5. CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

DIANE

We do go into the city and spend the night. After that, I've had about all I want of pavement and tall buildings. When we get back home, Westin riding the high of a successful sales season, I breathe a sigh of relief.

I stand in the kitchen with my heart so full. My house is clean, the floorboards Westin lovingly replaced gleaming in the early summer sun.

The door slams around the back. My son's boots clatter over my clean floor, probably spreading mud. Quick as a flash, I lean into the hall and snatch him as he runs by. He skids to a halt, swinging around.

"Hey—what?"

"Boots off, honey," I say firmly.

Obediently, he drops down and pulls them off. Luckily they're just dusty, but my point stands. His sweaty hair sticks up on end as he jumps to his feet.

"Sovereign's coming to help dad with Captain," he announces.

"When's that happening?" I drop his boots by the front door and head down the hall, pushing the screen frame open and propping it with the stop.

Westin's in the barn, I can hear the rumble of his truck engine coupled with him swearing under his breath as he loads up boards.

"In an hour," River yells.

I hear him digging around in the cupboards, so I lean back into the hall.

"You looking for a snack?" I call.

"Yeah, I'm hungry," he yells back.

He's a bottomless pit. I fed the kids a breakfast of grits, ham, gravy, and biscuits and he's back looking for a snack an hour later. Sighing, I go back to the kitchen. He's got his head in the fridge, pulling open drawers.

"There's red beet eggs," I say. "You take a couple of those, get your boots, and go get your colt ready."

He pulls the jar out and shoves his entire hand in to grab two eggs. Biting my tongue, I take the jar from him and stand back while he runs back out the front. Dripping purple juice down my hallway.

I grab a rag and spot mop the floor. From upstairs, I can hear faint music from Allison's room. She spends a lot of time up there listening to music, journaling, and probably daydreaming about Cash Sovereign. That's fine by me—all I want is for my girl to have the childhood I never got, and that includes getting to be a teenager.

It's a gift that I hope she takes for granted because she's never known anything else. Westin and I have worked so hard to not drag our pasts into our future. Our children get to start fresh. Not picking up the pieces of our hurt.

Boots clatter down the stairs. Allison appears, hair wrapped up in a bandana.

"Where are you off to?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I thought I'd help River out with his colt. I think he bit off more than he can chew."

"Thank you," I say, leaning on the sink. "This is big for him."

She opens the fridge and starts scanning the shelves. "Are we all out of lemonade?"

"Is the jug in there?"

She shakes her head, going to open the dishwasher. "Here it is," she says. "Want me to make some before I head to the barn?"

I shake my head. "I'll do it."

She sets the jug on the counter and goes into the pantry, returning with a bag of lemons. "Let me help," she says, pulling out a stool.

One of the biggest joys in my life is my daughter. She's sweet and sensitive, but I see her resilience shine through. Seeing her get to live the way I wanted to as a girl has healed me so deeply. Keira and I talk about that sometimes. How we're so lucky we get to see our daughters grow up in a safe world.

"River doesn't mean to tease you," I say. "I mean, he doesn't mean it in a bad way. He's just…well, a little shit sometimes."

She giggles, dipping her head. "He's alright."

"But he doesn't mean it to hurt you," I say.

"I know," she says.

We fall into companionable silence as we chop and juice lemons. Allison measures out sugar and stirs while I clean everything up. Then she lets me hug her before she goes out to the barn.

I wipe down the countertops and head out to where everyone stands by the paddock. Sovereign leans on the fence, elbows on the top railing. Allison balances on the gatepost, where it's flat from the kids sitting on it. River and Westin are inside the paddock.

The colt is in the middle, eyes big. There's a distinct lack of halter or bridle on him.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

Sovereign clears his throat. "Oh, they're just fucking around. River's got cold feet."

"Why's that?" I kick a crate up to the fence and climb on top so I can see over the railing.

My husband has a halter and lead rope hanging from his arm, outstretched to River. There's a firmness to the way he's standing. I know he's not willing to bend and put the halter on himself. If River wants a colt, he'll have to do all the work himself.

"Go on," Westin says.

Hesitantly, River takes the halter by the crown strap and slings the lead over his shoulder. The colt digs his hooves in and drops his head, looking up. The whites of his eyes flash.

I catch my breath. I've seen my son ride unbroken colts before, but never with everyone watching him. The tension in the yard is palpable.

"I said, go on. Before he gets the better of you," Westin says.

He circles the inside of the railing until he's standing before me. I glance up at him and he pats my hand. Wrapping his fingers around mine. I squeeze his fingers back.

