Feisty Red (Three Chicks Brewery 2)

Until Sullivan broke the silence. “I want to do better. I want to do right by Mason. And by you.”

Knowing he needed to let all this go to move forward, she cupped his face. “You can’t change the past, Sullivan. What’s done is done, but you can choose a better future, where you forgive what’s happened and find peace.”

His gaze held hers, a thousand things being said between them without anything being said at all. “I thought moving away would fix everything for everybody.” His eyes skipped past Clara and landed back on the house. “But this house, the damage done here, I was running from it. And I’ve never been able to stop running.” When he looked at Clara again, there was strength and resolve in the depths of his eyes. He leaned closer and took her chin in his grip. “How can I ever repay you? I’d like to say thank you for everything you have done, but I’m not sure that’s enough. Or will ever be enough.”

“It’s enough, Sullivan.” She threw her arms around him, holding him tight, feeling the last strands of what stood between them break apart. “It will always be enough.”

11

That Saturday evening, Sullivan felt a shift in his chest, a connection to life, growing in a way he’d never experienced before or expected. Surrounded by the Colorado mountains, with their snowy peaks, he clicked his tongue, sending the horse beneath him cantering forward. He was at Beckett’s workplace, Blackshaw Cattle Farm and Guest Ranch. He’d learned earlier from Mason that family rides were something Clara and Mason did together often, and the Blackshaw family had some good horses they could rent to ride. Ahead of him, Clara and her sisters rode Quarter Horses while Mason was atop a Pinto pony, a black cowboy hat on his head, and Hayes was next to Maisie on a dapple gray stallion. The sun would set within a half hour, and the Colorado sky was showing off with its warm orange and purple hues. When Sullivan got closer to the group, he called to his horse, “Whoa.” The chestnut gelding slowed to a walk next to Beckett.

“Was wondering when we were finally going to get you out for a ride,” Beckett said with a smirk, riding atop a stunning roan mare.

“I’m sure I’ll feel this tomorrow,” Sullivan said, adjusting the reins in his left hand. “It’s been a long time.”

Beckett smirked then gestured ahead. “Things are going well, I see.”

“Better than I hoped,” Sullivan admitted, settling into the quietness around him and the swishing of the long grass against his horse’s leg as they ventured farther into the meadow. “Want to tell me what happened there?” he asked, gesturing toward the woman Beckett couldn’t take his eyes off.

His friend blinked and looked Sullivan’s way. “Amelia is engaged to someone else. Isn’t it pretty clear what happened?”

Sullivan gave an easy shrug. “Probably to some, but I remember our talks about her.” Beckett had been smitten, and he’d done nothing to hide that fact.

The corner of Beckett’s eyes tightened as his gaze returned to Amelia again. “She wanted to see what the world had to offer, so she went to the big city, and I let her go, thinking she’d come back to me.”

“But she didn’t?”

Beckett snorted. “She came back with an idiot for a fiancé.”

Sullivan considered what he’d heard as his horse set a steady pace across the meadow. The scent of warm earth and sunlight became all-consuming. Mason kept trotting ahead, and he’d hear Clara yell after him. The kid was a good cowboy, and Sullivan wondered if that was his future path. “So, that’s where you left things, then?” Sullivan asked, turning his focus back onto Beckett.

Beckett’s gaze slid Sullivan’s way, and he nodded. “She’s happy. Who am I to get in the way of that?”

“Fair point,” Sullivan hedged. “What happens if she’s ever not happy?”

Beckett’s grin turned wicked and determined. “Then, she’ll be mine again.” With a click of his tongue, his horse shot forward at a gallop and then slowed as he settled in next to Amelia, who gave him a smile filled with warmth.

Yeah, maybe they weren’t done just yet.

“Mason, that’s too far ahead,” Clara yelled. Again.

Sullivan squeezed his feet, and his horse broke into a floaty lope, reaching Mason quickly. “Where are you off to?” Sul

livan asked.

Mason kicked the pony’s sides, frowning. “He won’t go faster.” The pony practically snarled and gave a little buck.

Sullivan laughed as it jolted Mason out of the saddle. “That’s probably a good thing. Go on over with your aunts, buddy. Need to stay close, all right?”

“Fine,” Mason said, pulling on his rein and giving the pony another kick. The fat animal barely trotted back to the group.

Sullivan made a kissing noise, and his horse shot forward until he slowed him again, settling in next to Clara.

“Thank you for that,” she said with a sweet smile from atop her horse. “Sometimes he forgets horseback riding can be dangerous.”

Sullivan smiled back. “Maybe he needs something that moves faster than a turtle.” When Clara laughed, he added, “He’s a good little cowboy. Is there anything he can’t do?”

She gave a knowing look. “He’s athletic. I wonder who he gets that from.”