Page 89 of Saddle Storm

“Oh I don’t know . . . call it context clues. Like when you mentioned the ticking clock for the moment you get to jump back in your car and go home.”

His head drops with a sigh. “I never meant that to be away from you.”

I squeeze his arm reassuringly. “I know.”

“They’re not wrong,” he tells me after a moment, a little quieter. “When they make these jokes about me walking away from it all.”

“Why did you?”

He inhales sharply. “I’m not a mind reader, Storm. I observe. I can only take in what others put out.”

I frown, not following.

He sighs. “Before Mom passed, I always felt like there was a spot for me here when I was old enough to take on as much as Dallas and Wilder. That Dad would eventually start taking me out and showing me the ropes. In the meantime, Mom taught me the basics. To saddle, to ride, simple chores here and there. Then after she died . . . Dad didn’t pick up where she left off. Didn’t care if I rode anymore. If I tossed hay into the stalls, filled the water troughs, swept the aisles. Didn’t try to teach me more about running the place.”

My heart aches. But not just for Silas’s clear feeling of rejection but how hard it must have been for Connor at the time.

“In fact, Dallas—who basically took over running the place—hired someone to take care of all that. Like I didn’t even exist.”

“I don’t think that’s what he was thinking. I think they were more concerned with overwhelming you.”

He shakes his head. “All Dad seemed to worry about after Mom was, Who’s taking Silas to practice?, You keeping your grades up?, and of course the, Don’t worry about all that, your brothers’ll take care of it.”

I rub his arm, leaning into him.

“I could read a room, you know? After a while, the parts I loved most about the ranch, the chores I still enjoyed doing, the beauty of it all—just died with her.”

He glances down and licks his lips. “And they let it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He scoffs. “I’m not. Whole place runs fine without me. Always has.”

I’ve spent years thinking he left because he wanted something bigger, better. Like this place wasn’t enough for him.

Sounds like he always felt like it was the other way around.

I stop in front of the driver’s side of the SUV, which was a remarkably smooth ride even on these roads. “Seems like something you should talk to them about.”

Another laugh huffs out of him. “Yeah, maybe I’ll start with my dad, make him feel guilty for grieving and not knowing what to do with me after Mom passed.”

I wince. “Maybe start with Dallas? Lot of tension between you two.”

He glances back. “Don’t tell me you don’t see why.”

“Oh, I see it. But maybe he doesn’t think of it that way? Maybe there’s things you both need to say out loud.”

Silas pulls the driver door open for me, winking. “I’ll think about it.”

29

“Not bad, Mr. MVP,” Jenny comments the following Wednesday, the day before she’s due to send my clearance paperwork to the team. Not the ones that get me back on the lineup. Not yet. But the shit that tells them in her “professional opinion,” I’m ready for ice-time. Just not playing time.

Jenny packs up her supplies and clipboard. “Remember, skating only. Straight lines, controlled edges. No contact. No games.”

I run my hand through my hair.

Fuck. I don’t know what’s worse. Staying on the ranch for another few weeks, or getting on the ice without taking a shot. Know one thing for sure, as long as I spend my days with Storm and Max, neither will be so bad.