Page 18 of Saddle Storm

“Hey, Dad,” I greet him as I step onto the deck. He’s sitting alone on the bench along the wall, watching the fields.

“Oh, hey, son.” He glances at my sling. “How was physical therapy?”

“Where’d you find this woman? She won’t let me do much.”

“Jenny’s good at what she does. Her goal’s to heal, not send you back to the bullpen as quickly as possible.”

I take a breath and rub the back of my neck. “You alone?”

He meets me with warm, calm eyes. And I almost smirk, because retirement suits him. Or maybe it’s Ginger. “Just waiting on takeout.” He motions beside him. “Have a seat.”

I choose to stand instead, facing him. But I lean against a bare wooden table. He doesn’t seem surprised and refocuses on the fields. “Yeah, I get it. Been sittin’ around enough. Heard you went to see Tucker yesterday.”

I scoff. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to rile up your horses. Won’t be going back there anytime soon.”

“Tucker is your horse. Just need to remind him.”

“Dad, I haven’t ridden since—”

“I know. Since your mother was right beside you.”

The words hit hard. Like I’m right back there, reins in my hands and her voice in my ear, telling me to feel the ground, trust the horse, trust myself.

I haven’t felt or trusted either since she died.

I swallow it down. “Yeah. Well . . . that was a long time ago.”

She was the only one who gave me the chance to be close to what my brothers were growing up to be. Taught me to ride. To tend to the younger cattle and other light chores. And after she passed, I didn’t bother. It wasn’t on anyone’s mind—least of all mine—to keep living as though she were still with us.

“Take it Storm told you she . . .” I raise my fingers to air quote, “rescued me.”

He chuckles. “Tucker wouldn’t have hurt you. Or a fly for that matter. Well, maybe a fly if one landed on his nose.” He waves a hand. “What I’m saying is, you should give it another chance. With supervision, preferably.”

Just not yours, right?

“I’m good, thanks.”

He smiles up at me like he knows something. “But I like that you made it over to him.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets. “You might be the only one.” I don’t have to mention Storm again for him to know who I’m talking about.

His eyes drift and he half grins. “Remember a time when we’d find the two of you riling up the cattle just to mess with your brothers when they were on duty.”

I huff a laugh. “Well, neither of us found it funny the other day.”

Wesley steps out, handing Dad a big to-go bag and me a mint tea lemonade. A new drink he added to the summer menu and surprisingly, it’s my favorite. “Here you go, Mr. Thorne, two orders of the lunch special and one chicken tenders. Oh, and I threw in a chocolate milkshake for Max.”

I frown as Dad pushes to his feet.

“Thanks, Wes.” Dad hands him a few bills. “We’ll be dining in tomorrow. Too nice out today, think we might have a picnic over by the lake.”

Who is this man?

Wes shoots me a finger and winks. “Got your usual coming up in a bit. Saw you through the window and got it going.” Then he disappears through the swinging doors.

“Who’s Max and why are you picking up his lunch?”

His lip twitches but he doesn’t quite grin. Then his eyes focus on the floor of the deck. “Might do you some good to take a walk around the fields later.” He narrows his gaze to the distance. “Head to the hill just past the south pasture around four.”