Turn and Burn, Page 26

  He laughed. “Well, I never could’ve competed with the trophies, buckles and saddles you won.”

  “Do you ever wonder what would’ve happened if Dad had died and Mom had lived?”

  “Mom would’ve talked to you before she made a decision about the ranch.”

  “Me? But like you said . . . I was hardly ever there. You were. Why not talk to you?”

  “You’re the oldest. If you’d said sell, the place would’ve been sporting a FOR SALE sign. If you’d said keep it, she would’ve asked me how to make that happen.”

  “After hearing about all this stuff I never knew . . . makes me question whether we ever were the happy family I remember.”

  “We were. Even though I worked with Dad every day, I wasn’t as close to him as I was to Mom. I think he let us be her kids because it made her happy, and when she was gone . . .”

  “He didn’t have to pretend anymore.” She closed her eyes and experienced that overwhelming feeling of loss and pain again.

  Garrett was as quiet as she was.

  Then he said, “You’ve never given any of this serious thought before now?”

  “No. At first it was easier not to think about it because it made me miss Mom. Then I had other issues to deal with and, well . . . out of sight, out of mind.” She took a deep breath and confessed, “I have nightmares about her. They get all mixed up with that night with Jezebel. I wake up shaking. Crying sometimes.”

  “Jesus, Tan. How often does it happen?”

  Too often. It’d happened again last night. She couldn’t believe the scream that’d woken her up hadn’t woken Fletch. Then she’d skulked out of his bed and locked herself in her trailer. “Often enough.”

  “Have you talked to anyone?”

  “I’m talking to you.”

  “Not what I mean.”

  “You mean like a therapist? No.”

  “What about Celia? Or Lainie?” he demanded. “You listened to their tales of woe for years.”

  “They nag me about getting back on a horse. I figure if I tell them about the nightmare, their advice will still be to get back on a horse and I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be.”

  Another bout of silence stretched—but it was unlike their previous pauses. “What?”

  “You know I love you, right?”

  “Right. And can I just say fuck you ahead of time for whatever you’re about to say, because no conversation starting out with those words ever ends well.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll give it to you straight. Quit bein’ such a fucking baby about this horse shit. Get your goddamned saddle, get your tack, pick a horse, mount up and ride that fear right out of your head. I realize you suffered a traumatic event, but guess what? You’re not the only barrel racer in the history of the world to deal with this. Most barrel racers who don’t race anymore can’t . . . due to injuries. I’d bet if you asked any one of them, they’d love to have your problem—mental, not physical.

  “You’re healed up. There’s no reason for you to walk around, wringing your hands, lamenting your lot in life and the sad turn to your career. Buck up. Get on a horse and move on. Or don’t. Do what Dad did. Excise every bit of barrel racing from your life and find something else to do with your life.”

  Tanna had to sit down at hearing Garrett’s harsh words.

  He remained quiet on the line for a long time too.

  Or maybe he’d hung up.

  “Tanna, I hate to end the call on this note but I’ve gotta go. I love you. Take care of yourself and I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She paced and cursed and even cried a little for the next hour. She wouldn’t concede any points to her brother, except for one: she did need to talk to someone.

  Tanna scrolled through her phone list. Her finger hovered above the CALL button before she pressed it down.

  He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey. It’s Tanna. Do you have time to talk?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “Oddly enough, I’m down by the pens.”

  “At the Split Rock?”

  “Yep.”

  “So we can talk in person?”

  “Yep.”

  “Cool. I’ll be there in five.”

  It was probably the only time Tanna was happy not to see Fletch hanging around the stock pens.

  Tobin grinned at her. “Hey, lady. I think this is the first time you’ve ventured down here.”

  “Why would I want to fill my lungs with barnyard scent when I don’t have to?”

  “Point taken. If you’re looking for—”

  “Actually I’m looking for Sutton.”

  Tobin frowned. “Okay.” He whistled and waved to a guy in the pens with the baby steers she assumed was Sutton.

  “What are Eli and Sutton doin’ here today?” she asked.

  “We’re swapping out a couple horses.”

  “Do you do that a lot?”

  “Not as much as we used to.”

  Sutton loped over. “Hey, Tex-Mex.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt if you’re too busy.”

  “I’m not.” He exited the pens and walked along the fence, brushing dust from his jeans. “Where we goin’?”

