But she didn't belong to him. Which he was okay with. A woman like that, with all of that to offer? She deserved someone a lot better than him. Someone who could handle that wild heart and sweet spirit without breaking it.
Which is why he was so pissed off that she was engaged to that idiot bull rider. The guy's job description was pretty telling on how he was going to handle Ryan's restlessness in the future. How he was already handling her, like she was something to be conquered.
And Jesse's hands were tied.
Fuck him.
“How's he looking this morning,” Caleb Zacherson interrupted Jesse's thoughts as he joined him at the fence.
“Looking good, sir,” Jesse responded, waiting for the man to realize who was on the back of Red.
“That doesn't look like one of our regulars,” Caleb remarked.
“Nope.” Jesse looked down at his stopwatch and signaled to Ryan to return to the start for the first sprint, then he turned his eyes to his boss. “I put Ryan up there today.”
Caleb sucked air in through his teeth as his eyes flashed his displeasure. “You mean to tell me that you put that clumsy intern on the back of a million dollar horse.”
Jesse narrowed his eyes. “I would venture a guess that the girl on the horse is worth more than that.”
Caleb lifted his chin, holding Jesse's stare. Clearly he wasn't happy with his trainer's inability to be intimidated by an expensive suit. “You know who you work for, don't you Mister Hart?”
Jesse nodded once. “Work for. I don't worship.” He faced the track again and held up the flag getting ready to drop it. Ryan's eyes were trained on him and even from this distance, he could sense her anxiety at seeing her father at his side. Red was feeling it too, because he started to step sideways, his mouth working the bit in his mouth.
Jesse cursed under his breath and put the flag back down. He ducked under the fence and jogged out to them.
“Whoa,” he murmured to Red, letting the stallion sniff his palm, as his other hand came out to slide up Ryan's leg. She looked at it, then up to him.
“You're as turned up as a rain cloud, beautiful. Just relax. Red will do all the work.”
She swallowed and nodded, looking out across the open field in front of them. He squeezed her leg, getting her attention again.
“You got this.”
His words hit their mark because she visibly relaxed.
Jesse grinned and jogged back to his place outside the fence. He lifted the flag again. He waved it and the two took off, a pounding blur of muscle and sunshine.
It was moments like this that reminded Jesse why he did the job he did, working for men like Caleb Zacherson.
So that he could see beauty like this.
Chapter 3
Ryan,
First of all, please dispose of all forced niceties when you write to me. I wouldn't waste my time replying to you if I wasn't interested in what you have to say.
Second, of course the characters talk to you, cheeky bastards. That's what they do. They get in your head and start to meddle until it's all you think about. Next thing you know, you've smoked a pack and a half of reds and downed a bottle of bourbon, and you had started out the day having never been a smoker and the bourbon was entirely too expensive to have ingested it all in one sitting, which has led to a very costly trip to the toilet.
But it's also left you with the beginnings of the roughest draft ever written. A draft that will need to be re-written a dozen times or more before you're even slightly satisfied with it's content. And maybe not even then. But eventually you'll get passed your insecurities and you'll let someone read it. I'm lying of course. You never get passed your insecurities. You'll be drunk and tired and end up emailing it to a friend in the middle of the night.
But now you've hit the next step and you know there's no going back.
So what does it take to get you to write that first draft? Should I send you an expensive bottle of bourbon?
Please advise.
T. Thomas
It had been a week and Ryan couldn't stop grinning at Triston's unexpected reply. She wasted no time in typing out a quick response.
T-
Bourbon unnecessary at this juncture, but I'll keep your offer in mind.
I suppose I'm just not as brave as some. My mom was the brave one. And now that she's gone, I'm sort of faking it.
How about loads of chocolate? Do you suppose (in your expert opinion), that might be a decent writing fuel? I have a hankering for a cake.
R. Zach
She hit send as she shook her head. She hadn't been expecting him to reply, especially once it had reached the one week mark. It just seemed ridiculous to think otherwise. Not only had he responded, he'd done so with humor and familiarity.
Ryan loved it.
She picked up her coffee cup and held it to her lips as she read his words again, jumping slightly when her inbox indicated a new message. Setting her cup down, she clicked on the highlighted message. He'd replied again already?
