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 f**king 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 f**king 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 focused 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 f**ked 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.

Tags: Lorelei James Blacktop Cowboys Western
Source: readsnovelonline.net