“He can’t be one of the breeding stallions if he’s in this barn. So… he’s a gelding?” Jackson continued to pet and scratch all over Poe’s face and neck.
“He’s a companion horse. He has quite a few mares he’s bonded with,” I confirmed.
“Such a shame to geld a horse this beautiful. Why’d y’all do it?”
“We didn’t.” I offeredJackson a peppermint, which he quickly presented on a flat palm for the glutton in the stall. “He was already gelded when we purchased him. Poe isn’t a runner, so his previous facility made the decision.”
Poe nudged at Jackson’s hand, looking for another treat, and he spread his fingers wide. “No more, buddy.” Jackson chuckled at the horse’s disgruntled trill, and I handed him one of the molasses cookies. “Oh, holding out on us?” He raised an eyebrow, and I scoffed with a good-natured eye roll.
“This horse will eat you out of house and home, if you let him. You’re already falling for his trap. Pretty soon, he’ll have you wrapped around his little finger.”
“At least I’ll be in good company.” He pointedly looked at my pocket as I slipped him the last molasses cookie, and I couldn’t stop the short huff of laughter I let out.
“He definitely has my number,” I admitted, patting my old friend on his cheek.
Jackson smiled softly, and when the silence stretched between us, I finally let out a small sigh. “We need to turn him out to graze.”
“Right. I can take him out.” He quickly unclipped Poe’s halter and stepped inside the stall to slip it around his muzzle and throat. When it was secure and the lead rope was attached, I pulled the door open wider. Leading them through the barn, Jackson and I walked in silence as Poe lazily trailed us before we made it out to where his ladies were already plowing through the grass in the pasture.
The closer we got though, the more he began to perk up, his head high and ears forward as he realized where we were going. When we reached the gate, one of the mares lifted her head from grazing and whinnied in greeting. The moment the halter was off, Poe trotted over to rejoin his girls.
“He’s popular,” Jackson observed with a smile on his lips.
“He is.”
If Jackson hadn’t moved, I would’ve been able to stay suspended in that moment forever, just watching the black-and-blue blur of myhorse moving across the pasture. But as he turned to clip the halter to the gate, the wind wafted a familiar scent my direction, and I closed my eyes against the pain I knew was coming.
It was sharp and hit me right in the chest, but I’d been prepared for it. Before I hadn’t been ready for the gut punch, but now I knew to expect it. It was a small mercy since I was able to hold that searing pain close till it faded to a dull ache.
“Jackson,” I started when I was able to speak, my voice sounding far sturdier than I felt. “I know this is an odd request, but I need you to not wear that cologne anymore.”
He glanced at me, brows pulled together. “My cologne?”
I nodded, taking in a shuddering breath. “My husband used to wear it. He died three years ago.”
CHAPTER SIX
JACKSON
“Oh, fuck.”
The words tumbled from my mouth without any input from my brain, and I tried to recover with something a little more eloquent.
“Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I mean, Iamsorry for your loss, and also for wearing the same cologne. That had to be awful, walking around with me all morning, smelling like him. I can’t even imagine. But I’m also sorry for not responding better. I wish I could say something. I mean, obviously, I can’t say anything that will make it better, but… Fuck.” The words just kept flowing even though I couldn’t get my brain to produce anything worth saying. He’d have to have heard theI’m so sorry for your lossa million times over. But those people hadn’t hurt him so clearly. I closed my eyes, letting out a slow breath through my nose.
So much for eloquent.
“I am so fucking sorry, Tucker. I’ll stop wearing it, promise,” I concluded lamely, looking back at him.
He was leaning his forearms against the fence as he stared out over the pasture, his fingers slowly rotating the gold band on his ringfinger, and another wave of guilt slashed through me that I hadn’t noticed it before. The pain of losing his husband was obviously so visceral for him… even after three years. The corners of his eyes were bunched with tension, and in the early afternoon light, they were whiskey and water. I didn’t know how old Tucker was, but I couldn’t help noticing how young he looked—maybe early thirties?
My chest ached for him; for the pain he still carried and how heavy it must be. But, in a way, it was also almost sweet. That even after all this time, he still felt this strongly for someone. That whatever the two of them had was so special that he hadn’t been able to move on from it.
I hoped I found someone who would love me as deeply as Tucker still obviously loved his late husband.
“Will you tell me about him?” I found myself asking.
Tucker glanced over at that. “Like how he died?”
