Page 32 of Quarter Miles (Runaway 3)

“How do you really feel about the expansion?”

It had been Easton’s idea to create a state-of-the-art horse breeding and training facility. He’d bought the land for the expansion to the ranch, all the while planning on having Cash run it, but he’d never asked. He’d done it without consulting Cash, or anyone, first.

Cash was fairly easygoing. It took a lot to fluster him, but he was a proud man. He was a leader in his own right. And no one had asked if he even wanted to run the training facility. They just assumed that since he loved horses, since he had a gift with the animals, he’d follow suit.

“I’m excited for it.” Cash shrugged. “It’ll be great once we get it going. I’ll get to spend more time with the horses.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. How do you feel about how it all came about?”

“You mean that East bought property without telling any of us?”

“Yes.”

“It

’s fine.” Another shrug. “You know how it is with Dad and Granddad. They aren’t great at letting go. This was Easton’s power play. He wants to make his mark.”

He’d badgered me for not sharing my feelings, but he was doing the same. “But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Easton should have talked to you. He should have told you what he was planning.”

“Maybe.”

My temper flared. “Maybe? Yes. He should have talked to you.”

“Okay, fine. He should have talked to me. But he didn’t.”

“Doesn’t that make you angry?”

“What do you want me to do about it, Kat? Get into it with Easton? He’s already fighting Dad and Granddad on the management stuff. I’m trying to tread lightly and just get the goddamn project done. Why does it matter when at the end of the day, I want to work with horses? This will make that happen.”

“But—”

“There’s no but. Yes, Easton of all people should know what it’s like to feel excluded. To be talked over and brushed aside. But I’ve known my entire life what it feels like to be in second place. I’m the second son. Causing a fight about it isn’t going to change that fact.”

It wasn’t fair. Cash shouldn’t be talked around. He shouldn’t be ignored. Didn’t he realize how talented he was? How smart?

Why was I angrier about this than he was? Maybe this wasn’t an issue for him. Maybe I’d misread the situation.

Or maybe I was picking a fight because moving out when we got home would be a lot easier if I was pissed at Cash first. If I was going to make him mad, I might as well go all in.

“Why do you let people decide how your life is going to go?” I regretted the question immediately.

Cash turned to stone.

My stomach plummeted. Now who wasn’t being fair? Cash didn’t let people dictate his life, but his family was packed full of strong personalities. They didn’t walk over him per se. He just didn’t battle.

I couldn’t remember a time when Cash argued with his parents or grandparents or Easton. Which was a good thing, except in a family where a Friday dinner wasn’t a Friday dinner without some sort of bickering. It had always struck me as off that Cash was rarely in the fray.

He sat motionless and unspeaking, his expression passive. The tension was so thick, his soundless rage so consuming, my own guilt so heavy, that I struggled to breathe.

One hour bled into two. Five to six.

As we drove out of Idaho and into Oregon, I spent the passing miles attempting not to cry. I’d bitten the inside of my cheeks so hard I’d drawn blood.

The farmland around us was a brilliant kelly green. Fences broke up fields. Snowcapped peaks rose tall above the sweeping valleys in the distance. It was a beautiful day outside, bright and clear. But the storm brewing inside the car was as black as midnight.