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“I remember everything about my brother. He was my best friend from the day mama brought him home. He never stopped talking, even before he knew how.”
I feel a lump start to rise in my throat. I look at Gracie and I am struck once again by how much she looks like her daddy. But then I look up at Hawk, and his eyes are sparkling the same way Matt’s used to, and for a second, I have to suppress the urge to run off into the woods.
“Maybe you can talk to Gracie when she gets older, and tell her stories about Matt when he was younger. The other guys don’t like to talk about him, and I don’t know if they remember as much as you do. And lord knows your parents get weird when it comes to bringing him up. It would be nice if she had someone to give her that background.”
Hawk nods sadly. “I can do that. I hate that she doesn’t get to know him. He was an amazing guy.”
“And yet, you didn’t come back for the funeral.” It slips out before I can think better of it, and the second I say it, I regret and feel like a jerk. I start to apologize, but he just shakes his head.
“Don’t.”
We walk up the stairs to the apartment, and I put Gracie in her bed. She fusses for a second, and the passes straight out, like she always does. For a second, I think about hiding in Gracie’s room indefinitely, afraid of facing Hawk after what I said to him. I may have been right, but I also didn’t have the right to make him feel guilty. I finally suck up my courage and go back out, and Hawk is spreading out blueprints on the floor in front of the fireplace. I sit down next to him and take a deep breath.
“Hawk, listen…”
He shakes his head again. “Parrish, I really don’t want to do this. I’m an asshole. I know that. I made a huge mistake by not coming back for Matt’s…” he stumbles on the word, but keeps going without saying it. “I know that. And you can hold it against me forever if you want. You can tell me I’m a jerk, a shit, the worst person in the entire world. Nothing you can come up with is going to be worse than what I’ve already called myself. So, I think it would be better if we just moved on from any apologies, or attempts to pretend I’m anything other than an asshole.”
I bite my lip and nod, then start looking at the blueprints. They are completely different from what I saw yesterday. They are… perfect.
The outside of the stables look like they were constructed in the 1700s. Hawk has attached photos of vintage brick, and tin roofs, but they have huge, sliding glass windows that take up the side of the wall that faces the woods. It’s the ideal combination of the old and new, and almost exactly what I envisioned when I told Hawk to start over. But the interior… the interior is more than I ever could have imagined. Huge dark wood beams and skylights pepper the ceiling, and the brick floors are marked as heated, which will be perfect for the older horses. The stalls are stacked wood, and thin fencing lines the sides so the horses can see out. It’s elegant, modern, and high-tech: everything I asked for, and everything Sam was hoping for when he decided to start this project.
“Hawk… you did all of this in one night? How?”
He shrugs. “A lot of coffee and no sleep. Plus, you kind of shamed me into it. I didn’t want to let you, or Dad, down.”
I smile sadly at him, then run my finger over the plans, tracing the outlines of the new stalls. “Has Sam seen these?”
“Not yet. I wanted you to see them first and give me your opinion.”
I shrug as I stand up and head for the kitchen to make some tea. “I’m really just the money person. I think they’re beautiful, but all that matters to me is that we can afford it. If you can prove to me that we can afford it, I don’t see any reason to say no.”
Hawk rolls up the plans and crosses over to me. “Well, this morning I went and spoke to a supplier in town about the brick. He agreed to give us access to their vintage stock at ten percent over cost if we specifically mention their business in any stories about the stable construction. I thought that was more than fair.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “So. You are trying to sell this as a story to an architecture magazine, aren’t you?”
“It wasn’t my decision. The only way my firm would let me take a month off from actual client work was if I agreed to let the project be covered. I heard from Dennis Bradford, our managing partner, this morning, and he’s sending a reporter here next week to start covering the build, so I was hoping we could start ASAP.”
I inadvertently slam my tea mug down, then regret it because I’m afraid I’m going to wake up Gracie. But I don’t hear any noise from her bedroom, so my rage continues unchecked.
“You’re using the ranch to advance your career, Hawk. You disappeared for ten years, and when you finally come back, it’s just to earn brownie points with your boss?”
He looks at me with his mouth open, like I’m insane. “How could you think that, Parrish?”
“Because it’s true. Because you show up here, and the first thing you do after sending everyone into a state emotional upheaval is bring in some photographer who can make you look like a hero, bringing the hick farm into the twenty-first century. So, on top of sending everything into chaos, now some stranger is going to be here, forcing everyone to walk on eggshells. This is garbage, Hawk.”
He continues to stare at me, confused, like he has no idea what I’m talking about. And I have no interest in further explaining to him why I’m angry.
“Just take the blueprints to your father. I can’t talk to you anymore right now.”
Hawk is smart enough not to push me. He gathers up his things and walks out without another word, leaving me with my tea, and my anger, to figure out how I am going to survive the next month without ripping him limb from limb.
I spent the rest of the day in the stables, grooming the horses and cleaning out the stalls. I even told Anna to take the night off so I could have some space, so she took Gracie out for dinner to give me quiet. When it comes down to it, the only place I can think, or calm down, is in the stables. And Moonfire seems to know that I need peace, so she nuzzles me while I brush out her mane. It’s only when I hear footsteps crunching on the hay behind me that myself stomach starts to knot up again.
“The stables are closed,” I call out behind me, not caring who it is.
“This isn’t a store or a restaurant. Unless the horses pack their bags and leave, the stables never really close.”
Hawk’s voice sends a shiver through me, and I have to remind myself not to take out my prickling anger on Moonfire’s mane.
