Chapter Eleven. Case

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 mean years, 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 it is technically 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 why you'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.

"Speaking of Winnie Sutton, have you seen her ride?"

He nods. "She's our highest requested trail ride leader. An absolute natural in the saddle."

"Not like that. Have you seen her barrel race?"

He perks up. Nothing gets to my dad like rodeo talk. "I didn't know she raced."

"That's because she doesn't. Not technically. She doesn't own a horse or anything. I don't even think she's ever taken lessons. Like you said, she's a natural." My idea is gathering steam, and I plow ahead. "But Camilla has her working out Queen Mab every Friday afternoon, and I've never seen anything like it. Her times are insane. Like she could easily go from our arena to the main event and walk away with top prize."

"What's she doing here, then?"

"Right?" I say enthusiastically because rodeo talk happens to get me going, too. It's maybe the only thing Junior and I have in common. "I asked the same thing. Apparently, no horse, no saddle, no entry fees… I'm not sure, but she's practically raising her two siblings. I think money is super tight."

"If that's why you were saying she needs a raise, Case, I'm sorry, but I can't give her higher wages because she has it tough at home. I have other employees, and we pay fair wages."

I scoff. "First of all, you could. You're the boss; you can do whatever the hell you want. But that's not what I was thinking. What if you sponsored her, through the ranch? It'd be great marketing, wouldn't it?"

My dad looks doubtful. "That's a massive investment."

"Dad. Just come and see her one Friday. Talk to Camilla. If you don't think she's got it, fine, but I promise she and Mab'll blow your mind. I've never seen anything like it in all my years at rodeos."

Case Jr. rubs his lips with his hand, in that way he does when he's thinking. "I'll see if John can meet with the distributors this week or next, and I'll come by. But no guarantees. I'm not looking to throw money at some girl because you've taken a shine to her."

My breath catches in my throat, and I will the heat away from my face. "That's not… I wasn't…"

My dad points at my face, victorious. "That. That look. That's what you've been missing." He turns on his heel. "I need to get back in my office for a phone call. I'll see what I can do about Friday."

With that, he's gone. I'm still standing there five minutes later when Elvis nudges the back of my head, knocking off my hat and dropping it to the concrete floor.

"What do you want?" I ask under my breath, turning and petting his nose. Mab nickers from the stall next to us and demands her own pets.

"Yeah, yeah," I tell her, reaching for her soft nose. "I know. She'd be pissed if she knew. This stays between you and me for now, all right? I'll worry about my part, and you worry about yours."

The next time I see Pax, we decide to skip the party scene. It's still pretty weird and stilted between us, but I can't spend the rest of my life hanging out with Walker's ghost. And I'm pretty sure Winnie would laugh in my face if I invited her to do anything outside of work. That's twice now I've tried to get her to go on a ride with me, and she's turned me down. If I go for a third, I'm gonna have to hire her for a trail ride.

Besides, I like Pax. He's impossible not to like. When he showed up the afternoon of my birthday, two 12-gauge shotguns looped under his arm, and pointed toward the sky, I grabbed my old work boots and the keys to a pair of matching four-wheelers.

I haven't hunted for small game in years. I'm doubtful I could manage to hit the broad side of a barn at this point, but we've never really hunted to shoot anything, anyway. It's always been about the experience: the excuse to mud up our tires and walk in the woods. Best of all, this is something I never did with Walker. He couldn't get into it. It was too slow, too quiet, and there was no way he'd ever be able to aim at something as cute as a rabbit.

Which is good. I need a fucking break from feeling things. Between the list and puking my guts out at the rodeo and my dad giving me shit for not drinking it off like a real man and Winnie's family stuff that isn't really my problem but also somehow is… I think I might be losing it.

I'm also nineteen today. Walker died a week shy of his eighteenth birthday, and now I'm two years past that. And I'll keep getting older. Every year, I'll pull a little further from him, and it's fucking with my head.

So this, today, is untainted territory. I'm not looking for his ghost, and I know with complete and utter certainty he's not going to show up. Which is better than I thought things would go on my first birthday without Walker around.

We drive the four-wheelers out to the back wooded acres and park near the edge of the trees. I toss Pax an orange vest and slip on my own, despite the fact no one else is around. People have been shot for dumber reasons.

It's blustery for April, but not cold. The air is dry, and the sky is cloudless. I suck in a lungful of breath and hold it before letting it out slowly, my head feeling clearer. Pax and I start loudly stomping over dried leaves and packed earth.

Have I mentioned we're not any good at hunting?

"How's Madi?" I ask after a few minutes.

Pax scrunches the side of his face and shrugs one shoulder. "Hell if I know. Probably fine? I guess? She got mad because she found out I was hanging out with Lexie Aldean while she was up at Oklahoma State visiting her friends for a girls' weekend."

I don't know where to begin with that statement.

"Were you just hanging out?"

Pax fiddles with the brim of his hat, shifting his shotgun and checking the safety again. "Mostly."

I snort. "That means no."

"It's not like Madi was sitting in the dorms alone, pining after me."

"Fair point."

"Anyway, whatever, man. I'm getting tired of this back-and-forth shit."

"It has been years," I concede.

"Two. But I love her."

My eyes bug out, and I choke on air. "You do?"

"Probably."

"What the fuck are you doing, then?"

Pax smirks, meeting my gaze. "No clue."

I bark out a laugh, and it echoes extra loud in the woods. Birds take flight above us, startled.

"What about you?" he asks. "Any women aggravating the hell out of you?"

"Too early to say," I admit. "Hopefully a friend, right now. But she's prickly."

"Pretty?"

"Very. Remember Winnie Sutton?"

"That smart chick who graduated early?"

I tamp down my sigh. I'm getting used to the idea literally everyone else knew Winnie in high school and I was a blind fool. "I guess so. I didn't know her well in school. I think her little brother's dating your sister, though."

"Jesse. That's right. I hadn't made the connection. Walker was friends with her, too, I think."

I whip my head around. "He was?"

His eyes dance with amusement. "Yeah, I remember them talking at lunch sometimes."

"Huh." I'm quiet for a bit, mulling over what Pax has revealed. Why would Walker add Befriend Winnie Sutton to the list if he was already friends with her?

Walker, you meddling fucker.

"I'm sorry about Walker," Pax says suddenly. "I don't think I ever said that. But I meant to. We all were sorry about him."

I nod. And for today, for right now, I don't feel angry about Walker's passing. Just sad. That's progress, right? "Thanks."

We continue on in silence for a long while, but it's not so awkward anymore. It's normal. We don't see any cute rabbits, we never take off the safeties on our guns, and we never bring up Walker again, but that's okay. More than, actually.

Instead, we hop on the four-wheelers and rip off to the farthest fields, tearing them up and letting loose. And I make it one more day.