"He can't get too hurt," he says. "And if he can do this, he'll be proud of himself."

I know he's right. My eyes are glued to my son as he holds out his hand, palm up. The colt stays perfectly still. River takes another step closer, knees bent. He's imitating Westin when he breaks the colts. The realization warms my heart.

The colt tosses his head. River doesn't back down. One foot in front of the other, until he's less than a yard away.

They stare at each other. Hazel eyes against black.

Slowly, River lifts his hand and the colt stays as he is, feet planted and heavy stare following my son's every move. Then, like magic, his palm connects to the horse's nose and it's like all the tension leaks away from them both.

I release my breath in a puff of relief. Westin releases my hand and pats it. Sovereign clears his throat, taking his hat off. He pushes off the fence and circles it to the gate, stepping into the paddock. The colt lifts his head, stretching towards him as he approaches.

"Go on and hold the halter up to his face," Sovereign says.

He has a slow, patient way with horses that settles them down. He places his hand on the colt's forelock and it dips its head low enough for River to place the halter gently against his face. I glance at Westin, but he's just watching, squinting in concentration.

The colt doesn't throw his head.

Sovereign nods at River. My son takes a big breath and I resist the urge to call out and tell him not to let the horse feel his nerves. He can figure these things out for himself. It's my job to just watch and if he gets hurt, I'll comfort him.

River guides the noseband up and over his head, moving the crown strap behind his ears. The colt shakes his head, but it's not angry. More experimental. Quickly and evenly, Sovereign takes the lead from River's arm and clips it onto the ring below the colt's chin. He puts the other end into River's hand.

"Let's see you walk him," he says.

He circles the inner edge of the paddock until he stands on my other side. Westin takes off his hat and puts it on my head so he can wipe the sweat off his forehead. The inner band is damp, but I don't mind.

"He's doing good," says Sovereign.

"Better than when he just jumped aboard," Westin says. "He's a lot more cautious this time around."

"It's a good colt," Sovereign muses. "Help him train it right and he'll have a solid horse for a while."

There's a sad note in his voice. I know he's longing for a horse he clicks with right away too.

"I have a filly from the same sire," I say. "Black, white socks and a blaze. You should check her out."

He works his jaw, eyes squinted as he watches River start leading the colt around the paddock. They go slow and steady, taking their time.

"Yeah," he says. "I might take a look at her."

"She's in the barn," I say. "The back one."

Sovereign pushes off the fence. "Let's go on then."

"You take him," says Westin. "I'll make sure River doesn't get trampled."

We head through the house, out the back, and past the chicken coop. My hens are scattered through the yard. It's warm today and they're splayed out in the shade, sitting in the dusty holes they dig in the tree roots.

The barn is open. I turn on the industrial fan as we pass through the door, heading to the middle stalls. Everything smells sweet and clean. This is the barn where we keep the horses we plan to sell. The working horses stay in the original barn by the front paddock.

I pull open the top half of the stall. "That's her."

Sovereign leans past me and his eyes fall on the filly standing with her head hanging out of her window. He puts two fingers to his mouth and lets out a low whistle, quiet enough it won't spook the horses. The filly swings her head around and blinks, eyes glassy as they fall on him.

"What's her name?" he asks.

"Allison calls her Sweet Clementine," I say. "Her dam is Sweet Americana."

He opens the stall and steps inside. "Sweet Americana is one of Deacon's mares. She a barrel racer?"

"She's got the genes for it," I say. "Sweet Americana could turn on a dime in her day. I think her filly would make a good ranch horse."

He holds out his hand and waits. The filly throws her head, showing a little fire, but he doesn't move. It takes a good five minutes for her to take a few steps closer and start sniffing up and down his arm. Finally she pushes her nose into his hand. He runs his touch down her neck, inspecting the white blaze and socks.

"She's nice," he says finally. "Anybody tried to ride her yet?"

I shake my head. "I think Westin planned on selling her unbroken. He's been pretty busy."

He puts his hands on his hips. "Mind if I take her up to Sovereign Mountain and work with her a bit first?"

"Be my guest," I say. "If you want, Westin can hitch up the trailer and you can take her today."

He mulls it over and nods. "Yeah, I might just do that."

We head back, but before we go, Sovereign gives Sweet Clementine a pat on her shoulder that tells me he has high hopes for this filly. I know it would make Keira happy if he could finally settle on a horse.

He's been through this before a dozen times. But who knows? Maybe Sweet Clementine can prove me wrong.

Stranger things have happened.