Colt chuckles as he leans in and plants a gentle kiss atop Billie’s golden curls and says, “I’m always lost without you, Bumble.” She groans at the nickname, scowling at my brother.
He tousles her hair, smirking at her as she walks away to continue packing. My brother and I stand there watching her meticulously sort through her clothes, stopping to hold individual pieces up to her chest and inspect them in the full-length mirror on her wardrobe door. She may only be eight years old, but she’s growing up so fast. I reckon Colt and I are both secretly dreading the day she becomes a teenager; we’re not remotely prepared to raise a woman. I wish, sometimes, that we had family around to guide her – guide us. I don’t know what I’d have done without Colt all these years. He may be my younger brother, but he’s always been wise beyond his years.
Raising a hand to rest it on his shoulder, I extend my other hand in a gesture towards my daughter. With a low sigh, and a proud smile, I ask, “She’s gonna move mountains and conquer the world, isn’t she?”
I feel Colt shudder with a laugh, and he turns to face me, our eyesmeeting as he flashes me an equally proud smile and says, “Fuckin’ oath she is, brother. She’s a Northlane.”
Five
Annabeth
Idon’t remember my jeans being quite sotight, I think to myself as I wiggle my ass into the unforgiving denim. I really needed to get back to the gym, or start doing cardio… Speaking of cardio, when did I last get laid? Why am I thinking about this right now? Oh yeah, that damn cowboy, and his damn smile.
Thankfully, I’ve managed to get out of chaperoning the sleep-away camp, so I have two whole weeks of nothing but sun, sleep, and the saddle. It’s not that I don’t adore my class, or my job, I just hate sharing cabins with the other teachers.
Did I mention that they make the teachers participate in the shitty activities they come up with at those things? They are truly my worst nightmare – well actually, being mauled by the imaginary shark that lives in my toilet is my worst nightmare. Don’t ask.
School camps would have to come in a close second for shit that terrifies me. The food always sucks, the rooms always have shitty spring mattresses, you can’t drink wine, and I couldn’t risk trusting Ella to actually go and check on my horse, Milo.
The woman is brilliant, of course, but reliable? Definitely not. She also knows next-to-nothing about horses, and the idea of her fumbling around trying to figure out how to loop Milo’s rug straps correctly, orhow to mix his feed, makes me giggle. I can almost hear her calling me mid-scoop to ask why the hell I was feeding my horse sunflower seeds, and her proceeding to ask me if I thought he was a bird.
Truthfully, I am very content with staying at home, sleeping on my expensive mattress, playing my guitar, and keeping my sanity. I have a hot date with my bubble bath and a few bottles of wine. Might get really wild and throw in a face mask or two. Self-care, ya know?
It’s Ella’s birthday this weekend, she’s working – as always – so we’re heading out after her shift for karaoke and cocktails. Which means I have the entire day to hang out with Milo. I haven’t had a break since I moved here. Granted, I moved during the school holidays, sotechnicallyI’ve only been working for a few months, but adjusting to a new town is hard. I’m restless and itching to hit the trails. My bonding time with Milo of late has consisted of grooming and water fights – yes, water fights. He has a thing with hoses and apparently thinks it’s utterly hilarious to flick his tail during bath time so the hose sprays me in the face.
Finally managing to pull my jeans over my hips, I breathe a sigh of relief as the zip glides closed in one, fluid motion.Thank god. I collapse onto the bed, reaching for my fluffy, pink socks, letting my eyes wander over to the trusty Ariats that are resting against my duvet. My boots, unlike my jeans, slip on with ease, and the feeling of the well-worn leather against the denim feels like coming home.
Rising from the bed, I run my fingers through my hair and reach for the top shelf of my wardrobe, pulling my hat from its perch and placing it on my head. One final glance in the mirror and I’m scrambling out the front door, climbing into my ute, cranking the radio, and heading to the farm.
We’ve barely scratched the surface of the property when I feel my smart watch vibrate. I glance down to check the incoming message. Ella. I roll my eyes, hearing her voice in my head as I read the text.
Ella: It’s almost show time, BABY! *winky face emoji*
Me: Woohoo, can hardly wait. Piss off, I’m busy. Love you.
Ella: Love you bby xoxo
Her reply earns her another eye roll before I return my gaze to the wide-open paddock in front of me. The wind picks up and Milo shivers as it rips through his body and electrifies him. Horses are so in tune to the weather; the slightest breeze can turn even the most even-tempered horse into an absolute maniac.
Not Milo though, he just lets the wind course through his mane and ignite a spring in his step that is otherwise reserved for shows. He prefers to take our trails slowly. Even in his youth, he was never reckless, always listening to my guidance from the saddle. I truly could not have asked for a better partner. I nudge my heels into his side, encouraging him to change his gait as we move into a steady trot, making our way up the embankment beneath us.
He shakes his head, his mane flowing freely in the wind. I feelhim come alive beneath me. His muscular frame moves with strategic precision, every stride deliberate, every breath calculated. He may be getting on in age, but Milo has, and always will be, the best horse I’ll ever own. As a pair, we’re completely unstoppable. He’s so in tune to me; it’s as if he knows my commands before I make them.
I remember our first ever event, I was more nervous than a sinner in a church. Not Milo though. He took that course in his stride like it was built for him, manoeuvring himself through the obstacles with ease. I was essentially a dead-weight plonked on his back, rather than his rider guiding him through it.
We are nearing the river now, so we pick up the pace, reaching the crest of the hill before I gave him the go-ahead. He moves into a canter, and we speed down the underside of the embankment, leaving everything and everyone behind us.
Milo’s head snaps back to stare at me as I loosen his girth-strap.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I say, scowling at him.
I close the gap between us, reaching for the reins with one hand, the other outstretched towards his neck. My palm rests against his short, flea-bitten coat and gently scratches the sweet spot under his mane. His withers quiver at my touch and he lets out a pleased nicker as I glide the bridle from his face.
The creak of the barn door opening throws me for a loop, and my head whirls around, cracking against the beam that holds my saddle. “Ow, fuck!” I squeal, clutching the point of impact.
“Whoa, easy now, darlin’. Didn’t mean to startle you,” comes a deep, rough voice from behind me.
I turn on my heels and come face to face withDallas Northlane.
