In one way, they got better. Trey’s dad took off his first year of high school, never to be seen again. But they lost what little income he hadn’t spent on drinking. Just before he left, Trey’s mother had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer. She managed to beat it back once, but she was never the same after that—always a little off-balance, always a little weak. When Trey was seventeen it came back.
He swallowed hard and shook his head, looking out over the paddock under the moonlight. His mother had come here to ride, before she was too sick to leave the house, and she’d done it at all hours of the day. Now he saw her habit for what it was—a way to cope with her world falling apart around her. She’d taken on extra jobs that she worked as often as she could to supplement what they made training the horses. But she still loved to ride.
Then she was gone, and at seventeen he was an orphan.
Or at least he would have been, if the Millers hadn’t treated him like one of their own.
He ran his hands through his hair with a sigh. How could he sleep with Charity, after what they’d done for him?
He couldn’t find an answer to it. Not as he walked back through his land, not as he climbed the stairs, and not as he fell into bed.
* * *
Charity had never been so torn.
On the one hand, the last person she wanted to see on the planet was Trey Cantor. Her stomach still churned thinking of what he said last night. The words whirled around in her mind until they became nothing but hurtful nonsense, mixed in with barbs from earlier in her life.
But she needed to see her new horse. And even if she was done with Trey Cantor—done forever—Kepler still needed him. She was wrapped up in her feelings, yes, but not to the point where she’d yank Kepler away from the best trainer in the area.
So, she drove her truck over to Trey’s and parked in the driveway. Her hand shook a little as she turned the key in the ignition and wondered what she would say to Trey. Where was he, anyway? Probably in the barn, which was exactly where she needed to go. Charity wanted to say something to hurt him as much as he had hurt her, but everything that came through her head sounded stupid even in her own thoughts.
Trey was in the barn, standing at the stall of another one of the horses.
Charity swallowed the bright shame that had gathered at the back of her throat and ignored him. Her heart pounded, but she wouldn’t let an ounce of that show through to Kepler.
She could feel Trey's eyes on her.
Well, if he wanted to talk, he could start by saying…she didn’t even know. Apparently, neither did he. As she saddled up Kepler and led him out of the barn, there was nothing but silence between them.
Good. Trey deserved silence. And frankly there was nothing he could say right now to make her feel any better.
Charity half-expected Trey to follow her out to the paddock, but he didn’t. She lifted her chin even though nobody was there to see it but Kepler. As she led the horse through his exercises, Trey faded to the back of her mind. But he never really left.
“He might as well have come out,” Charity grumbled to Kepler. What was she going to do? If she couldn’t even work with Kepler without the ghost of her “mistake” with Trey haunting her all around the paddock, then…
She forced the thought out of her mind. For now, at least.
By the time Kepler needed a break, Charity felt a little calmer, buoyed by how well Kepler had done. She praised the horse all the way back to the barn, which was, aside from the other horses, blessedly empty.
Charity rubbed Kepler down, made sure he was fed, and whispered her goodbyes before climbing into her truck and driving off as fast as she could. It was a relief to get down the driveway and away from Trey.
She never thought she’d feel so happy to get away from him.
This training thing? It was not off to a good start.
Six
Five weeks later, at the end of June, Charity drove to Trey’s ranch and tried to ignore the familiar gut-churning feeling that hit her right in her core whenever she turned into his driveway.
He’d hurt her, and deeply. It was a wound that still throbbed. Whenever she let herself think about it too long—mistake, mistake, mistake—the word rattled endlessly around her mind. It was worse after training sessions with Kepler.
“Don’t think about it,” she told herself out loud as she jumped out of the truck and crossed the driveway, heading for the barn. Kepler wasn’t there, and neither was Trey, so they must be out at the paddock.
It was warm for this time of morning, and Charity savored the sun on her skin. She just loved weather like this. Soon, when she got away from the ranch, she might actually be able to enjoy it.
At first, her mind couldn’t register what she was seeing.
A horse, flying around barrels in the paddock, confident and strong.
Her horse.
It was Kepler, with Trey riding him like the two of them had always been a pair.
The incremental progress Kepler had made over the last five weeks had all come together. He was racing barrels. He was doing it.
Joy took her over, fast and hard, and before she could stop herself, she was clapping for them, jumping, whooping out loud. Trey guided Kepler through the last of the barrels and came back toward her with an enormous grin, Kepler tossing his head proudly. Trey jumped off in a blaze of sunlight, patting the horse on the head. “Amazing,” he shouted.
“Amazing!” Charity shouted back. She stepped into the paddock, giving Kepler an affectionate pat. “Amazing,” she shouted again, and then wrapped her arms around Trey without a second thought.
It hit her immediately as she took in a breath of him—the just-worked, sunny smell of him—and those words hit her again. Mistake.
This was a mistake, too. Touching Trey was always going to be a mistake, because it would always make her feel…like this. Only today the sensation was stronger, sweeping through her on the air. She wanted to be touching him more than she wanted anything else.
