This got him another lip twitch even though he couldn’t see it, but I was certain he heard it in my voice when I responded.

“Cool.”

“Cool,” he echoed, cleared his throat, then asked, “Your thinking cap do anything yet? I gotta get going.”

“No, sorry. I’ll keep it on, though. It looks stylish with my red hair.”

I was greeted with silence.

Had my joke not landed?

“Brian?” I called into the phone.

“Red,” he mumbled, and even though his voice had grown softer, I could still hear the distinct smile in it.

So I made him smile, too.

That felt really good.

“Red,” I verified on a drop of my head. “Dark red.”

I heard his heavy exhale, then the drag of a chair across a floor.

“Gotta go.”

“Okay, Brian.”

“Later, Wild,” he mumbled.

“Later,” I replied back, then quickly disconnected the call and fell onto my hip, staring down at the phone in my hand while thinking a number of things, one of those things being Brian saying I was cool and sweet, and how good it felt hearing a compliment like that at a time like this.

Another thing being the fact that he didn’t have a lot of good in his life right now, and wondering what all that meant.

Maybe he had fallen on hard times. People do that. I was one of those people currently falling and falling fast.

Another thing I was thinking about being that crossword puzzle clue.

It was bugging me. I didn’t like being bested.

I took another peek at the clock, slid off the bed, grabbed my phone and the mug of hot chocolate, which was now warm chocolate but still just as tasty, and carried those both downstairs with me to begin preparing one of the only four things I knew how to cook.

Tacos.

Before my run to CVS earlier, I had gone out and gotten the ingredients I needed to make my ultimate shrimp tacos, plus a few other items I wanted to keep on hand in Tori’s kitchen, such as the hot cocoa mix and my favorite wasabi-flavored almonds.

They had just the right amount of kick.

And while I was getting my ingredients ready to go about preparing my ultimate shrimp tacos, my mind on that tricky crossword puzzle clue since it didn’t need to be on the recipe I had memorized, it hit me.

I gasped, dropped the head of cabbage onto the cutting board, spun around while wiping my hands off on my jeans, and picked up my phone.

TAPE!

What do runners sometimes break? Tape. Starts with a T. Ends with an E.

He replied instantly.

Cool, sweet, and smart. Thanks, Wild.

I smiled. Again.

And I kept smiling while I made dinner.

Chapter Five

BRIAN

I tucked the cash into an envelope and stepped out of my Jeep, pushing the door closed with my elbow, then making the familiar walk across the dirt parking lot to the small office beside the barn.

Carolina East Therapeutic Riding was a ranch in the middle of nowhere, about forty-five minutes from Dogwood Beach, and its sole mission was to help individuals with a range of disabilities heal through a connection to horses.

I didn’t get it. But apparently, the way the staff worked with people here and got them up and riding, interacting with these massive animals, it did something.

People healed, in a way. Muscles strengthened. Certain weaknesses decreased. Quality of life was improved.

Expensive shit, like everything else for people living hard lives, ’cause heaven forbid those who deserve it should catch a fucking break.

Why the government didn’t fund programs like this pissed me off, and the insurance companies were no better.

They didn’t cover dick.

I knew there were grants available for families concerning services like this. I’d looked into it three months ago, but allotting for the time it took to process an application and the further time it took for families to receive said grant money, which according to the person I spoke to from one of the organizations could take sometimes up to six months, I didn’t bother taking that avenue.

Plus, most parties took applications once a year, and there was always a deadline.

First of the year. I’d missed it by two months.

Didn’t matter either way. I’d make sure he received the therapy no matter what I had to do.

A horse neighed from inside the barn as I walked up the ramp leading to the office doorway, kicked the dirt off my shoes on the wooden post connected to the railing, and opened the door, stepping inside the tiny office space.

Mona lifted her head at the sound of my entrance.

She was the owner of the ranch, and the only person I dealt with when I came here. Everyone else tended to the horses or the clients, worked in the riding arena or around the ranch, or did other things that didn’t involve being inside the office.

I only ever spoke to her about two things every few weeks, money and progress, but I spoke to her enough to know she had a heart the size of North Carolina.

She dedicated her life to helping improve the lives of others.

Mona was good people. Straight up.

“Brian.” She greeted me with a smile, pushed the glasses higher up on her nose, and set down the paper she’d been reading when I stepped inside, giving me her full attention.

“It’s good to see you,” she added, sounding hopeful.

She wanted me to hang around and talk. I knew this. Mona always tried putting her own version of therapy on me every time I stepped in here, the “talk about your feelings” kind of therapy I wasn’t interested in, because she knew the story and, thus, felt sorry for me.

I hated the pity.

And like I said, I was only there to talk about two things.

But Mona was cool so I didn’t fault her for wanting more out of me; I just never hung around long enough to give it to her.

And I wasn’t about to start now.

I walked to her desk, carrying the envelope with my head down, eyes not focused on anything in particular and doing this to avoid the compassionate look I knew was in hers.

It was always there.

“Got next round’s payment. It’s a little more than you ask for, so throw in an extra lesson or something. Whatever he wants. Maybe let him go longer on a few days if his parents are cool with that. Your call.” I dropped the envelope on the desk and lifted my head to add, “Just make sure it stays with him.”

She placed her hand on top of the envelope. “Of course. It’ll be put into Owen’s account straightaway.”

“Good,” I said, nodding, then tucked my hands into my pockets and watched her slide the envelope into a drawer.

“He doing okay? Is he …improving?”

Mona folded her hands in front of her. Her eyes grew soft and she sighed.

I braced myself.

“He’s enjoying it, which is the most important thing, so he doesn’t realize it’s work for him when it is. Some activities he enjoys more than others. There are things the therapist asks him to do that he struggles with, but he pushes through ’cause he wants to get to something he likes. That’s typical. Not everything is going to come easy to him. You have to remember—in the end, this is still therapy. We want everyone to have a great time on the ranch, but if it was easy, they probably wouldn’t need it. You know?”