by Em Petrova
No, he’d fucked up and lost her.
Thrown her out, actually.
His shoulders slumped and he was grubby from a sleepless night spent in the barn. But Bellarose’s scent still clung to him and he couldn’t bring himself to go inside and shower it away for the last time.
He leaned against the stall wall, his hat on his knee and his face in his palm. The sun was nearly up and it was a new day.
A day he would not see Bellarose. The first of the rest of his life.
The lump in his throat threatened to cut off his air supply, but he somehow continued to breathe, sometimes wishing he wouldn’t take that next breath just so the pain of his loss would go away.
A scuffing noise made him look up and he saw a man silhouetted in the doorway. It took him a second to recognize him.
“Wheeler.”
“Got a sick one?” the cowboy asked, coming into the barn.
Even though King didn’t feel like getting up, he stood and dusted off his hat before putting it on his head. “On the mend now.”
“Long night, huh?” His friend looked him over.
Did he see more than a rancher who’d been sitting up all night with a colicky horse? He tugged his hat low so Wheeler couldn’t see his eyes.
“Long night,” he echoed, thinking of Bellarose. How less than twelve hours ago she’d been in his arms, telling him she loved him.
How he’d tossed it away and driven her off with hurt so deep between them that it could never be repaired.
The rope that had bound them was too unraveled.
It had snapped.
King shifted toward the door. “Gonna grab some coffee. Want some?” he asked the ranch hand.
“Had half a pot before I left the house. Why don’t you grab a few hours of sleep and I’ll tend to things.”
King pivoted to shoot him a look. “Thanks, but I don’t think I can sleep.”
The coffee went down his throat tasteless and the caffeine did nothing to boost his energy levels. Bellarose seemed to have taken the best part of himself with her, and all he could do was live with what he’d done.
The morning chores took too long and he sank deeper into depression. By the time midday rolled around, Schmitty and Wheeler braked for a quick lunch they’d brought from home, leaving King, who wasn’t hungry, to head to his kitchen for a microwave meal.
When he entered the space, he came to a sudden stop. On the stove was a pot of something and a bowl of biscuits sat on the counter. Two bowls, spoons and napkins were laid out for him and Bellarose.
His heart juddered in his chest as he slowly approached the range and lifted the lid of the pot. A creamy soup that now smelled sour after sitting here all night. A meal she’d had ready for him, had come outside to fetch him to share with her… and instead, he’d snapped on her.
Looking back, he’d never really blamed her for the horse. She wasn’t responsible for any of what went wrong and annoyed him with the production being on his ranch. But when he’d come out to find the mare down, everything had crashed down on him at once.
What he’d said about the horse being his livelihood was true.
And in that moment, he’d realized just how little he had to give Bellarose. His love was not enough—she deserved a pampered and cozy life, not one of a rancher who struggled more than he had successes, who didn’t have the things in life she was accustomed to… and had a filthy temper, to top it off.
Shame hit him as he replaced the lid on the pot, too exhausted and despairing to take it outside and dump it. He picked up a biscuit, now hard and stale from sitting out. It smelled of ham and spices, and his stomach turned.
He dumped the contents of the bowl in the trash and leaned against the counter, head low, trying to think of a way to get her back.
There was none.
It was over.
He was alone, which was exactly what he deserved.
Later when the production crew came to Blackwater to tear everything down, pack it up and haul it away, he had his ranch to himself again. Dickson texted to tell him that a check would be in his hands by the end of the day.
So King had everything he’d ever wanted a month ago—the ranch he loved, peace and quiet and a big fat check for that thoroughbred.
Suddenly, none of it mattered. The only thing that did was gone from him.
* * * * *
Bellarose drifted to the tiny window of her trailer to look out onto the land. She now saw that the original ranch used as their set, which she’d once believed to be so wild and untouched, was nothing compared to Blackwater.
Or maybe she was thinking of the man who owned that ranch.
She quickly shoved away all thoughts of King. The past week without him had been the most painful of her life, but she’d learned how to compartmentalize him, lock him up in a place she couldn’t access for long periods of time. Her only mechanism to keep going and perform her role the way she needed to.
Dickson was glowing at her portrayal of the character of Cutter’s wife and how much she’d learned from King. He’d also been like a father figure to her when she’d shown up in the middle of the night blubbering all over the man about how King had sent her away.
And just like a father, he’d sent out the troops to break down any link she had to King or Blackwater, by stripping the set and returning to the original one. Later on, some filming would be done on Dickson’s own ranch, he said, but she didn’t care where she worked because she was finished with Washington.
To hell with the mountains with the jagged, snow-capped peaks that she’d once looked on with the eyes of a woman in love. Believing she might spend her life with King and look at those mountains every morning had been her folly.
“Your hot water with lemon, Bellarose.” Marissa held a white porcelain mug out to her. She took it with a trace of a smile and brought it to her lips but didn’t sip. The steam rose up, teasing at her nostrils with the scent of lemon.
“Also, Dickson sent this.”
