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“Sounds like getting your own coffee mug in the kitchen might be half the battle,” Colt said.
Chet laughed. “I’d start by learning who makes the coffee.”
“Good advice. I can fix a fence. I’m less useful before breakfast.”
“You got any other suggestions?”
Chet considered the question for a moment. There was a chance that with these new clients, Jason might need another set of hands to help. “It’s not a guarantee, but I might know someone.”
Colt grinned. “I’m happy for whatever leads I can get.”
Chet took out his phone and gave Colt Jason’s business contact information. He explained the work they did with the horses and the new clients coming in. “I don’t know if we’re hiring,” he added. “But call him. Tell him we met here.”
Colt saved the number. “Thanks. I appreciate a name to ask for.”
They returned their attention to the arena. Between rides, Colt asked about the horses, and Chet ended up describing Misty’s progress. The first time she’d stood for a saddle. How she’d followed Lola beyond the bend in the trail. Colt listened, then grinned at him. “You sound pretty pleased with her.”
“I am.” Chet glanced down at the burger wrapper in his hands. He’d come here expecting the familiar noise and excitement to drown out the rest of his day. Yet the best part of the evening had been telling someone about a nervous mare learning to trust him. “She makes you work for it.”
Colt chuckled. “Those are usually the ones you remember.”
A rider landed hard in the dirt and got up waving to the crowd. Chet clapped with everyone else. He could still enjoy a good ride. But when he thought of tomorrow, he pictured checking on Misty and helping Jason prepare for the new horses. He wanted to take that work home with him, sit beside Lydia, and have her tell him about her day.
He had a championship buckle tucked away at home. He’d told Lydia he’d won it, then left her to guess what it still meant to him. He’d done the same at the barn when she’d given him a chance to tell her about his past. She’d asked, and he’d chosen the easier answer. His fingers tightened around the empty wrapper. Bringing her that buckle wouldn’t make the choice disappear. But he could put his past in her hands and explain why he’d left it behind. He could tell her what he wanted now, then let her choose what to do with it.
Chet gathered his trash and stood up. Before he left the bench, he held out his hand. “Welcome to Rocky Ridge, man. I hope you find what you’re looking for here. It’s a nice town.”
Colt grinned wide. “Thanks for the lead. Maybe I’ll see you out at the barn.”
“Hope so.” Chet shook his hand, then stepped into the aisle. He’d go home for the buckle first. After that, he’d ask Lydia to let him explain. He headed down the bleachers with his keys in his hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Chet’s fingers traced over the metal letters that read Bronc Riding Champion. Below it, Nashville. The rest of the buckle was a decorative scene of a cowboy on a horse. There were swirls and other embellishments.
He remembered the noise when he’d won it. The applause, the slap of a hand against his back, his own breath coming hard as he tried to take it all in. He’d worked years for that buckle. He was still proud when he held it.
Chet pocketed the buckle and glanced around his home. His boots stood beside the door. A coffee cup waited in the sink. He’d leave for work in the morning and come back here afterward, just as he wanted. Lydia had this part of his life already. Tonight he needed to trust her with the rest.
He switched everything off and headed for the door. By now, dinner would be over. He’d try Lydia’s house and ask if she’d talk with him. The answer might be no, but he couldn’t keep leaving the difficult parts unsaid.
At the first turn, he was rehearsing what he’d say. By the second, he’d rejected a speech that sounded too much like something he might tell a sponsor. Lydia didn’t need a polished version. She’d had enough of him choosing his words to make things easier for himself.
He parked in front of her house, switched off the engine, and reached for the door handle. Footsteps crunched on the gravel beside his truck.
A quiet tap on his window brought his head around.
Lydia.
Chet scrambled for the door handle and pushed it open.
“Chet?” she murmured. “What are you doing here?”
He held the door with his right hand. “I owe you an explanation. I was hoping you’d let me give you one.”
She pressed her lips together and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Here?”
He gave her a crooked grin and rocked from one foot to the other. “I was hoping we could take a walk. If you were up for it.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand then jutted his chin toward the house. “Only if you want to, you know, get away from any prying eyes.”
