Stubborn Hearts
stubborn hearts
by heidi hutchinson
Copyright 2016
Smashwords Edition
STUBBORN HEARTS
© 2016 Heidi Hutchinson
EBOOK EDITION
Editor: Jo Evans
Cover Photos purchased from Shutterstock
Cover Design: Penny Reid
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Kati
the wonder of a child
the class of a lady
Shelby said that.
She knows.
Note From the Author
Dear Reader,
Growing up, I used to read a lot of books about animals. Walter Farley's Black Stallion books were a favorite. So was anything by James Herriot. I suppose I will always have a childlike love for horses and animals that get into our lives and change our hearts.
I know this story is irregular. It doesn't fit in the romance genre and it doesn't fit in the young adult. It's just a story I very much wanted to write.
I am not an equine expert. I did hours and hours and hours of research for this book because I started with zero information. Because of my lack of knowledge and my respect for the industry which I was writing about, I didn't get super detailed in some areas. Errors and misinformation about horse racing and equine biology are no one's fault but my own. I spoke with many people in the field and I exchanged emails on several occasions with professionals who work in this world every day. There were a few instances where I exercised my creative license, but that was my call.
This book is not an attempt to address or ignore the corruption and misuse that can and does occur in horse racing. This is a fictional story about fictional people.
And it is a story I'm very happy to share with you.
Love, Heidi
prologue
June
“Don't worry about how long the drive is. It will take the time that it takes. It's not about the time. Enjoy the drive. Breathe the air. Be content with your thoughts — they're more beautiful than you know. You are capable of great things, daughter. Do not be afraid of how you feel. Every heartbeat is a blessing. Even the scary ones.”
“We made it.” Ryan clutched the box with both hands, trying to the stay the tremble that wanted to take over. She sank to her knees and placed the box on the ground. Then she slowly stretched her tired body out beside it. The fatigue of the week pulled on her limbs, filling them with gummy hesitation.
She didn't want to be here.
Not that she didn't want to honor her mom's request, she just didn't want it to be something that had to be done — ever.
"It's a nice place, mom. You picked a good spot," she said softly to the small box resting on the grass of the bluff.
A tear slipped out and ran across the bridge of her nose, dripping into the grass. It was hard to believe that her beautiful mother and all she had done in her life had been reduced to this small box of ashes. It was wholly undeserved. And confusing.
The wind blew warm on Ryan's face, tossing her hair in messy tangles. She'd never been to South Carolina and the air didn't feel as different as she had hoped it might. In truth, she had hoped being in a new location, with no real reason to return home, would give her the last little bit of a push she needed to just go.
"I'm going to do the things we talked about," she promised with more conviction than she felt. "I'm gonna travel and have adventures. I won't stay... I won't."
The wind moved her hair around again, as if persuading her to keep talking. So she did. “I ran into Jeremiah Gaskill when I was buying pantyhose to wear to the funeral...” She sniffed and wiped a hand across her eyes. “He asked me out on a date,” she said, still as weirded out by it now as she had been at the time. The fingers of one hand traced the edges of the box. “I don't know. Maybe I'll go. I haven't decided yet.”
Her mind wandered to the funeral. It had been lovely. More people showed up than Ryan thought possible, but it made sense. Her mom had been kindhearted and sweet, she'd been loved a great deal.
Conspicuously absent had been Ryan's father. Though, that was to be expected. Her parents had been divorced for ten years. Still, Ryan thought that it would have been the decent thing to at least pay his respects to the woman who had loved him first.
On the heels of that thought, came the disparaging memory of her mother's siblings. They had made the day harder, if that were even possible. For not being around for the majority of Ryan's life, they sure had a lot of opinions on how the funeral had been planned. Bickering about petty things like flower choices and whether or not the Reverend had been seen at the race track the week before.
They were embarrassing.
Ryan was conflicted. On one hand, they were family — the only family she really had. On the other, her mother had told her to stay away from them. She had said they would only break her heart.
Could she just ignore her own blood? Not in the immediate present it seemed. The incessant texts and phone calls asking about when the reading of the will would be happening was seriously wearing her down.
She wanted to finish her promise to her mom first. So, she'd taken the small box of ashes and followed the hand written directions up the coast to South Carolina. To the place where Faith Zacherson had said she had first fallen in love with a sunset.
And now that the time had come, Ryan was having difficulty letting her go. She kept thinking she had one more thing to say.
"I'm gonna miss you so much," she said, more tears welling up and spilling out. She was amazed that she still had any tears left to cry. She hadn't stopped since she'd received the phone call notifying her of her mom's sudden departure from this earth. The cancer had been more aggressive than they'd anticipated, the treatment even more so. The doctors thought they had a handle on it. But then it was just over.
Faith had known, it had seemed. She'd prepared for the moment immediately following her diagnosis. Making sure Ryan wouldn't have to worry about all the details, just keeping her promise. She wasted no time in imparting as much wisdom as she could to her twenty-year-old daughter. Even writing out letters and recipes during the times Ryan was at school, so nothing would be missed.
Ryan kept the letters, usually on her person. She didn't feel like they could really be left anywhere and be safe. Besides, what if she needed advice or an encouraging word? If the letters were with her, she might not feel quite as alone as she knew she was getting ready to feel.
Because now there was no one to go home to.
“How were you so brave?” Ryan finally asked the question she wished she had asked months ago. “I don't just mean when you got sick. I mean with all of it. How were you so very brave?”
Ryan had no idea if she was going to make it. She couldn't be certain, but she had to have hope. Hope that since she had come from such a remarkable woman, some of that had gotten into her.
But Ryan's mom must have sensed the hesitancy in her daughter, because one of the things they talked about the most was Ryan chasing her dreams. Her mom was adamant that when her time had passed, Ryan move on from that town. And never look back.
So Ryan had promised.
Again and again.
She was going to keep that promise no matter what.
She just didn't know how to be that brave.
part one
one
“When you were four, you brought me flowers. Little white ones you'd found growing in the yard. I will never forget your perfect nose and how it was buried in the petals. You smiled that smile that I have always sworn was made of pure sunshine, handing me your fistful of treasure, and told me, 'Here, mama, I'm loving you.'”
Mid-August
Tampa
Triston-
Thank you for your reply! I was genuinely touched that you took the time to respond.
To answer your question, yes, I am writing again. Though, it's mostly short stories and scenes with no context. Almost as if these people pop into my head and start having a conversation with one another and I'm just there to witness it. I suppose that makes me sound totally looney. Or perhaps that's normal. Any insight there would be appreciated.
I'm excited to learn that you're working on a continuation of your Formidable Star series. (And no worries, I'll keep that to myself. I'm also a very private person, so I get it.)
Do you ever get worried that your personal life will accidentally spill into your writing and wreck it?
Maybe that's just me.
-Ryan
Ryan read her email again. She bit down hard on the skin at the side of her thumb, enough to break it. She wasn't even reading the words anymore. She knew what it said. She was still trying to decide if it said what she wanted it to say, or if it even mattered.
“Ah,” she muttered under her breath and hit send. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes.
It was one thing to write fan mail. It was something else to receive a reply. At first, she wasn't going to reply to the reply at all, but then she did.
“It's not like it matters.” She stood up, taking her empty coffee cup with her. It was still early, the sun easing its warm rays through the large windows in the dining room where Ryan kept her laptop. She had plenty of time to take a shower and get to the stable.
She really didn't need to get up as early as she did. At one time, she was the girl sawing logs until the absolute last minute. Then flying around trying to get ready and still make it to wherever she had to be, on time. