CHAPTER FOUR
WEST
SKYLAR IS STANDING IN FRONT OF ME A LOT SOONER THAN I EXPECTED. SURE, I knew we’d cross paths, but I didn’t imagine we’d be sharing my property.
Judging by the defiant glint in her eye and the proud lift to her chin, she
didn’t expect it either.
Hell, she might not even like it.
“Just give me a sec to get some of the water off her, and I’ll help you out.”
“Great,” she says, her voice a little icier than earlier.
With a shake of my head, I turn and pick up the sweat scraper to remove any excess liquid from the filly. I lead her back to her pasture and Skylar follows, propping herself against the fence with a curious expression on her face.
The minute I remove her halter, the horse drops and rolls in the dirt.
I smile, but Skylar’s gasp draws away my attention. She looks on with a hand thrown daintily over her chest as the horse wiggles and slathers her wet
coat in dust and dirt.
“You just bathed her.”
“Oh shit, right. One sec, I’ll tell her she shouldn’t have done that.” I turn back to the filly. “Hey, Meli. Don’t get dirty, ok —”
“All right, I get it. You don’t need to mock me.” She’s back to having that sour expression on her face.
“I’m not mocking you. I’m cracking a joke. Plus, there’s no stopping it.
I’ll be back out here tomorrow to brush her clean. And if she’s too warm after working, then I’ll hose her down. Rinse, repeat. It’s like I’m her bitch, if you think about it.”
I can see Skylar working that out in her head. “Don’t you get annoyed?
You just spent all that time making her clean.”
Now I’m the one quirking my head and looking confused. “No. I spent all that time making her feel good. Cooling her down. She’s a horse, doing horse things. See how happy she is?” I glance at the filly, who is grunting and rolling.
Meli makes it all the way over again before clumsily pushing to stand.
Once upright, she shakes her entire body, but the dirt still clings to her as she wanders over, eyeing Skylar inquisitively. Skylar stays frozen in place, and I wonder how she ever thought she could get close to a bear when a horse is clearly making her nervous.
However, she braves her discomfort and reaches out tentatively, letting Meli’s nostrils flare over her flat palm as the filly sniffs. Seconds later, Meli bobs her head, knickers, and wanders away, all calm and content, before stuffing her face into the hay I stocked in her feeder.
“See? She’s so happy. How could I begrudge her that?”
Skylar is laser-focused on the horse. “But is there a way to keep them clean?”
“I mean, sure. I could keep them indoors with a sheet all the time and muck their stalls multiple times a day. Keep ‘em locked up. But that’s not the life these horses are meant to live. These aren’t show horses—the odd one might be down the line. These are working horses, young horses. They’re lucky they get brushed at all. I do it because I like the process and I know it feels good for them. We build trust this way, and I don’t care if they make a mess of it later. Can’t hold their nature against them.”
“Huh” is the only thing she says as she continues staring at Meli. Like what I’ve just said confuses her on a deeper level.
A ringing from her purse makes her jump and she’s immediately diving for it, scrambling to find her phone in what appears to be some sort of bottomless bag. When she pulls it out, her brow furrows, her eyes water, and her jaw tics.
Then she presses the button on the side to silence it and I watch her face transform into this fake mask of serenity. It’s too practiced. Honestly, it’s a little creepy. It makes me question every photo and interview I’ve ever seen of this woman.
“You can pet her while she eats if you want. She’s a sweet girl. I’ll go grab the bedding set and be right back.”
She nods but doesn’t give me her attention. Instead, she approaches the horse again with caution, and I decide to give her a moment to herself.
I dart into the house and don’t bother taking my shoes off. The floors are a fucking mess from the kids being here all week anyway. I’ll do a deep clean when they leave for their mom’s place this weekend. I rush upstairs, tug open the closet, and grab the red-and-white gingham set that Rosie used when she crashed in the bunkhouse. It looks like a picnic blanket turned into a bedspread.
As I’m stomping back down the stairs, I stop at the landing and glance out the window. Skylar has gone right up to the fence where Meli is eating and is reaching out for the horse’s forehead like she’s about to touch a hot stove or something. Her purse is dropped at her feet and she seems almost relaxed.
I swear, if I made a loud noise, she’d jump straight out of her skin. The girl is stressed. Anxious. It keeps me from outwardly fan-girling over her. I think if I did, she’d bolt. So I keep my slack-jawed expressions locked up real tight.
It also didn’t occur to me that Skylar may not have spent time around horses. I just…assumed. Country music star and all that. It just seems like it fits her whole persona.
But based on the way her stiff, flat palm taps the star in the middle of Meli’s forehead, I realize I was sorely mistaken.
So I stand and watch. Her taps evolve into rubs as Meli continues happily munching on her hay. Soon, Skylar’s dainty fingers weave themselves into her forelock, and she combs it out carefully.
When she’s done pampering Meli, she reaches into her pocket and lifts her phone. She fluffs her hair, makes some weird duck pout with her face, and switches from vulnerable young woman to confident bombshell in the blink of an eye.
