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He stopped at the hitching post, removed Maverick’s bridle, and tied the lead rope.
She turned her attention to the gelding. “He’s got beautiful movement.”
“I wish he could talk. He must have an interesting backstory.” Grayson rubbed the red horse’s sleek neck. “He gave me some nice rollbacks and lead changes.”
“Do you think he was a show horse?”
“Maybe. Maybe a ranch horse. Someone put time and money into him.”
He pointed to the horse’s left hip. “The brand looks like it was bobbled or doctored or something.”
“Doctored—as in corrected, or altered?” She looked at the spot—instead of white freeze-branding, the narrow lines were void of hair, making them hard to distinguish on his hide.
“It happens.”
Beth ran her hands over the spot. “So curious.” She studied Maverick. Heavy muscling across his chest and hindquarters spoke of the ranch-bred quarter horses she’d seen pictures of.
“How’s work going?” Grayson slid out the latigo and dropped the cinch.
Beth blew out a breath. So much to do. “Not that great.”
She knew Grayson could help with many of the tasks—if he had time—but she didn’t want to get used to relying on him.
He’d be leaving, and she needed to remember that. Not let any amount of cards or horses stomp out that reality.
“I’m wondering if I should have stuck with kayak lessons and library circle time.”
“Kayak lessons, huh?”
“For Wild Harbor.” She grappled for words, the English language somehow lost to the depths of his green eyes and the tan of his biceps. “I am—I was the children’s instructor. Let me tell you, that lake never gets any warmer.” Good grief, she was rambling.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
She sucked in a breath. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Because, of course, Grayson was all too familiar with the lake. He’d been on it with his parents the day they drowned.
He shook her words away. “No, don’t be. I mean, Lake Superior’s front and center to Deep Haven. No getting away from it.”
Realization settled over her. “Unless you’re living in Oregon.” She looked up at him. “Is that…why you left?”
He slid the saddle off Maverick and set it in the grass.
“Not intentionally.” He picked up a curry from the grooming bucket and ran it along Mav’s barrel where the sweat had dried. “Partly, though. Yeah.” He gently scrubbed at a spot on the horse’s coat. “I put my parents’ lot up for sale. Signed the paperwork last night.”
Oh. “It’s never easy, huh?” She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “But you have the opportunity in Oregon. A ranch. A camp?”
He nodded and dropped the curry, then picked up a body brush.
“You said only partly the reason?” She picked up another brush and set to work on the other side of Maverick, alternating between brushing and using her palm against his soft coat.
Grayson stayed quiet so long she didn’t think he’d answer. Then—
“It was my fault.” He dropped the brush into the bucket. “The day after they died, I heard my grandparents talking. Grieving. Grandpa kept saying, ‘I don’t know why they were out there.’” He stopped. Swallowed. “It was all my fault,” he repeated.
Beth looked over at him. Waited.
“We were on the lake because I’d begged Dad to take us. I wheedled and bugged him and manipulated him. I was jealous of the attention I thought Robin and Oliver got.”
“You were just a kid. Kids do that kind of thing all the time.”