R. Zach-attack
Cake is an excellent choice as long as you have plenty of coffee to wash it down with.
I'm sorry about your mum.
I'm an orphan as well.
I wonder if that's why I was drawn to your original message. Kindred spirits and all.
Anyhow, based on these new revelations, I need to alter my advice. It is imperative that you read Call of the Wild. I don't care if you read it as a child. Read it now. Right now. Not tomorrow. Today.
I'm attaching a link to a website where you can write fictional stories anonymously and receive feedback. Build yourself some confidence and get used to being critiqued. Your first assignment is to write a short story about your mum.
Trust me.
Send me the link when you've finished.
T. Thomas
Ryan swallowed hard, feeling her heart beat heavy in her chest. Then she closed the laptop without responding.
She needed to think.
And she needed to get ready for work.
She didn't have time for things like that right now. Or today. Or this week.
***
Jesse heard muttering as he entered the far end of the stables. He automatically grinned, recognizing the mutterer instantly.
He slowed his pace and eased his arms over the stall wall with the single, sweaty occupant as she spread fresh shavings down. She'd been avoiding him for a couple of days. He suspected she was upset about him having her ride Red in front of her father. But until she said so, he could only guess.
“There,” she said, pushing her damp bangs off to the side with the back of her hand. “That looks nice.”
“Well done,” he agreed.
Ryan sucked in a loud breath and spun to face him. He grinned at her.
“You scared me,” she stated the obvious, a hand covering her heart.
“Your reaction was too hilarious for me to even be sorry,” Jesse replied.
Her glare was priceless and he found himself laughing outright.
“I wonder how hard you would've laughed if you'd have accidentally sent me into cardiac arrest,” she said dryly, setting aside the pitchfork.
“I'm sure I could find a way to restart it.” He waited for her to cast him a look of disapproval at his obvious flirtation, but she just focused on returning the water and feed to their places. Not the first time that had happened. He cleared his throat. “You know, we have people who do this as their job.”
“I know,” she said. “It's been a quiet day and this one was left so I told Kyle I'd do it.”
“You volunteered?” he asked, eyebrows lifted.
She shrugged and he noticed the tired lines around her eyes and her slight frown. Not answering him, she grabbed the pitchfork and made her way towards the outdoor sink to clean it. He followed.
He shouldn't ask. It was none of his business. She wasn't his and she wasn't ever going to be. But Jesse had an instinct that he couldn't ignore.
Interestingly enough, it didn't often work with people. People confused him. They were rigid and scheduled and they played games. Animals didn't have those things. They were fluid and honest.
So it was disconcerting to feel that knot in his gut—the one that told him very clearly that he needed to proceed with care—when he looked at Ryan.
“Have you had lunch yet?” he asked, taking the pitchfork away from as she was headed to the storage room.
“Uh, no.” She rubbed her hands together and then on her jeans, confused.
He pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to her. “I have a cooler in the back and I hate eating alone. I'll meet you there.”
He didn't wait for the argument that he knew she would give. He continued into the stable and replaced the fork, hoping she'd just do as he told her.
Jesse rounded the corner of the barn and saw her fidgeting nervously next to his passenger side door. He held up his hand as he approached. “Keys.”
Her head jerked a little, she threw the keys and he caught them.
“In the truck, girl.” He yanked open his door and folded inside. She hesitated for a half a second before she joined him. They were halfway down the drive before she spoke.
“Where are we going?”
“To have lunch,” he said, turning the truck down a road that wasn't a road at all. It was some flattened grass that led back to a watering hole. He didn't share his lunch break with anyone. Jesse preferred eating alone. But Ryan wasn't anyone. She was different. And she needed this.
She lurched forward and grabbed his book off of his dashboard. He glanced at her sideways as he carefully maneuvered the truck into the shade.
“Are you reading this right now?” she asked, leafing through the paperback.
“Usually.”
She aimed her frown at him as he slid the truck into park and killed the ignition. “What does that mean?”
“That means that I usually read it. C'mon.” He popped open the door and rounded the truck, jerking on the tailgate release and letting it down. He jumped up into the flat of the bed and waited for her to join him. She paused at the tailgate and he reached his hand out to her. She stared at it.
