“All for a gold buckle?”
“It’s hard to understand if you’re not from that world.”
“I understand wanting something so bad that it physically hurts. But I also wouldn’t risk putting my life in danger to get it.”
I was done with this conversation. As determined as she was to find out my life story, I was done talking about myself.
“Coffee?” I asked, pushing away from the table.
“Black, no sugar.”
“Tell me about your music. You any good?”
She reached back and twisted her hair into a ponytail before letting it tumble over her shoulders in golden waves. An image of her on her hands and knees with my hand fisted in her hair flashed through my mind.
“Used to be. My earlier stuff when I wasn’t so jaded or disillusioned was good. I wrote most of my old songs when I was with Colt. But my last album,” she said and cringed, “I wish I could burn every damn song on that record and never ever have to hear or sing them again.”
“Your music, your choice. You don’t want to sing them, don’t.”
She snort-laughed. “Not really. People relate to songs for all kinds of reasons. The songs that make me want to puke get people out of their seats. They make them dance, cry. Feel emotion. There’s a song I wrote about my parents that I hate, but my fans love. I’ll be singing that one till the day I die.”
An incredible sadness shrouded her, but if I pointed that out, she could clam up and start asking me more questions so as not to talk about herself. The sassy woman she presented to the world wasn’t who she actually was.
Montana was the kind of person who didn’t let her mask slip often, and I wanted to get to know that part of her better—the real her.
I closed my eyes for a second and shoved those thoughts away. I didn’t like where my mind was headed. Neither of us was in the right place for any kind of entanglement, but I couldn’t help but want to be around her, want to spend time with her.
I grabbed two mugs and set them by the coffee maker. “Where do you go from here?”
“Who knows? Some days I think I’d be more than happy to stay on the ranch for the rest of my life and never go back to that world.”
“Do you miss the spotlight?”
She forced out a laugh. “I was too drunk to remember most of it.”
“You’re as sober as a judge now. You can’t hide out here forever.”
“I’ll hide for as long as I can get away with it.”
I filled the two mugs and set one in front of her. “I’m headed out to the stables to see how the horses are doing. Tricia said she might drive up this weekend. Have to make sure nothing happens to her pride and joy.”
“Just when I thought I’d gotten rid of the old crone.” I didn’t miss the smile in her voice or how her eyes lit up at the mention of my aunt. Whatever kind of relationship Tricia had with Montana, there was a lot of affection there.
I walked around the stables, checking in on the horses and shooting the shit with the other ranchers.
The stallion Tricia needed me to break would arrive sometime tomorrow morning. A shiver of anticipation swept through me. There was nothing like gaining a horse’s trust without breaking their spirit.
I was a big believer in gentling a horse. Breaking them in nice and easy, earning their loyalty. Back in the day, my dad was a believer in doing it the Old West way by scaring a horse half to death and forcing the animal to his will. I didn’t agree with him. Something we almost came to blows about more than once.
I believed forcing an animal to do something it didn’t want to do could cause resentment. But that was my dad all over. If someone didn’t want to do something he wanted, he forced them and would bend them to his will no matter how much they fought back. In his mind, his way was the right way. That didn’t make him a bad person, it was just who he was.
A knife of sadness sliced my heart. What I wouldn’t give to be in the paddock with him again arguing about who was right and who was wrong.
Back at the house, I busied myself making food while Montana snoozed on the sofa. Every now and again, she whimpered in her sleep. I should have filled the script for painkillers whether she wanted me to or not, but since I didn’t know how deep her problems went or what effect painkillers would have on her recovery, it was best to follow her lead.
She’d come this far, and I didn’t want to be the one who set her spiraling by pressing her to take pain meds.
I didn’t recall ever hearing her music. I was more of a George Strait and Garth Brooks kind of guy. The stuff I grew up listening to, but I was curious. “Alexa, play songs by Montana Chambers.”
The first song that came on was about kicking ass and not taking any prisoners. Her voice was as dirty as a bucking chute after a weekend rodeo. The lyrics held a lot of anger and resentment. I smiled to myself and made a mental note not to cross her for fear of ending up in one of her songs. The second song was a ballad about someone not being able to hurt her anymore. The pain in her voice chilled me to the bone.
“Alexa, off,” came Montana’s irritated voice from behind me.
I looked over my shoulder to see her glaring in my
