Beth stared at him, her eyes searching for something on his face. “I didn’t…”
She didn’t what? Trey got up, ready to go across the hall and get at least thirty minutes of his power nap. “I need to get going,” he said. She obviously didn’t pay that close of attention to his schedule, so how would she know he was far too early to head to Bluegrass?
He felt the exact same way walking toward her bedroom door as he had leaving the farmhouse over Christmas. She wasn’t going to call him back or follow him, he knew that already. He really needed to stop fantasizing that she would.
That’s not fair, he thought. She had come to Bluegrass Ranch to find him and talk to him when they’d had their very public disagreement.
They had a very explosive relationship, and Trey really liked it. He liked the passion she’d poured into her kiss that day, and he liked that she’d come right up into the truck and onto his lap to tell him how sorry she was.
They’d always had this great chemistry between them, and he suspected that the arguing fueled that chemistry.
“Trey,” she said when his hand touched the doorknob.
He paused and ducked his head, almost looking back at her out of the corner of his eye but not quite. “What?”
“I’ve been trying so hard,” she said. “Sally’s just needed me a lot lately.”
“I’m sure she has,” Trey said, trying to decide how much to say. “I need you too, I suppose, and I guess it just feels like that doesn’t matter to you.”
“It does.”
“I don’t know if it does or not,” he said. “I think what matters to you is winning the Classic, and this farm, and TJ. I don’t think I’ve managed to get myself on the list at all.” He hated saying that, but as he did, the truth of his words sank deep into his heart.
“I think you like having me around, because then you’re not alone. I pay for the cowboys, and they’ve done an astronomical job cleaning this place up. You like that. You like that I go pick up TJ, and you like that I take him with me out on the ranch so he’s not in your hair.”
He opened the door, the paper-thin walls around his heart shattering. “But honestly, Beth? I think any man could show up here and do what I’ve been doing, and you’d be happy. It’s notmethat makes any of this special. I just happen to be the cowboy you knew best.”
“That is not true,” she said, but her voice carried no real weight.
“I’m late,” he said, taking a step out into the hallway. “Don’t wait up for me.”
Chapter Twenty
Beth did wait up for Trey for as long as she could. He didn’t come back to the white farmhouse down the road from Bluegrass Ranch, and she eventually fell asleep on the couch. She woke when she heard TJ singing somewhere else in the house, and she took a moment to open her eyes, because the light was so bright.
That meant one thing: They were late for school.
She heard TJ’s bare feet skipping down the hall and into the kitchen, and he still sang as if it were a weekend and not Thursday.
The sucking sound of the fridge releasing as her son opened it met her ears, and she groaned as she got to her feet. “Hey, bud,” she said, her eyes searching out the clock on the stove.
Eight-twenty. Kindergarten began in forty minutes, and TJ was still in pajamas, his hair sticking up. The drive to school took twenty-five minutes, and Beth warred with herself over rushing him through getting ready, not going at all, or simply taking him late.
“Momma,” he said, his face brightening. “Can I have that sugar toast?”
“Sure,” she said, though she already pitied his teacher. “We have to leave for school very soon. I’ll make the toast while you go get dressed.”
“Okay.” TJ skipped back down the hall, and Beth took the bread out of the drawer and set it in the toaster. She could get dressed after she drove TJ to school, and she’d text Trey to find out if he was still okay getting him that afternoon.
She hated that she had to text; Trey had been getting TJ from school for a couple of months now. Every day, without being reminded or asked. It was just part of his day.
Her stomach vibrated, but she pressed her teeth together and took out the cinnamon-sugar mix Trey had put together. It was at least ninety percent sugar, which was why TJ called it sugar toast. She normally only let him have it on Saturdays, when he was going to go to Bluegrass with Trey.
Everywhere she looked, Trey existed.
In the fridge, his protein shakes took up half of the top shelf. On the counter, his phone charger waited, and he’d brought an air fryer into the house simply to reheat their leftovers.
“I have a microwave,” Beth grumbled as she went down the hall to check on TJ. She’d likely find him playing with his Army figures, having forgotten all about his task of getting dressed.