Fever Dream (Emerald Lake, #1)(32)
I shoot her a suspicious glare.
“What? The first rental payment came through to the business account, and it’s already made a big difference. I’ve been scouring Western Canada for hay cheaper than what’s produced in the valley but was coming up empty. I was going to have to turn to pea hay for the yearlings and two-year-olds to make it through winter—much to Riley’s dismay—but a fed horse is better than a starved one. This is a game changer, Em.”
My nose wrinkles. An exclusively pea hay diet is not nutritionally ideal for young, growing horses. But desperate times, and all that.
“That’s great,” I say, and while I mean it, it doesn’t sound like I do.
“Why do you sound like you’re marching to the gallows? How are you really?”
“Parks, stop worrying. I’m a big boy.”
“Am I not allowed to wonder how you’re holding up with…” She gazes around, rolling her hand in a way that tells me she’s searching for the right words for what she wants to say. “All of these feelings?”
Feelings. Yeah. Just not the feelings I was expecting. And something tells me Parker knows me well enough to recognize that.
“You know how it is,” I reply, dodging the question while checking to see if there are any cameras lurking to capture a moment I’d rather they not.
“I do.” She nods, shoving her hands into her pockets and rocking on her feet as though expecting me to elaborate.
And she does know. We’ve both experienced firsthand the heartache that comes with loving and losing someone. As the two oldest, we watched our grandparents grieve our parents. We watched our siblings grieve them too.
That shared loss brought us all closer together. Petty spats or long-lasting hard feelings were few and far between growing up—because we all knew with certainty that any time you see someone it could be the last.
I often think our shared tragedy has bonded us in a way we might never have been before. I love my family fiercely. So much that it hurts sometimes. I don’t recall how old I was when I made this decision, but at some point I decided that I already love enough people for this lifetime.
“You know I’m not cut out for a relationship, Parks. You know how it feels to lose someone. No thanks. Hard pass.”
“I know how it feels. But I still want that one day. Maybe more even. I’m willing to take the chance.”
I wince, trying not to worry about my sister’s poor heart. “Happy for you. But I don’t need to set myself up for more of that. It’s how I came to appreciate the beauty of casual relationships.”
She arches a brow at me. “This show is not very… casual.”
“No.” I sigh. “But it’s predictable. And I know my limitations. Which means I know I can make it through this dating show without falling for anyone. Won’t let myself.”
Her second brow lifts, matching the first. I can’t tell if she’s impressed or thinks I’m full of shit. “What if you come close?”
“If I come close, I’ll take care of it by saying or doing something that makes me out to be an unlovable prick. My strategy is basically foolproof.”
“Wow. Lucky ladies,” my sister says dryly.
“Welcome to Romance Ranch.” I wave a hand over the set and chuckle, providing a little levity to an uncomfortable conversation.
Parker leaves and heads back toward the barn office, shaking her head at my antics as she goes. I watch her, feeling a bit lighter for having run into my sister.
But all my humor evaporates when my eyes land on Julia. She’s standing next to Richard, talking animatedly.
All traces of blood are wiped away and there are no cactus pieces stuck in her hair. In fact, it’s slicked back in her signature bun. All traces of her escapade are erased—save for her scuffed knees. But even those are now covered with Band-Aids.
In a pair of icy blue linen shorts with a matching vest, she’s the picture of summertime professionalism. Appearing totally pulled together and far more at ease than I’ve been able to pull off since that exchange in my house.
She’s confusing. Confusing enough that I should push her away. But the problem with Julia is that she seems almost impossible to offend. I’d tried my unlovable prick routine on her yesterday, and she’d thrown her head back and laughed as though I’d said something hilarious.
But the joke is on me because we’re going to be stuck on set together for the next month.
Boner-gate be damned.
* * *
I watch the ten women in front of me muck stalls. Or at least try to.
And I try not to look horrified. The cameras are rolling, after all. But it never occurred to me that a pitchfork and wheelbarrow could pose such a problem for an adult.
The ten women chatter and laugh, shooting me furtive glances as though they could make scooping shit sexy. All borderline dolled up, they look bright and colorful in the drab, low-ceilinged barn.
Earlier, I gave them a tour of the stables and arena, and I didn’t miss the way some of them regarded the facility with barely disguised looks of disgust. Which only makes me defensive of this place.
I’m well aware Stal Brandt’s barn is old and outdated. Its tin siding has faded, and the finish has worn off the concrete alleyway, making it difficult to sweep clean. Old tree trunks, still covered in bark, construct the indoor arena. They stand on end, bound together to create a wall sturdy enough to keep the snow out in the winter. It might have been an innovative way to build an arena at one time, but now, with all the equestrian technology out there, it’s just wacky and weird.