Page 60 of Strung Along
“Does that stubborn kid think differently now?”
“If you’re askin’ if I’d go back in time and stay instead of leave, the answer would be no. Not for her, not for anyone. I’ve always loved music, and gettin’ the chance to make a career out of it changed my life. For better and for worse.”
“It takes courage to stand by your decisions. Especially when you know the repercussions of them,” I say.
“Hurtin’ those you love with those decisions still hurts like a mother, though.”
“Is that woman still in Cherry Peak, then? The high school sweetheart?”
“Last I heard, she moved out East with a husband and a van full’a kids. People change as life goes on, even those so sure they won’t.”
I nod, reading his expression for any sign of disappointment that she’s gone, but find none. My relief is instant.
“I never did learn how your career started,” I say, switching gears.
He looks at me, an eyebrow lifted. “Are you telling me that you didn’t Google search me the night we met?”
“As a matter of fact, I was far too pissed at you to spend my night researching you.”
His laugh is rich and warm. “Fair enough. I actually met Reggie, the head producer at the record label, when I was performin’ in a small pub in Edmonton one night. There was sort of a weird talent show thing happenin’, and we had no idea that this major producer was going to be there. But he was, and he loved my voice. Told me I had what it takes to succeed in the music industry, and the rest is history. I’ve really liked workin’ with him so far.”
“Maybe it’s Reggie who I have to blame for your ego, then,” I tease, bumping our shoulders. “He was right, though.”
“Yeah? I like to think so.”
“Clearly enough people think that, or you wouldn’t be where you are now.”
“You mean back at home livin’ with my grandparents while I heal from a workplace injury?”
I frown at the ground. “No. I mean that you’re incredibly successful and doing what you love. How many people get to say that?”
His jaw tenses, but not in anger. More like frustration or grief, maybe. “Do you do what you love, Anna?”
The question takes me aback. “I don’t know if there’s anything that I love doing as much as you love music, but I’m happy.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
The further we walk down the path, the more of the ranch I can see. The towering stable on our right-hand side is in pristine condition, not a chipped plank of dark wood in sight. The sliding door in front is shut while the one along the side is open, allowing the handfuls of horses to roam freely into the metal pen. My heart leaps to my throat when I spot two babies playing chase while the older horses linger at the other end, watching.
“Oh, my god,” I breathe. I swivel off the path and turn to face Brody as I walk backward toward the barn. “Can we start the tour here, please? I haven’t seen a horse up close since middle school, and even that was from behind a fence.”
A hard-to-read emotion flickers across his face before he takes a tentative step toward me. He glances at the barn and swallows so hard his throat bobs.
“You sure you don’t want to see anythin’ else first?”
“Are you allergic to horses or something?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
“No. God help a rancher who’s allergic to horses.”
“Soooo?”
“Fine,” he says on an exhale. Waving toward the barn, he nods for me to go ahead. “The horses inside the stable are either still foals weaning off their mothers or the ones we use on a consistent basis.”
“Does that mean your horse is inside? You do have one, right?”
“Yes.” It’s a stiff word.
My curiosity has me looking at him over my shoulder as I stop at the door. I itch to pull it open, but despite my excitement, I wait for him to do it.