Page 44 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

I open my mouth, not even sure what I'm planning to say, but she's not done.

“I'll have you know, Mr. Carter, that I'm here because I was tired of not having a place where I fit. Tired of living paycheck to paycheck, saving up for brief moments of escape from a life back in London. I just wanted to find somewhere I could be me and feel like I was part of something worth being a part of. A place I could call home. Somewhere I don't wake up every morning with that same dread sitting on my chest, wondering what the day's going to throw at me this time.” She takes a breath. “Just somewhere I belong. Where I'm happy. Where I feel like I have a purpose.”

She takes a breath, eyes still blazing with the female rage I had accidentally summoned.

“So, no. I'm not running from some guy. I'm just trying to remember what it feels like to actually want to wake up in the morning.”

The words land somewhere I wasn't expecting them to, causing every muscle in my body to tighten.

I know that place. Waking up because you owe it to other people to do so. The days that feel like they are something to get through, rather than something to enjoy.

I’ve never said it out loud. Not once. Not to Bryan, not to Mrs. Mae, not even to my father when he was alive. And here's this woman, standing in a field of wildflowers with dirt on her jeans and frustration bright in her eyes, saying the things I've never had the guts to say myself.

“I'm sorry, Maeve.” My voice comes out low. I mean it.

She gasps, hand to her chest. “An apology. From Wade Carter. Is the world ending?”

Glad that she has returned to her regular scheduled sassiness, not letting my stupid mouth get to her.

“No. For real.” I wait until she drops the performance and actually looks at me. “You should be proud of yourself. Coming to a foreign country, alone, to prioritise yourself. You are a strong, determined woman, who sometimes doesn’t know when to not run her mouth. I hope you find what you are running toward.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Carter. I appreciate your kind words. And I do like it here; it’s the best place I have run toward so far.”

“That's good to hear. You’ve made a difference here. And I know Colt,” —and me— “likes having you around.”

We work on through the morning, sun climbing, heat spreading across the open land. I find a patch of wildflowers to sit in while I drink some water, and Maeve finishes her section before dropping down beside me in the grass.

“Can I ask you something?” she calls out.

“If you must.”

“I know you told me not to ask.” She pauses. “But… I just opened up to you. So, can you tell me why you stopped bull riding?”

It is a topic I hate to talk about, but she’s right, she just opened up to me. It wouldn’t hurt to give her some part of the truth.

“Well, long story short, Colt was the reason.” I turn the water bottle in my hands, the plastic crunching in my grip. “I never expected to have a kid so young, not when my dream was to make it worldwide as a bull rider. But after four months of being away from my ex-wife, winning my final championship, I came home, and Ruby got pregnant. I tried to continue after he was born, but I couldn’t focus on the ride anymore. I wasn’t winning, always thinking of home. Then, when I came home, things went to shit. Ruby left, and I was left with a young boy to raise as a single father.”

Maeve joins me, lying down beside me. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Even though she had only just laid down, she springs to sit up, “So why is it you and Colt can't—” She stops, finding the right words. “You don't talk to each other.”

Pain hits me square in my chest.

I've made peace with Colt's anger. Or I've told myself I have. I’ve sacrificed my relationship with my son, all the happy memories we could’ve had running this ranch together. Though, in my head, it is worth it. Worth only causing a small bit of pain, instead of the colossal damage the truth could bring.

Maybe I've been protecting him. Or maybe I've just been protecting myself from a conversation I'm terrified of having. From the possibility that even if I told him the truth, it still wouldn't fix what's broken between us.

That thought is new. I don't like it.

“That is not up for discussion, Maeve.” I snap up onto my feet, gathering the tools from the ground, shoving them into the satchel.

“Why? It can't be that bad. You're both just being stubborn. How can you be so content treating your son like he doesn’t exist?”

“Don’t you dare say that when you’ve only been here a short while. You don’t know us, so don’t act like you do. He is my son. Of course he exists to me”

Now she is up on her feet, “Then why don’t you just talk to him. Patch up this whole thing about you chasing his mother away, it's stupid. She is gone, but you are here, Wade. Be there for him!”

“Maeve, I am warning you. Leave it.”