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He had spent a lot of the week in the barn talking with the horses as well. Seeing them connected with him on a deeper level. He didn’t know how or why, but that big one Braxton had taken a liking to him. So much so, that even though he hadn’t ridden in forever, Troy saddled him up with some old tack left over from one of the cowboys and rode out onto the property toward the original homestead.
He remembered coming out here as a boy with Adam, each taking turns pretending to be the old miners hoping to strike it rich. Like their ancestors, they never did find any gold. Only a few artifacts like a button, belt buckle, and a couple of horseshoes.
Funny enough, all of those things he had kept and were safe in a box in his apartment back in Kentucky, waiting for him to come back so they could remind him of home.
It had become his ritual. Every morning and every evening, he would put Braxton through his paces, and gently ride him out onto the old pastures toward the foundation of the original house. Once there, he would let Braxton graze while he sat and admired the mountains he had memorized as a child. They looked almost blue, and when the right light hit with the clouds in a certain pattern, it was as if he was looking at the ocean.
All of it was peaceful, but nothing did anything to cure the aching pit in his chest or the memory of those blue eyes brimming with angry tears.
His dad didn’t bring Megan up again, but took notice with a smile when Troy would go out and ride. Once he even gave a curt nod, the country way to say, “This is right and as it should be.”
But it wasn’t. Troy had to go. Had thought he wanted to go. But with each day, he was caught somewhere between wanting to do the next right thing and feeling let down by the disappointment of it.
He knew his job in the army. He was good at it. It was comfortable, honorable, and familiar. What more could he want? What more should he want?
Visions of red hair in the dim light came to him, making his chest ache with longing again. Never before had he felt this way. His path was obvious, wasn’t it? He was going to go back and fulfill his mission. Get new orders. Make time for himself on the side and build a life that could support him coming back to the ranch later.
He pulled his lips tight as he brushed Braxton’s black coat after one of their rides. “I’ll be back, bud.”
The big brown eye blinked once and stared into his soul. Troy didn’t want to think about leaving his horse, Dad, or Megan, even though she didn’t want him. God, he had been going to the coffee shop every day at nine to get a glimpse of her, but to no avail.
This was the longest time he had spent here since he had joined the army, and the ranch and the town tugged on his heart more than he could’ve expected.
Of course in a perfect world he would stay, but the world wasn’t perfect. He knew that to be true more than most people.
Much to his surprise, he loved the quiet mornings, the little projects that added up over time to something larger. The way his blushing dad pretended not to notice the older lady flirting with him when he went to McDonald’s once a week—with his doctor’s blessing—to treat them both. He had gotten to know the coffee shop baristas, people at the hardware store, and the farrier and equine vet who had come out to do routine work on the horses.
He never expected to fit in, but the slow simple conversation felt more natural, and he started eyeing the baby chicks at the feed store every time he went.
But the work emails started trickling in, a reminder that this was all temporary and fading fast. If he was completely honest with himself, he was savoring every minute of these last three days. He just wished he could see Megan again and make it right.
With Braxton tended to, he patted his neck and went to clean up before heading into town. The knot in his stomach grew as he thought about the help-wanted ad up at the grocery store. There on the community bulletin board, in the local classifieds, and online, Troy had posted he was looking for a farm hand to take care of some retired caisson horses.
His replacement.
Troy closed his eyes against the confusing thoughts he had yet to sort out. It probably would’ve been easier if he was sleeping, but that wasn’t going anywhere fast.
He needed to go somewhere to not think for a while. Literally get away from the looping thoughts, the what ifs, the hopes that couldn’t happen. Lucky for him, a new gym had opened up downtown, and since he had to get a few things for his dad in town anyway, he threw some sneakers and shorts in a gym bag and headed there.
Thirty minutes later, he walked in to the welcoming smell of a new pool and fresh paint. He signed in at the sleek new desk and nodded when the attendant offered him a quick tour around the facility which had just opened up a week ago.
The overall vibe was a cool, sleek take on new industrial with spots for Instagram photos as well as top-notch equipment. He hadn’t been a gym nut before—he went more as an obligation for work—but once he had started going, he found that running his body into the ground to ear-pounding music drowned out the looping thoughts until he was so exhausted he couldn’t even think and had no choice but to sleep.
Troy thanked the employee and threw his stuff in one of the quick-rent lockers and started out by running on the treadmill to some old-school rock. The miles melted away under his pounding shoes as he got lost in the music, letting it take him out of his mind. He ran himself for almost five miles before he called it quits, hitting the end button and walking away on jelly legs to get the spray. He wiped down the equipment, not bothering to mess with the after workout cooldown or any of the fancy prompts that wanted to talk about heart rate.
He circled around the weight floor, taking everything in. They were usually his go-to, but lifting weights seemed too repetitive and allowed his mind to wander on its own, which was not a happy place right now. On his second lap around the gym he saw it in the corner. The punching bag suspended by a chain was perfectly still and untouched.
Troy smiled to himself and headed straight over, putting his water and phone down off to the side. He started with a few quick jabs, then a cross pattern, followed by a quick uppercut.
He was clumsy and out of practice, but as he settled back into the rhythm, he picked up the pace and fell into a pattern. He would go for a few rounds, still listening to the music blaring in his ears, strong enough to drown out the worst memory. He pushed himself harder and harder, wanting the bag to swing back against him, as he punished them both in this exercise of madness.
Sweat dripped off his nose as he kept up the punches. The satisfaction of having his knuckles make contact with the bag connected with his soul. Troy hadn’t been a boxer or wrestler in high school, and never had a head for fighting, but alone with the bag, he kept pushing until every muscle in his body was spent with the energy all flooding out of him into the black leather. His shoulders and arms burned, while he couldn’t feel his hands at all. His calves were seizing up as well from the run, and now from being on the balls of his feet as he hopped here and there.
He kept it up, pounding though his arms and getting lost in the movements. Taking out all of the anger. All of the pain. All of the things he couldn’t fix. He couldn’t be in the army and be here for his dad. He couldn’t live on the ranch and travel the world. There was no way to reconcile what he wanted. Especially what he wanted most.
Megan.
Troy hadn’t stopped thinking about her and was trying not to be super creepy, because going way out of his way to drive slowly past her work to make sure her car was there was…not good. Literally everything in him wanted to go straight there to check on her—scratch that—run inside and beg for her forgiveness. Just to see her again, hear her laugh, and feel her lips on his own one more time before he left.