She turned to find Marissa with a bouquet of wildflowers that might have been picked off Blackwater—she’d seen such blooms while driving that horrible tractor she’d almost tipped over.
That was the first time she’d seen that expression on King’s face. A look of fear that had made her think he actually did care.
Turned out he didn’t.
“Put them in water please,” she said faintly to her assistant.
“Right away.”
Her assistant probably knew what was making Bellarose such a somber stick-in-the-mud but thankfully the young woman didn’t say. Only her costar Chaz had asked point-blank if she’d broken ties with that rancher. His question had hit her hard, but she’d managed to mumble something about not seeing him again after the set had been torn down and to hide away her tears until she was alone in her bed for the night.
“Would you like to run lines before you go out today?” Marissa asked.
“No, I’ve got them memorized. Thank you.”
“Can I do anything at all for you, Bellarose?”
When she raised her eyes to Marissa, she saw sadness in the way the woman stood. Ugh, now she was affecting those around her.
She forced a smile to her face, even if it was small. “You’ve been great, Marissa. Have I told you how much I appreciate you?”
Her assistant smiled at the praise. “Thank you. It means a lot.”
A moment of awkward silence stretched between them. Finally, Marissa asked, “Did you ever get to that winery you wanted to visit?”
She shook her head.
“Maybe we should go. I know a few others from the cast would love to.”
“If you’re talking about Chaz, then I’d rather not.” She wrinkled her nose at the idea of going anywhere with him. Cute or not, he wasn’t her type and he insisted on flirting with her every chance he got.
No, her type was much more… manly.
“Oh God no,” Marissa said with a wave of her hand. “I mean, he’s ha
ndsome, I’ll admit to that. But he’s a bit of a weenie, isn’t he?”
Bellarose burst out laughing. “Yes, he is.”
“He uses a body double for everything. Not like you. I think everyone on set has lost a lot of respect for him. And he hits on everybody but I think it’s to stroke his own ego. So women want him.”
Bellarose nodded. “It sounds like you’ve gotten quite the education about the business during this production.”
Marissa smiled. “I have. So what do you say about the winery? I’ll round up a few people to drive so you and I can sample the goods.”
It was a bit unorthodox for an assistant to consider drinking with a celebrity like a friend, but what the hell. Bellarose had already crossed too many lines. She might as well jump in with both feet.
“As long as I’m back in time for filming. What time is that?”
“About three.”
“Yes. Plenty of time for trips to wineries. But promise me you won’t let me have more than two glasses. I can’t look like I’m sloshed on set and my eyes get red when I drink.”
Lately they’d been red from crying, so this would be a welcome change.
Marissa agreed and Bellarose drank her hot water with lemon and then dressed for a trip through the countryside. She might have been excited if she wasn’t hoping, by some insane chance, that King would also be visiting the winery today.
* * * * *
Six figures. Six fucking figures in King’s bank account and here he sat, doing nothing about it.
It had also been a week since he’d seen Bellarose and it was clear she wasn’t coming back. Why would she, after the way he’d treated her?
He drank off his sweet tea and set the glass on the counter. It was high time he got off his ass and made some decisions around here, starting with how best to use this money.
More improvements to the ranch would be most practical, but he’d make money on the racing stock.
Decision made.
He walked outside and slammed the door behind him. Each time he crossed the yard to his truck, he automatically looked for the tents but saw only spacious land. The way I like it, he reminded himself.
On the drive out to the horse ranch, he passed the turnoff for Rachel and Johnny’s place. He hadn’t spoken to his sister about Bellarose and had no clue where to even begin. He could start by saying he fucked up, and what more was there to say? His sister would give him that look their momma used to, the one that told him she was disappointed in his behavior. He didn’t want to see that look, so he kept driving.
He stared out at the long, winding road and tried to stop thinking about what Bellarose was doing right now. His entire week had been consumed with thoughts of her. Not only was she haunting every corner of the ranch but the chambers of his heart as well.
Time, he needed time to get over her.
Good luck, buddy.
His eyes zeroed in on the small red car barreling toward him on the road, and then he found himself staring into the rearview mirror as it shot by carrying the people of the crew. He hadn’t seen the red hair of the woman he loved, but even if he had, would he turn around and go after her?
No, he’d done enough damage. It was best to let her move on and live her life.
And he had to start living his own again. The horse was a start.
Once he reached Windy Ridge Ranch, he felt his monetary value deep down in the crevices of his empty wallet.
This place screamed money, with the miles of pristine land, fences and the state of the outbuildings. The barn was in better shape than his own cabin and he’d believed it pretty good.
They made millions here on this ranch while King just got by with the essentials. Like most ranchers, but it humbled him.
He parked in front of a white four-door garage, wondering what vehicles it housed. Surely not a dumpy Chevy with too many dings in the body to count.
When he slammed the truck door, a dog barked, followed by a man’s shout. “Duke! Mind yourself.”
King looked around for the source of the voice and saw a rancher striding toward him.
King relaxed a bit. The owner of the ranch Rainier Sheldon might have more money at his fingertips but he was cut from the same bolt of cloth as King.
