Page 72 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

“Night, Wade.”

“Night, angel.”

I slip out into the darkness, smiling despite everything.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Colt

Today’s been damn draining. And it’s—I glance at the grandfather clock in the hall—not even lunchtime yet. Christ.

I’m covered in hay and horse shit. All morning, I’ve been stuck in the barn, alone, mucking it out.

Wade sent Maeve into town for some local business thing. Which is great, sure, support the community and all that. But he's been giving her a lot of these additional tasks lately—office work, errands off the ranch. Things that keep her away from me. Meaning I'm back to being alone all day, trying to work while my thoughts spin out.

And my thoughts have been brutal lately.

My therapist would say I need to “work through these feelings,” or some shit like that. But honestly, there’s a whole lot of “working through” and not a lot of “getting through,” in my opinion.

Haven’t even told her about the panic attack at the lake. I don’t even dare to. I just cannot be bothered to hear how I’m “catastrophising” or “putting too much pressure” on Maeve. I’ve heard it before—I don’t need to empty my bank to hear it again.

Maeve said she cared. She held my face and made me breathe and stayed with me through one of those ugly moments I hate others seeing. That means something; I am just not sure if I want to look into it any more than that. Just want to hold on to the fact she cares whether or not it is in the same way as I care for her.

I kick my boots off by the front door, not wanting to track shit through the house. Mrs. Mae would absolutely rip me a new one. Despite that woman being about five foot nothing, she’s terrifying. Probably where Naomi gets it from. Never backing down, always saying what needs saying, even when it’s hard.

I know because I’ve been on the receiving end plenty of times. And I’m probably better for it. Not fixed but… working through it. Which I think is all she wanted from me anyway.

This is getting exhausting. My brain won't just stop. Jumping from Maeve to Naomi to Dad to therapy, and it loops right back around again. Can't just have a single goddamn normal thought—like what I want for lunch or whether the fence posts need checking. Just constantly spiralling this morning, making my head feel like there's a bowling ball rolling around in it. Heavy. Weighing me down.

Getting me down.

“Colt? Is that you, dear?”

Mrs Mae’s voice pulls me toward the kitchen, the smell of a hearty home-cooked meal filling the air. She turns with her arms open, then stops abruptly just in front of me. She takes a big whiff, being extra dramatic about it.

“Oh Lord, Colt. You smell like the back end of a horse.” She steps back, offering her signature smile that instantly makes me feel at home. “No hug for you today, sweetheart. Can’t have you stinking up my clean kitchen.”

I look down at myself. Yeah, she has a point. “I’ll go shower and change.”

“Your father's in the office,” she calls as I turn to leave. “He wanted to talk to you about something. Some plan you boys are working on?”

That stops me. Has he actually remembered? He mentioned the riding school thing weeks ago, but I figured he'd forget about it. That's usually how it goes with him—brings something up, I get my hopes up, then nothing. Story of my life.

“It's good seeing you two work together.” Mrs. Mae's voice goes soft. “Your grandfather would be so proud. And Colt?” Mrs. Mae pauses, sussing out whether I am paying her any attention. And of course I am, because I ain’t no fool. But my eyes are locked on the ground, reeling with the idea that I am going to have to work closely with Wade. Properly. Not just quick check-ins. This is a side-by-side operation. One which requires spending longer than 10 minutes together.

“Mm,” I finally respond.

“Give him a chance, honey. He's trying. Really trying this time. I don’t know what in the heavens has happened, but there's been a shift in him lately. Don't shut him out just when things might get better, for both your sakes.”

I manage a smile that probably doesn't quite come across as believable, and head for the stairs.

I know what caused the shift. Who caused it.

Maeve.

At least, that’s what I initially thought. But since we’d agreed to do the project together, it’s got me thinking of all the ways he’s actually shown up for me. How he’s never really said no to the things I’ve wanted to do. How he asks about therapy whenever I let him close enough to answer.

It’s Maeve who’s dragged us out of our own bullshit and forced me to look past my tunnel vision when it comes to him.