She talks into her phone while Meli munches behind her. With her perfectly combed-out forelock. Like that somehow made her more presentable. The recording doesn’t last long, and as soon as she puts the phone down, her entire body sags. Then she stares at the phone, most likely watching the video back, and her face falls.
I shake my head.
And not because I’m mad, but because I’m sad. I just witnessed a tender moment evaporate behind a shiny veneer. I watched vulnerable Skylar morph
into starlet Skylar. And on the other side of that recording was an empty version of the girl whose eyes flashed with so much life on that back road.
Another shake of my head has me jogging down the stairs and back outside to the paddock. “You done with whatever it is you’re doing?” I ask, noting the way she’s still frowning at her screen.
“I just…I need to do another take. I don’t like this one. I look gross, and I’ve sweat all my makeup off. I need a filter.”
My eyes race over the woman before me. She looks like a lot of things to me, but gross isn’t one of them. “A what?”
She finally glances up at me. “You know, a filter. For my face.”
My head tilts as I work out what the hell this girl could be talking about.
She has the kind of face people would show their plastic surgeon as
inspiration.
“What’s wrong with your face?”
She sighs heavily and turns her attention back to her phone. “Apparently,
I’m looking old.”
“Old? How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Yeah, fair. That is super old,” I reply solemnly.
She hits me with a scowl.
“Who said that?”
A sullen shrug precedes her response. “Some article. Something about me looking older.”
“I hate to alarm you, but that is actually what happens as you age.”
She laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh.
“If you want my advice…ignore that shit. Don’t even read it.”
“Easier said than done.” Her words are soft and lined with embarrassment.
My chest feels tight, and I don’t know what to say. I’m already terrified to be raising a little girl, let alone a little girl in a world where she might feel like she looks old in her mid-twenties.
Before I can get my words together, she perks up and lands a jab. “Now that I think of it, I don’t actually want you to give me advice. And you don’t get to call me super old with fine lines like that. You need a filter too.” She waves a finger over my face, but it’s playful.
I chuckle and tip my head in amusement. I shouldn’t have considered this girl down for the count because she just came back swinging.
“Come on, fancy face.” I tilt my head in the direction of the bunkhouse.
“Let’s get you set up. You can come do your photo shoot with Meli and beat yourself up about your accelerated aging anytime. I think you’ve done
enough of that for one day, though.”
“Did you just call me fancy face?”
I shrug and turn to walk away. “You didn’t like ‘doll’ or ‘bird girl.’ And your complete lack of any fine lines is pretty fancy.”
I can hear her soft footsteps as she follows. “Maybe I don’t like ‘fancy face’ either.”
“Well, it’s a lot better than ‘old face.’”
This time when she laughs, it’s a happy laugh.
And somehow that feels like a win.
When we get to the bunkhouse and I see angelic Skylar Stone standing in the hovel that she’s about to call home, I try not to cringe.
Instead, I blink at her. Big diamond earrings. Perfectly white teeth.
Manicured nails. She could not be more out of place than she is in the bunkhouse.
I drop the bedding onto the mattress, and she shocks me by asking, “What
do I do with these?”
“You…make the bed?”
A jittery laugh falls from her lips as she tucks her hair behind one ear. It’s a nervous tell. It’s the same as when a horse flicks their ear, rolls their eye to the side. I’m especially attuned to these things. Spend all day watching for signs of discomfort in animals who don’t talk, and you can’t help but notice
them in humans too.
“Yeah, totally. I’ll figure it out.”
I blink again. “Are you telling me you don’t know how to make a bed?”
She scoffs. Rolls her eyes. Tucks the other side of her hair behind her other ear. “How hard can it be?”
I blurt out the first thing that crosses my mind. “How are you twenty-six and you don’t know how to make a bed?”
I know it wasn’t the right thing to say by the way her eyes flash. Any comment—joking or otherwise—about her capabilities is a pinch point that sets her off.
“I’ve been polished, propped up, and trotted out like America’s favorite show pony my entire life. I was a child star who lived on the road. I didn’t get to go to school. I didn’t learn how to make a bed. I never needed to. No one
ever told me to. It was always just done. But you know what? I’m not dumb.
I’ll figure it out without your”—her hands fly up and make angry air quotes
—“big manly bed-making help.”
“Skylar, I didn’t mean —”
She flicks a dismissive hand at me and refuses to meet my eyes. “There’s a YouTube tutorial for everything. You can go. Thank you for all you did today.” She pauses, gaze fixed on the red-and-white sheets as her teeth strum violently at her bottom lip. “It might may not seem like it, but I really appreciate your help.”
There’s something deeply earnest in her words, and it keeps me from saying anything more. Instead, I honor her wishes and back away slowly.
“You need anything, knock on the door. Anytime. I’m just up the hill, all right?”
Her head bobs delicately as a tear tumbles from her lower lashes and lands right on the apple of her perfectly bronzed cheek.
She swipes it away as quickly as it falls.
I want to walk back in and hug her. But I don’t. I’m well acquainted with the fight-or-flight response. Right now, this girl looks ready to pack up and fly away. Which I can’t stand because I get the sense she needs this place right now.
And for some inexplicable reason, I don’t want her to leave.