“I’ll help.” Monty tucked away the scissors and tail wrap before catching up with Graham as he headed toward the rear of the barn.
When they were far enough from Marigold, who’d perched on Tex’s stool to wait, Graham lowered his voice. “Sorry about the name thing. I can tell it threw you.”
“A little.”
“I tried to convince him it’ll be confusing, but he said it wouldn’t be since you’re Mister Monty and his horse will be just Monty.”
“And it’s always possible he’ll change his mind.”
“Wish I could agree with that. But he’s a stubborn little cuss. Once he grabs onto something, he holds on for dear life.”
“You mean like renaming himself Tex?”
“Exactly.” Graham met his gaze. “Reminds me of you at that age, hell-bent on being called Monty.”
“But I didn’t change the whole thing. I only shortened the one I had.”
“Your dad kept using Montgomery, though.”
“Talk about stubborn. At first I was mad, but then I let it go.”
“He didn’t tell you why he was doing that?”
“No. Thought about asking. Never did.” Something in Graham’s expression made his gut clench. “Do I want to know?”
“Um….”
“Am I named after someone special, like Tex, and nobody told me?”
“Nothing like that.” He frowned. “Doggone it. Shouldn’t have brought it up. I figured he’d told you.”
“Well, now you’ve gotta tell me. You can’t just leave me hanging.”
“Guess not.” He sucked in a breath. “Emily loved the name, started using it the minute the doc said she’d have a boy. She predicted you’d end up with a nickname, but she’d still call you Montgomery. Your dad used it to honor her memory.”
Because she’d died giving birth to him. Graham’s words bounced around in his chest, eventually gathering into a tight ball of anger. He’d learned how and when she’d died when he was seven, old enough to ask for details.
He’d gone to Raquel, the only mother he’d ever known, curious about the pretty blonde woman in the picture he’d been given many years before. He’d instinctively trusted her with his questions. In answering them, she’d soothed his distress and relieved his natural but misplaced guilt.
But she hadn’t told him this, likely because she’d rightly decided it was up to his dad. Had she urged her husband to explain himself to his son? Probably. “He should—” He paused to take a breath. “He should’ve told me.”
“Probably couldn’t figure out how. Especially after time went by.”
Graham’s gentle tone helped, but damn it! All those years…. “I suppose.” Staring at his fists, he slowly unclenched them.
“Listen, I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s okay.” Monty squeezed Graham’s shoulder. “I’m glad you told me.” Not ready to meet the guy’s sympathetic gaze, he glanced down the aisle. “Zinnia and Tex are coming out of the tack room. We’d better get a move on.”
“Yessir.” Graham grabbed the top hay bale.
“Maybe I should start using it.”
“Don’t know if I could make the switch.” He swung the bale to his shoulder. “Want me to try?”
He sighed and shook his head. “It’s been too long.” He grabbed a hay bale. “I sure hope Zinnia explains things to Tex before it’s too late.” And why was he worrying about something that was none of his damn business?
“Your story would probably help make that point.” Graham turned and headed down the aisle.