Charity pulled away and turned toward the paddock, her hands rising to her hair, smoothing her ponytail. “Kepler, good boy,” she said, breathless and still swept away by her surge of joy. Only it was a little awkward now. Just a little.
“He’s made real progress,” Trey said softly behind her.
“That’s an understatement.” She ran her hand over the horse’s neck, talking quietly into his ear. “He seems like a different horse.”
It was true. Kepler was different—hardly the difficult horse who was denied his chance at the auction. And it was all due to Trey’s work. Of course, she’d spent plenty of hours in the paddock with Kepler, too, but Trey was the expert, and he’d performed miracles with Kepler. She could see that in Kepler’s bearing and the way he’d gone around those barrels like a pro. Like a total pro, in fact.
But her thanks stuck in her throat. Charity wanted to tell Trey how much this meant to her, but if she spoke to him too much, she knew the floodgates would open. She’d…yell at him, for hurting her like he had. Or beg him for a chance at a real relationship. Neither one would do any good, since in the latter case, he’d reject her, and in the former…yelling would only make her feel better for a few moments. And it didn’t make sense, the way she still felt for him. Even after he’d been such a jerk.
“My turn,” she told Kepler, and hopped into the saddle. She wasn’t going to overwork the horse—what she’d seen had been a real success, and she didn’t want to undermine that by pushing too hard—but she couldn’t wait to take a spin around the barrels and see how Kepler handled them for herself. Trey stepped back, leaning against the fence, and watched. She felt his eyes on the two of them and had to put it out of her mind to focus on the horse.
She kept Kepler slow at first, but soon it became clear that the horse was itching to run. To race. Charity’s blood sang with Kepler’s energy. It took a firm hand to guide him by the reins because he was so exuberant, but there they were, riding togethe
r. It was what she’d hoped for when she’d bought him. She’d known he could do it. She’d just known it.
And Kepler seemed like a natural at barrel racing. Again, she felt a pang—Trey had given this to her. It was more of a gift than she could ever thank him for.
They raced faster and faster around the barrels, until Charity thought her head might spin.
It might spin…and then it did.
They were going around a sharp turn when her stomach lurched. Lightheadedness hit her in a heavy wave, and she felt her arms going slack on the reins—oh no, oh no—and then she was falling.
There was a moment of blackness before she even hit the ground, a free-fall into dark space, and then she connected. The ground seemed to rise up and punch her in the gut, knocking the wind from her lungs, and she curled up on instinct, drawing her knees to her chest. Once she was able to catch her breath, Charity pushed up on one elbow. The nausea hadn’t subsided. She gagged, the smell of the dirt beneath her too sharp and too…fresh somehow.
Trey was saying her name.
His heavy footsteps blurred together with the sound of his voice, which sounded as if it was coming from underwater. Then it cleared. “Charity. Charity!” He skidded to a stop on his knees next to her. She could hear Kepler trotting nearby, and then she felt a hand on her arm. She looked up into Trey’s eyes. They were filled with worry verging on panic.
“Are you all right? Talk to me, Charity. Are you okay? That was a hell of a fall.”
“I’m—” Her gut still turned, but she took a few deep breaths and pressed her lips together until the feeling faded a little. “I feel a little off. That’s all. I probably caught something last time I went to volunteer at the 4H program.” Working with kids was always a bit of a risk. Charity volunteered a couple of hours every other week, usually taking Lady with her. She hoped that she’d be able to take Kepler, too, once he’d been trained. The whole point of the program was to let the kids get used to the fundamentals of the circuit. “Probably just a stomach bug. I’ll be fine.”
Trey didn’t look any less concerned. “How long have you been feeling sick?”
“Trey, it’s just—I felt a little dizzy, and I fell. It’s not a big—”
“How long, Charity?”
It was embarrassing to be scolded like this, as if she was a child. And yet, the way he was looking at her with such clear care and concern made her feel pleasantly warm all through her core.
“A few days,” she admitted. “Maybe a week.”
“Can you stand up? We need to get you to a doctor.”
Charity blinked at him. “Yes, I can stand. But there’s no need for a doctor.” As if to prove it to him, she leapt to her feet, leaning forward to dust the dirt from her jeans. The movement made her feel dizzy again, and she leaned into Trey.
“Yeah. Come on. You have to be seen by a professional. On top of the bug, you might have hit your head.”
“I didn’t hit my head.” She stood upright, raising her chin. “Are you really going to bother me about this?”
“Are you really going to fall off Kepler in the middle of a turn and scare me half to death?”
Charity couldn’t help herself. She rolled her eyes. “You weren’t scared to death.” You don’t care about me at all, she wanted to say. But she swallowed the words.
“Yes, I was, Charity.” Trey took her hand in his, the movement surprisingly tender and steadying. “I’m—I’m worried about you now.”
She did not roll her eyes this time. “You know, this really implies that you care about me.” Even if I know that’s not true.
“I do care about you. You’re like family.”
Charity had known all along that he would say that. It didn’t stop the surge of disappointment.
“Fine.” She tugged her hand away from his, then shaded her eyes and looked out over the paddock. Kepler had stopped at the fence. “I’ll go. But only because I don’t want to hear any more about this from you." She sighed. “You’re exactly the type to tell my parents, too.”
