Maggie shifts slightly, hooves shuffling in the dirt. Her ears flick back and forth, both unsure and slightly uncomfortable. “Easy,” I whisper. My grip on the worn, leather reins are tight from nerves, and sweaty, despite the cold. She doesn’t bolt or throw me, though. She stills, as if my voice reminds her it’s me. The leather creaks beneath my weight as I get situated. Despite the years of disuse, my motions are muscle memory.
“Alright, girl, “ I mutter. “It’s been a while for me too. Take it easy on me, and I’ll take it easy on you. Deal?” The horse huffs as if in agreement, and I take that as my cue to move. I give her a gentle tap with my heels.
She doesn’t move. So, I give a light squeeze with my legs, and she responds with a slow, hesitant step forward in return. It’s awkward at first—the way my body moves with hers. But soon, that familiar rhythm returns. My back straightens, and my fingers loosen. I relax on the reins, giving Maggie room to move more freely. It isn’t graceful by any means, and I’m thankful nobody is watching, butweare doing it.
The sway of Maggie beneath me, the gentle roll of her gait, stirs something in my chest. I miss this. Miss the slight sting in my lower back, and the ache already building in my thighs. Even the distance from the ground feels nostalgic.
We are just going to walk today. I need to remember how to move on a horse, and Maggie needs to remember how to respond and how to walk with the weight of someone on her back. After nearly thirty minutes, we are moving more comfortably. Maggie is doing amazing. She isn’t reacting to sounds of those who come and go, and the cues I give her to move come easier. Like she too has muscle memory that was just waiting to break free. We do a few wide turns, but no trotting or galloping. No fancy tricks or fuss.
We are halfway through a lap around the pen when a low whistle sounds from the left. I whip my head toward the appreciative sound, and there he is. Wyatt leans against the fence, a beautiful, heart-melting smile on his handsome face. My heart leaped, nerves for an entirely different reason bubbling to the surface. I feel my own grin breakout on my face. He’shome.And he has Brinley on his hip, with Benji at his feet. He must’ve picked her up from Ana’s.I decide to test Maggie a little, see if she’ll listen to me if we pivot and head towards them. She does so with little to no hesitation. When we’re close enough, I holler, “Home already?”
“Glad I am. Little bear and I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this,” he responds, glancing down at Brinley.
“I could’ve picked her up,” I say softly.
“I missed her.” He shrugs, like the words aren’t a big deal. But my fucking heart melts. And from the looks of it, she missed him too. Her head is nuzzled into his neck until she notices me on the horse. She straightens in excitement, shouting, “Ma!”
“Hi, baby,” I greet, giving her a little wave. Maggie moves even closer, ignoring the slight pull I give on the reigns. Sheleans her head right over the fence. She doesn’t bother with Wyatt, or even the dog, her attention is on the little girl clapping at the sight of her. She nudges Brinley’s cheek with her nose. It’s not harsh or pushy, and it doesn’t scare Brinley in the slightest. Her tiny hand shoots up, and I watch in fascination as Maggie lets her run a hand over her nose. She stays there, too, like she’s content with my little girl’s affection.
“How’s it feel?” he asks, eyes locked on Maggie and Brinley. I grin, reaching up to rub her mane. “A little like me, again.”
Brinley is morerestless than usual. It doesn’t make sense—we spent the rest of the day with Wyatt. She should be tired out from the amount of play we’ve had today. Both Wyatt and I tried and failed to get Brinley to fall asleep in her bed. We agreed on letting her cuddle between the two of us. The TV above Wyatt's dresser plays her favorite show, and it doesn't take long for her tiny snores to begin.
When he returned from his trip, I wasn’t sure if he would want me to sleep in bed with him, even after our wedding night. But when he guided us to his room, all of my doubts flew out the window. Now, we lay on our sides, facing each other. Brinley is sprawled out between us and Benji is curled at my feet. I tug the blanket up to my chin. I watch him as he watches me. A day or two’s worth of scruff shadowed his sharp jaw, the kind that makes me want to trace it with my fingertips. His sapphire eyes drop to Brinley. “She looks so much like you.”
I follow his gaze, a small smile tugging at my lips. “She laughs and loves a lot like you, though.”
“Nah,” Wyatt shakes his head. “That’s all you, Mama.”
I really like when he calls me that. I hope he never stops.
“How do you feel about hosting Thanksgiving here?” Wyatt suddenly asks.
“How doyoufeel about it?” I shoot back.
“I’d say the family’s grown a bit. It’d be crowded at my mom’s.” I can't help but wonder if he's noticed that little change. How just months ago, he'd do anything to avoid such a large gathering. But now, he's more open to making time for not just his family, and Brinley and me too.
“Okay, we’ll do it here then.” I nod in confirmation. “As long as we can fry the turkey,” I quickly add. Wyatt smirks. “And as long as you promise to not cook anything.” I gasp, reach over to lightly smack him. But we’re both softly laughing. “Deal,” I concede with a sigh. “I’ll stick to the pies.”
We fall into comfortable silence. His hand gently strokes Brinley’s wild curls. This feels so casual, soreal, it makes me remember what I was so torn about earlier. “Where were you?” I blurt the question. Unease curdles in my stomach. But I need to know. It’ll eat me alive if I don’t.
“Willow-Ridge,” He responds after a moment of consideration. That’s wine country. It’s a couple hours out of Clover-Hills. I’ve been once or twice when I was younger, but not since. It’s a beautiful town. Wyatt studies my face, surprise and realization dawning his own. He sits up, choosing to settle his head on his fist. “You think I was seeing someone?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. There’s no point in lying to him. We fall into silence again, a lot less comfortable and a whole lot more awkward. At least for me.
Wyatt rubs one of his brows, “Do you remember the name Phil Calhoun?”
I nod, nose scrunching, “He’s one of your biggest buyers.”
His name has come up more than once. Last I heard, he was interested in Maggie. My heartbeat skips at the idea of Maggie leaving. I know it’s bound to happen. Once she’s ready, Wyattwould have to sell her. She was never meant to stay here forever, only temporarily. But it doesn’t mean I’m ready to see her go. “Then you know he’s had his eye on Maggie,” Wyatt continues. “So, I went to see the guy face-to-face. He’s taken on a ton of rescues that come through here. But I needed to explain to him that she’s already spoken for. I convinced him, it took a while, but I convinced him to buy out.”
“Someone else wants Maggie?” I whisper, the words leaving me on a shaky breath.
He smiles, like he knows something I don’t. Like he’s going to split my world in two, and he does when he says, “She’s yours now, Whitney.”
I sit up, careful not to jolt the bed too harshly and wake Brinley. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
