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That frown appears instantly. “You need to hire someone part time just to name your animals for you.”
I look down at her with faint amusement. She’s running her palm over the mare’s neck. The horse nuzzles her head and nips at the strands of red hair over the back of her jacket. They all seem to like how her hair looks in the light of the electric lantern.
“Can I call her something different?” she asks.
Her blue eyes turn on me, wide and begging. Without thinking, I nod. Just to see that smile flash over her lips.
“Bluebell,” she says, stroking down the horse’s side. “We always had fields of them in the spring.”
I don’t protest. I watch as she brushes Bluebell down and I help tack her up. The saddle is heavy and she struggles to get it above her head. She doesn’t try to get up on her own, she just lets me lift her and watches silently while I mount Shadow.
We ride to the outer yard, leaving the dogs at the barn door. The sun is just kissing the horizon, sending streaks of pale blue across the early morning sky. The air is cold, but with a promise of sunshine later. I don’t trust it—I know we’ll have a snowstorm before November.
The view of the western side of the ranch is breathtaking. We pause for a moment and she lets out a little sigh. I glance over and I see a new emotion on her face. It looks like freedom, like joy.
I should take her out riding with me more often.
“Have you always lived at Sovereign Mountain?” she asks.
I shift my weight and Shadow begins trekking down the slow hill. She falls into step beside me, riding easily with one hand on her thigh. The faint wind whips her hair back even though she’s wearing a knit cap. I should get her a real hat to contain that brilliant hair.
“No,” I say. “I’m from the east.”
Her brows rise. “Really? Where?”
“Boston,” I say gruffly. I don’t like talking about the past.
Either she can’t read social cues or she just doesn’t care. She leans forward curiously, studying my face.
“Why did you come out here?”
“My parents moved out,” I say. “I had aspirations to be a fighter. So I stayed.”
It was true, I had trained in Colorado, but only for a year in my teens. Then I’d been shot in the thigh during a summer job back in Montana and my aspirations to box died.
She opens her mouth and I clear my throat.
“You tell me about yourself,” I say.
“I already have,” she says. “I don’t have an interesting story.”
“Tell me about your relationship to the Garrison family.”
Her eyes dart to my face and she works her jaw. I can tell it’s not something she wants to delve into. But I don’t really care. I need to know her version of her history with the Garrison family.
“Did you know the senior Garrisons well? Abel and Maria?” I press.
She nods. “Abel was very insistent that I marry Clint. I felt that…maybe he would have kicked me out if I didn’t.”
Wait…what did that mean? I turn and my expression must be sharp because she notices it.
“I lived with them after my father died,” she says quickly. “I worked on the ranch and they helped run Stowe Farms. We weren’t much of an operation, mostly unused land, by that point. When I married Clint, Garrison Ranch absorbed everything and they tore down the barn and house. It’s all pasture now. And…then they died on that trip overseas. I felt really guilty about feeling relieved, but Maria was so difficult to me.”
I knew most of that, but I hadn’t known she was living with Clint’s parents before her marriage. It was no wonder she folded so easily. The thought of it turns my stomach. She was young, not even legal, in a house full of people who wanted her property. I had no doubt Abel and Maria knew exactly what they were doing by pushing their son onto her. Not caring that she wasn’t old enough to consent.
At least I had some lines I wouldn’t cross. I’m not a good man, but I gave her more of a choice. And she’s old enough to give full consent.
We pause as we crest the hill. The horses blow steam into the air and the sun has risen enough to see the field stretched out before us. Far away, barely visible to the eye, is the line that separates my land from the Garrison’s.