“Good.” Trey let out a breath like this was the greatest relief of his lifetime. “You’ll go now?”
She sighed. “Sure. I’ll go now. But I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Back in her truck, Charity leaned her head back against the headrest and let out an enormous breath.
It was stupid, rushing off to see the doctor. Charity could almost convince herself of that. They’d get her in—it was that kind of office, with same-day appointments and the small-town attitude that anyone who showed up out of the blue probably was in need—but Charity was sure it was just a stomach bug. Almost sure, anyway.
But there, sitting in the front seat, her stomach gave a little turn. Again.
That was pretty common with the stomach flu, wasn’t it? The feeling passed almost immediately. She sat up feeling perfectly fine. Driving down the road toward home she felt it again and had to swallow back the sensation so she didn’t hurl in the car.
That…wasn’t normal, was it?
No.
Fine. She’d go see Dr. Rosario, and she would tell Charity that it was only a little case of whatever it was the 4H kids were passing around. A seasonal stomach flu or what have you. Besides, if she didn’t go, Trey would be on her case the next morning and her family would know by afternoon. Kepler didn’t deserve that kind of distraction. He was doing too well. Charity couldn’t stop the grin from spreading over her face. Kepler was doing so well. The circuit should be no problem this summer. Maybe they’d even come away with a few victories.
She was still thinking about Kepler when she pulled into the parking lot of the clinic. There were only two other cars—hopefully that meant there wouldn’t be a long wait. She hopped out of the truck, went in, and filled out the intake form. It seemed even more ridiculous in writing. Feeling weird for a few days, she wrote. Nauseous and sometimes dizzy. Fell off my horse. Once finished, she handed the clipboard back to the receptionist.
It wasn’t ten minutes before Greg, Dr. Rosario’s nurse, called her back into the exam room. He was cheerful as he took her blood pressure and temperature, then listened carefully to her symptoms.
“All right,” he said, standing up. “Dr. Rosario will be right with you.”
Charity fidgeted on the exam table while she waited. This was stupid. It was no big deal, and—
Dr. Rosario swept in, her dark eyes bright. “Charity! It’s been a while since we’ve seen you. I understand you’ve been experiencing some nausea and a few dizzy spells.” She checked Charity’s eyes after Charity described the fall from Kepler. While she shone the light at her pupils, she asked another question. “When was the first day of your last period?”
“It was…”
This was information Charity usually didn’t need to think much about. Her periods were regular as could be. But this time. “It was…” She couldn’t remember.
“Any chance you could be pregnant?” Dr. Rosario clicked off the light and wheeled back a little on her stool.
“No,” Charity said with a laugh. “No, I…” It seemed so absurd, when she’d started talking, but there had been that night with Trey. That single night. Had he grabbed a condom? Had she noticed or even cared if he did or not? She ran it through in her mind, trying to ignore the flashes of his body, of those abs, of those muscles, of his eyes on hers while he drove into her…
There hadn’t been a condom, had there?
Heat flooded Charity’s face. “I guess there’s a chance.”
Dr. Rosario reached out and patted her knee. “Let’s do a quick urine test to rule it out.”
While Charity waited for the results, she searched her memory for any indicator that they’d used a condom. Maybe he’d pulled one out when she hadn’t been looking. She’d been so swept away by the moment, by the heady feel of it, that she hadn’t been paying much attention. But she couldn’t be—
The door swung open, and Dr. Rosario breezed in, her face lit up in surprise. She held up a pos
itive pregnancy test. “Looks like the chances were better than you thought.”
“What?”
Dr. Rosario stepped closer and held out the test. Charity had never seen anything more clearly in her life than she saw those two pink lines. She squeezed her eyes shut and looked again, trying to will her illness to be anything else.
“Charity?”
“No,” she said, and then she fainted.
Seven
Charity hadn’t shown up the next day.
The weather had been perfect, and Charity normally wouldn’t pass up a perfect day of training for anything, but…no.
Trey wasn’t altogether surprised—she’d looked pretty pale after the fall from Kepler, even though she tried to hide it from him. He hoped she’d been to the doctor. His mind kept replaying that fall.
His heart had stopped when he’d watched her body swing out from the horse. Gravity had reached up and snatched her down to the ground, the impact so loud that he was running before he had time to think. Kepler handled it well, curving away so that his hooves never came near Charity, but whenever Trey thought about it, he felt a little sick. There was a part of him that blamed himself. If he hadn’t been such a jerk to her after they slept together, maybe she wouldn’t have been sick.
But that was a crazy thought.
Maybe he was coming down with what she had.
Or maybe he missed her.
She’d texted this morning, early, to tell him that she wasn’t feeling well and might not be in. When he went into the barn to get Kepler, even the horse seemed a little subdued.
“She’ll be back soon,” he said, and Kepler perked up.
They went out to the paddock and did a few quick laps to warm up, then headed for the barrels. Trey was coming around a turn when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of red. That was Charity’s truck coming up the road.
The Cowboy’s Mistake Page 5