  She pointed to a bench that sat between the newest metal structure and the barn.

  “That’ll work.” He looked at Tobin. “If Eli asks where I am, would you point me out?”

  “Sure.”

  As soon as they sat, Sutton said, “I was surprised you called me. Not that I wouldn’t like to spend all afternoon talking to you, but I might have to leave quickly since I’m here helping Eli.”

  “Understood.”

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  Her plan to ease into it vanished when she blurted, “I just got off the phone with my brother. And he said some stuff that hurt, but it’s also made me think. Made me wonder if maybe he’s right.”

  “Right about what?”

  “About me bein’ a big baby and whining all the fucking time about my horse phobia.”

  Sutton’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious? Your brother said that to you?”

  “Yeah. I know he did it out of love and concern for me, but it still stings. But I have to ask myself if he’s right. A mental breakdown isn’t as serious as a physical breakdown. He didn’t ask if I was milking this phobia for attention, but that’s probably only because the conversation was cut short.”

  “You’re close to your brother?”

  “Very. He’s not the guy who says hurtful things just because he knows what’ll slice into me the deepest. He said he’s tired of hearing about my indecision. That if I don’t think I can ride, I should just purge my life of everything barrel racing related.”

  “Well, that’s just plain damn ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” She faced him, even though she was fighting another bout of stupid tears. “Do you know there’s a barrel racer on the circuit who’s broken nearly all the bones in her body? Last time, she broke, like, her neck or something and she climbed back on her horse within two months. Two. Fucking. Months. What does that say about me?”

  “Tanna—”

  “It’s almost been a year and I can barely stand to step boot into a horse pasture. I think about climbing on a horse and all I envision is being trapped beneath it. I’m suffocating under the weight as it’s dying on top of me. And the last time I picked up my tack? My hands shook so fucking hard I couldn’t even hold it. But that’s the issue my brother pointed out—that I’m physically able to do it. I could saddle a horse and ride one if I wanted to. My accident didn’t disable me. Didn’t physically ruin me.

  “I can name a dozen other women, all fantastic barrel racers, who’ve had injuries way worse than mine, and it was hardly a hiccup in their career. They were back on, training harder than ever, not cowering by the fence. So, back to the question. What is wrong with me?”

  “Hey.”

  Tanna kept her gaze f
ocused on the ground.

  “Hey,” he said more firmly and she looked up. “Those women are not you, so stop comparing yourself to them. They may be riding in the worst pain of their lives and regret every second they’re on a horse. Maybe they lie in bed for a week afterward, physically and emotionally drained. Cowgirls are tough, Tanna. That’s what sets them apart. They won’t admit weaknesses but you can be guaranteed they have them.”

  Don’t cry.

  “I can’t—I won’t—judge you for your phobia. Neither should he. And yes, I know your fear is real. I’ve watched you at Eli’s. Is it hard—almost impossible to believe, given how you’ve lived your life around horses? Yes. I get why he’d say that. But your brother hasn’t seen you facing your fear and trying to overcome it. But you are. One step at a time.”

  Tanna didn’t say anything because she didn’t know what to say.

  Sutton rubbed her arm. “What else?”

  Just say it. “I have nightmares. Bad ones. Not every night, but at least once a week. And they’re always intermixed with my mother’s death. Which is fucked up on several levels. I imagine they’ll fade in time. Or if I ever actually get my scared ass on a horse.”

  “Keep goin’. You need to get this out,” he said gently.

  So Tanna talked. And talked. Sutton listened without judgment, without interruptions besides to make a comment when she took a pause. When she finished, she did feel better. Even when she felt a little guilty for dropping the burden on a guy she barely knew.

  Why couldn’t she say any of this to Fletch? By confiding in Sutton, was she giving Sutton the wrong idea?

  Don’t be an idiot. This is about a shared trauma—a trauma Fletch doesn’t understand.

  She was saved from the awkwardness of having to apologize when Eli shouted to Sutton that it was time for them to go.

  Fletch slumped against the wall by the open window where he’d been eavesdropping.

  Eavesdropping. On his own girlfriend like some snoopy neighbor lady that didn’t have anything better to do than listen in on private conversations.

  As far as hearing a private conversation, this one had been a whopper.

  Tanna spilling her guts—and her fears—to Sutton.

