Southern Chance (Southern 1)

“I know that, Olivia,” I say harshly. “I get it, but right now, I can’t fall apart, okay? I’m going to see my parents, and the last thing they need to see is me being a fucking basket case.” I blink as fast as I can, ignoring the stinging in my eyes. “It took a month for them to get me up and out of bed when I left here.”

“It’ll be okay,” she says softly. “Everything is going to be okay, and if it’s not, we can leave and go back home.” We drive into a clearing, and you can finally see my property. There are four black stallions running free in the fence enclosure on the right side.

“Oh, wow,” Olivia says, her eyes looking around at the vast green that surrounds my parents’ huge house. “You lived here?” she asks, gesturing to the huge white farmhouse where my mom and father still live. The same house where my mother grew up. The sight of the house makes my heart speed up just a touch, and when I finally turn into the parking area beside the house, all I can hear is the gravel crunching under the car. The sound is suddenly louder than I ever remembered.

I look over at the house. “They painted the house,” I say. The fresh white paint was applied not too long ago since it still shines. My mother opens the front screen door, and she walks out onto the covered porch, waving excitedly at us. I turn the car off and look over at Olivia. “Here goes nothing.”

Opening the car door, I put one foot out of the car before the smell of the horses hits me. It really is country. I smile to myself, and the sudden memories of me riding the horses come back to me in full force; the memories of falling off them, and the ones of me and Jacob going on the secret trails we found. It’s all too much, and I want to run away again. I want to hightail it out of here just like I did eight years ago.

“Kallie,” my mother says. She rushes down the two steps and hurries over the little concrete path in front of the house. I look at her, and she looks just the same as she did four years ago when she flew out to see me. Her hair is a touch whiter, but she is still in her jeans and a T-shirt. I turn and walk around the car and rush to her. She holds her arms out, and the minute I smell her, I fall apart in her arms. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she says softly, smoothing my hair. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Mom.” I just say her name as I hug her harder than I ever have in my whole life. I’ve missed her so much. I didn’t know how much until I hugged her.

“What is all this?” When I hear my father’s voice, I sob and run to him. He catches me in his big arms, and I finally see how much he’s aged. His beard is salt and pepper now. I’m sure the hair on his head is the same, but it’s covered with the cowboy hat that he puts on as soon as he starts his day. “There’s my girl,” he says softly, and I know that with them, nothing will be able to touch me. They will protect me until the end.

“Okay, enough of that,” my mother says, and I look back at her, and she has her arm around Olivia, who wipes her own tears. “We need to get these two fed. The wind is going to take them away.”

“God, she’s been cooking for a week. You would think it’s going to be your last meal,” he whispers in my ear, and I laugh and use my sleeve to wipe my nose.

“I’ll go set the table. You get the bags,” my mother says to my father, who just nods, but I shake my head.

“No can do,” Olivia says. “I got my bag.” She goes to the car and opens the trunk.

“She is going to kill herself,” my father says as we watch Olivia take out her massive luggage that took both me and her to lift. I try not to laugh at her when she drops it on her foot.

“Motherfucker!” she yells and then looks at my parents. “Sorry,” she hisses out. I see her grab the handle, and she tries to roll it over the gravel, but it gets stuck on the rocks. All of a sudden, Casey storms past us and straight to Olivia.

My brother is all that and a bag of chips as the girls in town say. “Why haven’t y’all helped the lady?” His Southern voice booms, making Olivia look up, and her mouth hangs open. My brother is six foot three, and he’s six foot three of muscle. He’s in his regular faded blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a white T-shirt. His skin is bronzed, and unlike my father, he doesn’t wear his cowboy hat unless he has clients coming over to check out the horses. “I got it, sugar,” he says, smiling at her, and I roll my eyes. His smile lights up his whole face, and it’s gotten him out of enough trouble over the years that it’s annoying to me.