All the King's Horses (18 page)

What happened to you, Amy?

My chest ached just thinking about what happened last night. Whatever emotions she’d been trying to contain had torn open all at once, and the pain had been palpable even before I’d stepped off the porch.

It was more than just grief. I was sure of it. Something about the way she fell apart, the way she seemed to collapse under the weight of more than just an untimely death, made me think whatever it was that had ripped her apart last night started well before her husband died. Especially in light of the bruise that she’d tried unsuccessfully to cover when she first came here.

Someone had hurt her, and I had a strong suspicion it was that slick-haired guy who’d beamed in the pictures on their farm’s website under the announcement he’d recently died.

I couldn’t for the life of me imagine why anyone would hurt another human being, just like I couldn’t imagine why anyone had hurt Blue or Chip or Star. It didn’t make—

Ransom jerked underneath me, shying to the side and damn near unloading my ass because I wasn’t paying attention. As I righted myself in the saddle, heart pounding from the near fall, I swore quietly at the bird that’d kicked up some dust in the corner of the arena. The bird, and my own inability to concentrate on things like not breaking my neck.

Focus on the horse. Talk to Amy later. Focus.

Amy came down at a little past noon with her damp hair pulled back into her dusty baseball cap. We glanced at each other, but that look didn’t last long, and neither of us said anything.

As we went about our various tasks—Amy turning horses out and bringing them in while I worked the horses on my schedule—it occurred to me I’d never realized just how much we crossed paths while we worked. It made sense, I supposed, I just hadn’t given it any thought because I hadn’t had any reason to be so hyperaware of where she was, what she was doing, what she wasn’t doing, what we weren’t saying.

She didn’t owe me any explanation, but I was worried about her, and damn my inability to even say,
are you okay?
without choking on my own breath. It didn’t help that the persistent drizzle gave us both excuses to keep our hats on. We both wore them all day long anyway, but today a black brim and a blue bill created convenient barriers for preventing any connection between tired, uncertain eyes. Though I usually hated working in my office unless I absolutely had to, I ducked in there around two thirty to tally up some receipts and finish up some paperwork I’d been putting off.

I was way too fucking tired to even try to deal with numbers and paperwork, but it needed to be done. Even if it took me twice as long because just keeping my eyes open was a struggle. Better to make a mistake on paper than on a horse, though. I’d just go over it when I was well rested and remembered how to concentrate, and any problems could be fixed with an eraser. Numbers couldn’t take advantage of my lack of focus to indulge in or start a bad habit, and numbers wouldn’t be shaken or upset if I startled myself out of a daydream and subsequently startled them.

About the time I couldn’t focus on the print on the endless stack of receipts and invoices, I glanced at my watch. It was close to dinnertime, so as good a time as any to give it a rest for the day. I slid the receipts into a folder and pushed myself up from the desk.

As I locked the office door behind me, Amy stepped out of the feed room across the aisle. The door squeaked on its hinges, and the latch clicked as she secured it.

Doors closed and tasks handled, there we were, a few feet of packed-dirt floor between us as we looked at each other like neither of us had a clue what to say. Or if there was anything to say after last night, or this morning, or…

I sure as hell didn’t know what we were supposed to do next.

Amy wrung her hands and focused on the aisle between us. “Listen, after last night, I think I owe you an explanation.” Pausing, she lifted her gaze enough to just meet my eyes. “And maybe a drink. If you…want to go somewhere…”

“I told you, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. Especially if you’re not ready—”

“And if I am ready?”

I swallowed. I swore her eyes begged me to agree to this. Like she’d put a crack in the dam last night and needed to let the pressure off before things got any worse.

“Yeah,” I said. “We can do that.”

Amy smiled, and I was sure the breath she released was a relieved one. “I can drive. We’ll burn my gas.”

I laughed softly, and then shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Chapter Thirteen

Amy

The ranch’s dirt driveway was muddy instead of dusty, thanks to last night’s rain, and every time my tires splashed through a puddle, I cringed a little. The longer I’d thought about last night, the more embarrassed I was that Dustin had seen me like that. That I’d been like that at all, never mind where someone could see me.

And now we were in the confines of my truck with forty-five minutes each way and a potentially uncomfortable meal ahead of us. This was going to be fun. Still, it was better to clear the air while the ground was still wet than wait until we’d avoided each other for days on end and things were at awkwardness critical mass.

I cleared my throat. “So, about last night…”

The leather seat creaked softly as Dustin shifted. “You really
don’t
have to explain yourself.”

“I need to.” I glanced at him. “If you’re okay with hearing it.”

“Sure.” He turned toward me. “I just don’t want you thinking you have to. On my account.”

“I appreciate that.” My throat was still raw, my voice scratchy, but I spoke anyway. “Sam was my husband. My…”

“Late husband?”

My head snapped toward him. “Yeah. I…” Turning my attention back to the road, I said, “Did I tell you that part last night?”

“No, uh…” He fidgeted in the passenger seat. “Not long after you came to the ranch, when you’d said you had more experience with horses, I was curious. So I looked you up.”

“Oh.”

“That sounds incredibly creepy now that I’m saying it,” he said. “I swear, I was just—”

“It’s okay. Really.” I managed a quiet laugh. “I wondered why you suddenly had more faith in my abilities.”

He laughed too. “Sorry I doubted you.”

Humor fading, I said, “So you know Sam was killed recently.”

Dustin nodded. “A motorcycle accident, right?”

“Yeah.” I fidgeted to cover up a shiver.

“
Ma’am, there’s been an accident…
”

“So, Sam.” I slid both hands around to the top of the steering wheel and focused on the wet road in front of me. “Long story short, we were married for eleven years. Eleven long, miserable years.”

“Oh, wow,” he said.

