Reckless
: Chapter 2

“And she has experience with young children?” I ask as I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder while attempting to replace the water bill in the mountain of paperwork on my desk.

“She does, worrywart,” my brother Logan grumbles.

I rub the scruff on my jaw. “What’s Tori doing now? Why does she want the job?” I’m not about to let just anyone babysit my kids.

“Christ, Ethan. Probably to pay her bills? How the hell should I know why she wants the job? Look, Kat raved about her sister, and you know how responsible Kat and Brady are. I can’t imagine they’d hook you up with a criminal.”

“I’m not excited to hire someone through friends. What if it doesn’t work out? Brady is one of the few guys in the area I can tolerate. If I fire his sister-in-law, he’ll be pissed, and then who will we get to fill his spot on poker night?”

“So don’t fire her, asshole. It’s only two or three months, not a lifelong commitment. If you don’t like her, just make sure she’s good with the kids and feeds them, doesn’t let them turn into hooligans, and then go do your own thing.” He laughs under his breath. “And everyone says you’re the smart one.”

I smirk. “That’s ’cause I am, little brother.” I’m four years older than Logan, but we’ve always been close. Even if he is a pain in the ass.

Sometimes I forget he doesn’t live with me since he’s always crawling up my ass about something. He and our mom live in a small house on the other side of our property, but they’re both here almost daily.

Although my mom initially inherited Carter Cutting Horses when my dad died, she didn’t want the responsibility of the ranch, especially since Logan and I ended up overseeing the day-to-day operations, so she transferred it to us. Which was great until my wife decided to divorce me and untangle our assets.

Logan cocks an eyebrow. “Think of it this way. With a live-in nanny, maybe you’ll leave the ranch for once. Go out and have a good time. Laugh again. Hell, maybe get laid. For real this time. Because we’re not counting your hand or the pocket pussy I gave you for Christmas.”

“I threw that thing out. Like I really want to have a sex toy lying around so Mila or Cody could replace it.” Besides, it was too narrow. “And I laugh plenty.”

He snorts. “Bullshit. You used to be a fun guy. Now you only grunt at everyone.”

Barely holding back a grunt, I shrug. I guess he has a point.

Shuffling through another pile of mail, I finally spot the envelope I’m looking for. “You know what I really need? Another trainer. Bill hurt his back, and there’s no way we’ll be ready for the fall auction if I can’t get someone to work with the new colts. While we’re at it, I need someone to organize my desk before I miss something important. That’s what I really need. Not pussy.”

Although I probably wouldn’t turn it away. Being a single dad and running this ranch is stressful as fuck. I could use a release. But dating? Relationships? Commitment? No, thanks. Been there, done that. I’m still recovering from that grenade. Every time I run across the divorce papers I got served this spring, it still fucking hurts. Doesn’t matter that we separated over a year ago. When you watch your dreams for your family go up in flames, it kills something inside you can’t get back.

The door creeks open, and Mila pokes her head in and rubs her sleepy eyes. Shit, I hope she didn’t overhear me talking about a sex toy.

“Hey, honeybunch. Whatcha doing up?”

“Can’t sleep,” she whispers.

I lean back in my leather chair and pat my lap while I tell my brother I gotta go.

“Think about what I said,” he mumbles in my ear. “Because you can’t do the work of two trainers, take care of your kids, and deal with all the office paperwork. And if you meet Kat’s sister, try not to scare her off with your asshole ways.”

That’s my brother, telling me shit I already know.

“Yeah, yeah.” I hang up and reach for my daughter, who curls up against me and burrows against my neck. “Bad dream?” She nods, I tighten my arms around her. “Need some big hugs, huh?”

I get another nod, and I kiss the top of her head. Mila is five and has been having nightmares on and off since her mother and I split up last year. The counselor says it’s natural for her to be experiencing anxiety from the dramatic shift in our family situation. Because she went from being with her mom all day, every day to only seeing her every other weekend, if she’s lucky.

I try to breathe through the anxiousness I feel for my kids. Breathe through the lingering sense of abandonment. If I feel it, I know they do. I still don’t understand how Allison could leave us. How did she go from being a wife and a mother to being single again and moving two goddamn hours away? If she doesn’t love me anymore, fine. Although it hurts, I understand needing some space. But what about the kids? They didn’t do anything wrong.

Here’s the thing no one ever tells you about love. It turns to hate pretty fucking fast when the object of your affection hurts your kids.

No one forced Allison to move to San Antonio. So those promises she made to Mila and Cody that she would be here at a moment’s notice if they needed her? Gone faster than the dust behind her car as it drove down our driveway.

My mom’s been helping as much as she can, but between her arthritis and how the kids stress her out, I need to replace another solution. I won’t let her cancel her plans to help her sister in Chicago this summer because I know she needs a break, which means shit’s getting real if I don’t replace a babysitter in the next week.

Kat’s a sweetheart. If her sister is as lovely and patient as she is, we’ll be golden.

Here’s the problem—I’ve never left my kids with anyone but family, and I’m not thrilled to start. Especially when you hear about the horrible shit on the news. Whoever I hire is gonna get fingerprinted and background-checked. Hell, if I could, I’d ask to see her SAT scores, psychological profile, and college transcripts. I don’t think you can ever know too much about the folks you have around your children. The ranch hands on the property are bad enough, but at least they’ve been around for years, so I know them and their families. And they know that I know how to use a motherfucking shotgun.

Mila’s breath steadies against me, and before long, she’s asleep. Careful not to jostle her, I head down the hall and gently set her down in bed. I’m reaching for the blanket when something shiny by her pillow catches my eye.

An ache spreads through my chest when I realize it’s a framed photo from the mantel in the living room.

In it, Allison and I are arm-in-arm. She’s holding a newborn Cody, and Mila is wrapped around my neck like a spider monkey. We look so damn happy. Hell, I was happy.

I thought my wife was happy too. Turns out I was wrong.

Because Allison said this was what she wanted—life on the ranch, kids, barbecues with our families on the weekend when we weren’t working. A simple life with love and laughter.

Except she pawned off the kids to my mother or brother whenever she could, and she hated the horses. I don’t know how you hate horses, but she did.

I’m not a bastard. I realize all that domestic stuff is hard. I did as much as I could while working twelve-hour days with the horses and trying to keep this place afloat. But I’m not wealthy like her family, so I couldn’t afford the luxuries she grew up with. Butlers? Maids? Drivers? Sorry, not happening. The best I could do was updating the house to make it more comfortable for her.

Sadness washes over me as I look at our faces in the photo. At the hope in my eyes. I thought I could have it all.

Stupid motherfucker.

I’ll never make that mistake again.

It happened so fast. One day we were sitting down to dinner and making plans for the weekend, and the next she was packing her bags and leveling me with those four deadly words: I want a divorce.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I half wonder if she ever loved me and the life we built together, or if she was always full of shit.

I’ll probably never know because that would require clear communication, and we’ve only been having screaming matches lately. I can’t decide if that’s better than when she gives me the silent treatment. Isn’t there a happy medium where we talk like adults?

But the thing that keeps me up at night, the thorn I can’t quite dig out of my side? If I woke up tomorrow and found her on my front steps, admitting that she still loved me and begging to be a family again? I’d probably take her back.

At least then I wouldn’t have to hear my kids cry at night while they clutch old photos because they miss their momma. I can live without love, but I’m not sure that they can.