Page 69 of Lost Trust

“The wedding was in Wyoming on this gorgeous horse ranch owned by his bride’s family. Ryder was mesmerized,” I continue.

“I’m sure he loved the horses,” she says.

“He did. Anyway, Bryce offered me a job.”

“A job.”

“Uh-huh,” I grunt as I try to tear off a piece of tape with my teeth.

“Doing what?”

I struggle with the sliver of tape and end up discarding it and trying again.

“He opened his own rodeo school on the ranch. He wants me to come teach. The academy is beginning its second year of operations. The barrel racing classes are growing, and he needs another instructor.”

There’s a pause.

Then her voice softens. “Seriously, baby …”

I stop packing.

“That’s … well, it’s wonderful. You get to ride again.”

I glance toward the window, where the Dallas skyline is visible beyond the glass. “It’s not the same as barrel racing myself.”

“I know.”

“But it’s the next best thing.”

“And Ryder? What does he think about moving?”

“He loves the ranch,” I say quietly. “He fits there.”

Mom sighs. “You deserve to feel like yourself again, Marina. And that little cowboy deserves a place where he can run wild.”

My throat tightens. “Thanks, Mom.”

She’s quiet for a second.

Then her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Crap. I have to go. I think I just heard my guy friend’s car pull up. I’m going to have to go out the back window.”

I close my eyes. “Mom, do not go out the window.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone.

“Mom?”

I sigh.

Somewhere in Palm Springs, my mother is probably dangling from a man’s window, wearing a boho dress and boots.

I shake my head and reach for another box.

I just hope kookiness isn’t genetic.

Because if it is, I’m screwed.