“Yeah.” I paused, releasing the wheel long enough to run a hand through my hair. “And Sam and I both contributed to that, don’t get me wrong. But…” Only the need to watch the muddy road kept me from closing my eyes as I sighed. “Well, let’s put it this way. Sam was a great businessman. Very methodical, knew business like I know horses. When he and I met, my sister and I had a small training business going. Part-time thing, but we had a few clients, made a little money. Within three years, Sam had turned that business into a full-time job for everyone involved. Two years after that, we’d brought in two assistant trainers and were
still
turning away clients.”

“Sounds like a pretty successful operation.”

“Oh, it was. Big-time. We were competing at levels I hadn’t even dreamed about. The last two years, Sam made it his mission to get me onto the US Equestrian Team for the next Olympics. Anything I’d ever imagined when I was younger, this blew it out of the water.” I paused, sighing. “And I. Was.
Miserable
.”

“In your marriage?”

“In general.” I glanced at Dustin. It was so surreal to me, looking at someone who had so much concern in his beautiful eyes, while I talked about this. “My job, my marriage, just…my life. It got to the point I couldn’t find a reason to be happy in anything.”

“Depression?”

“Major. My mom and sister encouraged me to go to a therapist, so I did, but I think I found the worst therapist on God’s green earth for me.” I rolled my eyes. “Apparently, I’m as adept at selecting therapists as I am at selecting a husband.”

“So I’m guessing therapy just made things worse.” His tone was soft. Gentle. The verbal equivalent of the arm he’d put around me last night when I’d desperately needed it.

“Pretty much. She didn’t have a lot of sympathy for someone coming in and saying ‘I’m married to a faithful, devoted man, we’re rolling in money, and I have the career I’ve always dreamed about, but I’m unhappy for some reason.’”

Dustin sniffed. “Christ. Because money and careers solve everything.”

“Right?” I scowled. “Apparently I needed to appreciate the things my husband was doing for me. The thing is, I did. I was beyond grateful for everything he’d done. But it didn’t negate all the other things he’d done.”

“Such as?”

Shame stirred in my stomach. I’d never spoken of this except to my sister, and deep down, I was sure this qualified as speaking ill of the dead and made me a terrible person. A terrible widow.

But I went on. “Sam had a drinking problem. A bad one. He was a good man when he was sober, but when he was drunk, like
really
drunk, my God, he was like a completely different person. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, down to the damned letter. He was a mean drunk too. Sometimes downright cruel. I knew it had to stop, and I didn’t know how to stop it. So I threw out all the booze in the house one night. All of it. Every drop. And when he went to have a drink, and there wasn’t any left, he was furious.” I put my hand to my lips as the memory threatened to break me down all over again. “We didn’t usually fight like that when he wasn’t drunk, but we did that night, and it was the one and only time he ever hit me sober.”

“He…” Dustin said. “He
hit
you?”

I nodded and sniffed sharply. “It happened on occasion. Rare occasion.” My throat ached, and I gave myself a moment to compose myself. “At least when he was getting violent with me, he wasn’t out being mean to the horses or something, but…either way, he was an asshole when he drank. And that one night, he wasn’t even drunk.”

“Jesus…”

“He was mortified,” I said. “Like he couldn’t believe he’d done it. And I was angry. I was so, so angry. I screamed at him to get out, but by then, he was already gone, and I heard his motorcycle going down the driveway. Any other night, I’d have been scared out of my mind of him riding that thing in that kind of weather, but I just listened to him leave and prayed to God he never came back.” I wiped my eyes and looked at Dustin. “And he never did.”

Dustin pulled in a breath, but I released mine and whispered, “God, I can’t even tell you how good it feels to finally do this.”

“It…it does?”

“Yeah.” I gestured at my wet face. “This hurts like hell, but it feels good too, because it’s something. I needed to feel something again that isn’t just cold, empty, nothing.”

“I can understand that.”

“Really?”

“
Ooh,
yeah,” he said. “Sometimes the only thing worse than being in pain is not feeling anything at all.”

I nodded. “God, yes.”

We glanced at each other, and even as I returned my attention to the road, something in his eyes settled something in me. Like I was not only relieved he didn’t think I was a melodramatic idiot, but maybe I wasn’t crazy for feeling this way in the wake of my husband’s death. Dustin may not have been through the same thing or known exactly what I was going through, but his lack of confusion over my barrage of emotions gave me some hope that I hadn’t gone as far off the deep end as I thought I had.

My voice was steadier when I spoke again. “I hated Mr. Hyde so badly I wanted him gone, and I wanted him dead. But I loved Dr. Jekyll. I really did. And I was so caught up in not knowing how to feel about Mr. Hyde finally being gone, it took until last night for me to realize how much it hurt to lose Dr. Jekyll.”

“I can imagine,” Dustin said softly.

“That’s not to say we didn’t have problems even without the alcohol being involved.” I paused to swallow when my voice tried to crack again. “And we probably would have gotten divorced eventually if I could have worked up the courage to initiate it.” I met Dustin’s eyes, blinking away tears. “But he was still, for the most part, a better man than just a drunk wife-beater.”

“Most people
are
mostly good people,” he said. “Even if they can really fuck up at times.”

I nodded. “Exactly.”

He shifted a little, resting his arm across the back of the seats as he faced me. “Out of curiosity, when you came out here, what exactly were you running away from?”

I shook my head slowly. “I’m not even sure. I just needed to regroup and figure a few things out, and I couldn’t do that there. I mean, he built our farm into what it was, and that meant everything there—every horse, every saddle, every nail in every board in every wall—had his name on it. It had all kind of been closing in on me for a long time. I resented him for everything, but I felt so ungrateful because I wouldn’t have any of it if not for him. And so when he died…”