  Not to him.

  That rankled. No, it just plain damn hurt.

  Was he a fool to think they’d made any progress a week ago at Eli’s? Not only in getting her to touch a horse, but in getting her to trust him?

  Probably. What had they done after her small breakthrough?

  Screwed like animals in a big way. Fletch so high on victory to prove he knew what Tanna needed that he’d mastered her with rough, raunchy, hot, down and dirty sex.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. So he should’ve . . . what? Demanded they talk it out instead of fuck it out? Hell no. That wasn’t him. With Tanna he could be the overtly sexual being that he hid from most women and she accepted that side of him. She’d wanted that side of him. Needed it, actually.

  So if she couldn’t talk to you, can you really blame her for talking to Sutton?

  Goddamned right he could.

  Jesus. What was wrong with him? Could this hollow feeling come from jealousy?

  No, not jealousy, not the normal kind, where he wanted to beat Sutton’s face in because Fletch suspected the snarky bastard was trying to sweet-talk Tanna into his bed. No, this jealousy was worse because he’d just realized there was an emotional bond between Tanna and Sutton—and that intimacy was more painful to bear. The bulldogger had a part of Tanna that Fletch couldn’t reach.

  That kicked in a feeling of betrayal.

  Why couldn’t she let him be the man she needed? In bed and out of bed? Why did she want Sutton’s help? Especially when Sutton Grant was a smug asshole?

  Fletch would really like to boot the boy’s butt back to Colorado.

  Nice. Way to get to the real problem with that petty, juvenile chest-beating attitude. Fletch knew that was pointless, but just because he was aware of it didn’t mean he could stop it.

  When he glanced across the path to see Harlow staring at him from the barn, he quickly ducked back inside.

  This shit was going round and round in his brain with no way to stop it. He needed to clear his head. As soon as he finished this afternoon, he’d go home for a few days to try to gain some perspective.

  With Sutton as her confidant, Tanna probably wouldn’t notice he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The following afternoon Kyle was sitting outside on his front deck when Fletch pulled up to his house.

  Patches, Kyle and Celia’s blue heeler, greeted him with a happy yip. He crouched and ruffled the dog’s silky ears. “Heya. You’re a good boy. Bit of an attention whore.”

  “Celia spoils him rotten. But he’s a great cattle dog, so I can’t complain.”

  Fletch looked at Kyle. “Where is the brat?”

  “Napping. She’s still tryin’ to do everything, lugging a baby in her belly. Then she’s so tired she falls asleep right after supper.”

  “I never pegged Celia as the type who’d nap during the day.”

  “Oh, she ain’t.” Kyle smirked. “But I got my ways of coaxing her into bed. And yes. Them are doctor’s orders.”

  Fletch laughed. He pointed to Kyle’s beer. “Got an extra one of those?”

  “Sure.” Kyle disappeared inside and returned with two bottles. “You wanna sit on the porch?”

  “I’d rather walk down by the barn.”

  Neither spoke until they rested over the fence separating the yard from the horse pasture.

  “Not that I’m not happy to see you, Fletch, but I’ll admit you got me a little worried, calling out of the blue in the afternoon, asking if I was busy.”

  “Yeah, this bein’ on vacation shit is weird for me too.”

  “What’s goin’ on?”

  No reason to beat around the bush. Fletch sipped his beer. “Tanna.”

  “What about her?”

  “Well, we’re . . . you know . . .” Fletch felt Kyle looking at him but couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Not to be a dick, but no, I don’t know the particulars. What’s goin’ on between you two? If Tanna’s been talkin’ to Celia, Celia hasn’t been talkin’ to me about it.”

  “Tanna and I are . . . fuck buddies is a crude way to put it, but that’s pretty much all we are.” Or so he’d come to believe in the past day.

  “You don’t sound too happy about that.”

  “I’m not.” Fletch knocked back another swallow of beer. “I’ve got it bad for her, Kyle. Bad like I’ve never had it for a woman before and I don’t know what the hell to do.”

  “Have you told her?”

  “Nope. She don’t wanna hear it. She’s all about Muddy Gap bein’ a temporary pit stop in her life. She’s been clear about that from the start.”

  “Again, not to be a dick, but that’s how you prefer to run your affairs.”

  Fletch snorted. “Affairs. So you’re telling me what goes around comes