As we rode side by side down one of the wider trails, Amy nodded toward Ransom. “So do you compete with him?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Not as much as I used to.”

“Is he your team-penning horse?”

“No, I’ve never done penning with him,” I said. “Mostly reining. He’s got a few western pleasure titles too.”

“I can see that,” she said. “He must be lovely in the show ring.”

“He is.” I smoothed a few stray strands of Ransom’s mane. “But he
hates
it.”

“Does he?”

“Oh God, yes. The first season, when he was a three-year-old, he was just kind of confused by the whole thing. His four-year-old season and every one after it, though? Jesus Christ.” I shifted a little to straighten my saddle. “That’s why I only take him to a few shows a year. Just enough to keep his name out there and campaign him without making him miserable.”

“Does it scare him or something?”

“No, I think it just bores him.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s one of those horses that constantly needs to be stimulated.” I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. “That’s why his stall and pasture are pretty much coated in creosote. He gets bored and chews on anything in sight.” I patted his neck and said with mock exasperation, “If it’s not marinated in creosote, he’ll eat right through it.”

Amy laughed as she adjusted the ponytail she’d laced through her dusty baseball cap. “I had one like that.”

“Did you?”

She nodded. “This mare I showed when I was a teenager. Take her out on a jump course? She was the happiest thing you’ve ever seen. Put her in the arena for a flat class? Pinned ears, swishing tail. The whole time.”

I laughed. “Yeah, that sounds familiar. Except Ransom doesn’t pin his ears or swish his tail much, fortunately. Pleasure judges frown on that.”

“Tell me about it.” She smirked. “You know what else they frown on?”

“Hmm?”

“When the pissy, tail-swishing mare snaps at them in the lineup.”

“You’re kidding!”

She shook her head. “Nope. But, I mean, it was one of those shows that was just ridiculously hot, and I’d signed her up for too many classes. She was just
done
.” Amy rolled her eyes and groaned. “I have never been so embarrassed, let me tell you.”

“I can imagine,” I said, laughing. “I’m guessing you didn’t do so well in that class?”

“
Ooh
, no. I don’t think we even placed, and it wasn’t that big a class.”

“Ouch.”

“Served me right,” she said with a shrug. “I knew she didn’t like classes like that.”

“Some of them don’t,” I said. “So do you miss it? Competing?”

“I do.” Amy looked down, watching her thumb run along the edge of her reins. “I mean, I sort of do. I…” She sighed and shook her head. “I miss what competing used to be.”

“Which was?”

“Fun,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to win. My mom and sister tease me that I’ve been cutthroat since I was doing walk-trot classes when I was little.”

I chuckled. “You too, huh?”

Amy grinned, meeting my eyes and making me shiver. “Remind me not to race you.”

“Duly noted.”

She laughed. “Anyway, I’ve always been terribly competitive, but somewhere along the line, I just stopped caring. I still gave it my all, I still wanted to win, but it just…”

“Didn’t mean anything anymore?”

“Yeah. Exactly. I was just doing it because it was what I’d always done.” Amy sighed, resting her wrist on the saddle horn and looking out at the trail in front of us. “I used to go nuts during the off-season. As soon as the last competition ended in September or October, I was counting down until the very first one in March.” She laughed softly. “I was probably insufferable during those months.”