“Just a hand, darlin',” he said gently.
Her frown deepened and she clenched her jaw. She turned around and hopped up onto the tailgate, butt-first. Jesse hid his smile before she had turned the top half of her body to face him again. He positioned the cooler in between them and took a seat on the tailgate.
“Why do you have so many sandwiches?” she asked as he handed her a turkey club.
He lifted only his eyes to her. “I always have this many sandwiches.”
“Oh.”
Her eyes flared and he found himself smiling as he dug out a beer. The cap flew into the truck bed as he opened it on the side of the cooler and handed it to her.
She took it, but her eyes said she thought he was crazy. He could live with that.
They sat and ate in silence. The light breeze blowing her hair into her eyes. She didn't correct it. A bird flew down and landed on the ground at her feet. She watched it, it watched her.
“Friend of yours?” Jesse asked.
“Why are you reading Call of the Wild?” she asked, ignoring his question.
He shrugged. “I read it a lot. Why are you asking?”
She huffed. “It was recommended to me today. I was told I have to read it right now.”
He eyed her slouched over posture. “Have you ever read it?”
“Once. In sixth grade.”
“Who told you that you have to read it?” he asked curiously.
“This writer I've been emailing.” She shook her head. “I don't really have time for that, though.”
Jesse nodded and went back to watching the breeze blow ripples on the water. “You should read it.” He felt her turn his direction, he finished the last bite of his sandwich.
The silence returned as she finished her lunch and beer. They packed everything back up and drove back to the stables without another word.
She went back to doing her normal stuff assisting Doc and Jesse went out to the track to watch the yearlings.
He didn't see her again until the end of the day when she was shuffling tiredly to her little Toyota. He jogged to catch her.
“Ryan,” he called, getting her attention. She turned to him slowly, looking even more exhausted than she had earlier.
“Why are you stalking me, Jesse Hart?” she asked.
He grinned and noticed the lines around her eyes ease just slightly. It gave him pause. He wanted that. He wanted to be the one to bring her peace.
He beat back the swell of personal discontent that came along with that desire. Pushing into her personal space, he corralled her against her car and sought eye contact.
“I don't know what's going on with you, but I'm here if you need someone to talk to.” He pulled the paperback out of his back pocket and pressed it into her hand. “Read it. Don't return it.”
Her mouth fell open and he glanced at her overly pouty lips. “Why?” she whispered.
“Because then we'll have something safe to talk about at lunch.”
***
Ryan watched Jesse Hart walk away with swagger that he had no idea he possessed. She tightened her grip on the worn paperback, determined to read it even though she had no idea why it was so important.
Her phone rang in her back pocket and she shook herself out of her tired stupor. She pulled it out and frowned at the call screen.
Kelsey. Her lawyer.
Fantastic.
She slid the answer icon over, balanced it on her shoulder, and yanked her car door open. “Hello?” She tossed the book into the passenger seat and sat down.
“Hello, Ryan, it's Kelsey.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you in a place you can talk?”
Ryan sighed and closed the door. She hated that question.
“Yeah,” she said softly, starting her car.
“Your grandmother has decided to contest your mother's will.”
Ryan's eyes narrowed. “Can they do that?”
“Technically, yes. They have until three months after being notified of the will's contents to bring action. Three months is—”
“Tomorrow,” Ryan finished.
“Have they contacted you at all?”
“Sometimes. They usually ask about work and if I'm going to sell the house. I don't tell them much.” She took a deep breath. “Can they change anything, Kelsey?”
“No.” He sounded adamant. “Your mother knew exactly what she was doing and this has been prepared for.”
“She knew they would contest it?”
Kelsey hesitated. He was a good man, Kelsey. “She knew.”
“Because they're assholes.”
Kelsey chuckled. “They are who they are. I don't want you to worry. You'll have to sign some papers, possibly have a conversation with a judge. But your circumstances won't change.”
“Easy for you to say,” she replied. “They're not your family.”
“Ryan,” he softened his tone further.
People were always doing that. Talking to her like she was about to break. But she couldn't break. Not when she was made of nothing. Nothing wasn't breakable. It wasn't anything at all.
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