Somethin' in her had broke wide open tonight.
My mama died right there.
Christ.
I squeezed her hand gently. She glanced at me but didn't pull away.
"Tell me about her?" I asked.
The question felt fragile. Like if I pushed too hard, she'd shutter herself right back up.
For a second, I thought she might.
Her jaw flexed. Her gaze dropped to the dirt path in front of us. I braced myself for a deflection. A joke. A change of subject.
Instead, she nodded once.
"She was a horse trainer," she said quietly. "Best around. Could break the most stubborn, wild horses and turn 'em into any cowboy's most prized possession. She had a way with 'em."
Pride laced her voice. Grief, too. But the pride was stronger.
"So do you," I said before I could stop myself.
I hadn't missed how skittish she'd been when she first got to Wild Acre. For someone who'd spent years on the rodeo circuit, she'd flinched every time a horse so much as tossed its head. Wouldn't get too close. Kept her distance like they might bite.
But not anymore.
Lately, she'd been easin' up to 'em. Especially my dad's horse, Maribel. Palm flat to their necks. Murmurin' low. Lettin' 'em breathe her in.
I'd caught myself more than once just standin' there watchin'. She'd usually spot me and tell me to quit starin' like a damn creep.
Didn't matter.
Seein' her settle around them—around here—turned me into a puddle of Brody goo you could scoop up with a shovel right along with the horse shit.
I was a goddamn sap.
Calvin huffed somethin' that wasn't quite a laugh. "I haven't been on a horse in twenty-two years."
Twenty-two years.
Damn.
We walked a few more paces before she added, almost like it cost her somethin' to say it out loud?—
"My granddad used to own this ranch."
An audible whoosh filled the space between us when my head snapped toward her so quick I was likely to need a visit to the chiropractor.
I stared at her profile.
Silent.
Waitin'.
Hopin' this mystery of a woman said more.
I'd been young when Rhett's old man bought this place—eleven or twelve, maybe—but I remembered John Calvin, remembered the gruff old cowboy with sharp eyes who didn't waste words.
