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I press my lips together, thoughtful, before I slowly nod. “Thanks, I guess, for not flinching. I can see why Walker kept you around.”
ElevenCASE
Case Jr. finds me brushing down the horses after their trail ride. I can feel his eyes on me from the doorway, but he doesn’t bother announcing himself, so I don’t stop what I’m doing. I don’t want to forget anything and give Winnie a reason to hand me my ass tomorrow. I told her I would take care of this for her, and I don’t want to let her down.
Of the two, I’m more afraid of Winnie. I’ve got eighteen years of practice in disappointing my dad.
I finish with a steady dappled gray named Elvis, checking to make sure his oats and water are filled before I lead him into his stall with a click of my tongue. It’s been years, and I meanyears, since I’ve spent so much time in the stables and with the horses, but I’ve enjoyed it. It’s peaceful. I can see why Winnie likes it so much, even if itistechnically work.
I latch the door and turn to face my dad with a sigh. His expression is hard to read, and I shift my weight, feeling awkward.
“Hey.”
“I didn’t think you knew what this place was.”
I refuse to shrink back. The thing about Case Jr. is he has little time or patience for shrinking. Or wincing. Or pain. Or grief. Or any emotions outside of good-old-boy smart-assery and deflection. Which technically aren’t even emotions, but they’re as close to the line as we Michaels men are meant to tread.
For example, after Walker died, we’re talking the very next day, my dad came into my room, handed me a glass of scotch from his “special” cabinet, and said, “He wouldn’t want to see you moping. Have a drink and wash that depressed look off your face.”
I get we’re not huggers or anything, but a simple “I’m sorry” wouldn’t have killed him.
I scoop the saddle blanket from where I’ve slung it over a door. “I figured it was about time I whipped old Moses into shape.”
“You’re riding Moses?”
“This morning I did. I’m a little saddle sore, if I’m honest. He did not go easy on me.”
At my wry tone, my dad cracks a grin. It changes his entire face, that small slip of humanity. “You thinking about riding the range?”
I barely keep from rolling my eyes, leaning back against Elvis’s stall. Of course he leaps straight to that. Give the man an inch… “No thanks. I’ll stick to the stables.”
He raises a brow under his Stetson, crossing his arms. I doubt he even realizes he’s doing it. “I didn’t know you were looking for a job, Case.”
“Do I need to be an employee to muck out stalls?”
He gives a frustrated grunt. “What are you about? You’re climbing corn silos and defaulting on your rides.”
Ah. Shit. I’d wondered if he’d heard.
“Is this about Walker?” he asks, dismissive. “Is that whyyou’re moping around the stables and messing with your future? Listen, kid. It’s normal to get drunk and make dumb decisions at your age. Hell, your uncle and I got into all sorts of stupid shit when we were eighteen. So if that’s what this is, fine. But I won’t stand by and let you throw your career away. You’re fucking around in the stables when you should be training.”
“I know. I’m still training. I’m always training. It’s not like I’ve forgotten. But it’s barely been six months. I’m not okay. I’m…” I swallow. “I’m pretty messed up, honestly. He was like a brother. I loved him.”
Tension paints my dad’s face, and he’s clearly struggling with whatever is about to come out of his mouth next. “Are you gay? Were you in love with him? Is that—are you—”
I bite back a snort.Of course.I shove off the stall. “No, Dad. You realize it’s possible to love someone and not be in love with them, right?”
“So you’re sad? All of this”—my dad waves his hand around—“and disqualifying last night. It’s because you’re still crying over your friend.”
I blink, dry-eyed and sober and straight. “All of this”—I mirror his wave—“is because I realize just because my best friend died, doesn’t mean I have to. I’m sorry it doesn’t look the way you think it should, but it’s all I got.”
“I’m not paying two people to work in the stables.”
Now I do roll my eyes. “In all fairness, you should pay Winnie Sutton more. She goes above and beyond. But that’s whatever. I’m not looking for pay.”
I can tell my dad wants to argue, but he can’t find anything wrong with what I’ve said. I’m working. For free. I’m training for the career he wants for me.
I’m suddenly struck with an idea.