The man’s face lit with recognition and he extended a hand to King as he reached him. “If it isn’t a Yates standing in my driveway. King, isn’t it?”
King took his hand in a hard grasp of greeting. “Yes, sir.”
“Knew your uncle. He was a hell of a trainer and the community still mourns him.”
King gave a nod.
“What can I do for you?”
Feeling a hint of awkwardness, King said, “I believe Dickson spoke to you at some point a while ago, about a horse.”
Rainier’s face froze. “Damn. I bet you’re looking for Sun’s-a-Risin’.”
“I don’t know what you called the horse, sir.”
“Truth is, there was no deal set between me and Dickson or you and me. I got an offer for the horse from someone who saw Sun’s at auction a month back and I let him go.”
King’s heart fell straight to the soles of his boots. First Bellarose and now this? All he’d put up with—and lost—had been for nothing. He had nothing to show for all he’d done.
“Well, would you be willing to sell any other horses for the same price, Mr. Sheldon?”
“Call me Rainier. But not at this time, King. I’m sorry to tell you that. If you wait a year or so, I might have one coming up.”
Just King’s fucking luck. No horse, no woman. Just a hefty bank account, an island floating in an ocean of dead dreams.
“I might know of a guy out in Montana with something for you. He’s not the top breeder, but—”
“Thank you, Rainier, but I want only the best.”
“Your uncle taught you well. I’m sorry to send you off with disappointment.”
No one was sorrier than he was—for so much he couldn’t even vocalize to anyone let alone this man.
“Well, I won’t take up more of your time.” He offered his hand to Rainier, and they shook. Then King got back in his truck. He barely noticed how well-kept the ranch was as he drove off the property, only seeing the muddied grays of the inside of his mind.
His route didn’t take him anywhere near the area where they were filming the show, yet he went out of his way to circle past, slowing down to become one of the lookie-loos he’d seen going slow past his place when the production was there.
What if he just turned in and found Bellarose? Would she speak to him? He didn’t deserve it, that was certain.
The more he thought on it, the more he knew that horse meant nothing. His dream had changed and now all he wanted was Bellarose. How to win her back, though?
He slammed on the brakes and did a U-turn in the middle of the road. He needed to speak to his sister, after all.
* * * * *
The owner of the small-town winery pulled out all the stops for the crew of Redemption Falls. The woman was so giddy that she’d unearthed every type of wine she had for them including the oldest vintages. Since they were a rather new operation, those were just a few years old, but Bellarose oohed and ahhed over them till the woman was beaming.
Bellarose’s cheeks were feeling a bit warm too. Marissa had stopped her after two glasses but she hadn’t taken into account all the sips here and there, which had added up to Bellarose feeling quite tipsy.
She ran at the mouth when she’d had too much alcohol, and she had to force herself not to bring up King. The minute she did, everyone would know what had gone down between the two of them, from the dirty details to the nitty-gritty of their breakup. The last thing she needed.
They sat on a patio outside the winery with the fresh breeze washing over them, sipping wine and sharing little snacks that the owner had somehow whipped out of nowhere.
Bellarose wasn’t a bit hungry—hadn’t been for a week—but she forced herself to swallow the pig in a blanket
just to get something in her stomach to soak up the excess alcohol.
Marissa sat a bit apart from her, talking animatedly to one of the camera guys who’d come with them. And Dickson had broken away from filming in order to accompany Bellarose on the trip he’d promised her weeks ago.
He brought his wine glass to his lips. “This is a lovely bouquet. I might buy all their stock and take it to my ranch for safekeeping.”
She chuckled. “Who are you keeping it safe from?”
He laughed too, probably just as drunk as she was.
“I need to take you there for a visit now that you have an appreciation for and a knowledge of horses.”
His words gave her a pang.
Oh King.
“I’d like that,” she fibbed.
“More wine, Miss Abbott?” The owner stood at her elbow, a bottle in hand and a smile on her face.
She held up a hand. “No thank you. I’ve had all I can manage without being thrown over someone’s shoulder and carried back to the car.”
“Good thing Gabriel is sober enough to get us back to the set,” Dickson said, holding up his glass to be topped off.
When the owner had moved away, Dickson pierced her in his stare, which was just as sharp as always even when he’d imbibed a little too much.
“You know that I bought several horses from the same man I set up King to deal with.”
Her heart went utterly still then rolled over and started again. The food she’d swallowed seemed to stick in her throat.
“I knew King was looking to purchase a thoroughbred,” she said coolly.
Dickson eyed her. He knew his actors and probably saw straight through her. “Yes. I got him settled to buy, or so I thought.”
“What do you mean?”
Why was her heart going so crazy? It must be the wine. Some secret Washington berry used in the batch was doing it.
“I received a call before we left from the rancher, saying King had come to buy and the horse slated for him was gone. A miscommunication on my part. I feel terribly about it.”
“You mean…” she could hardly think around the pain she felt on King’s behalf “…that he can’t buy now?”
Dickson set down his glass. “Yes. Not a lot for sale in these parts, and for that price I believed I’d settled on with the rancher.”
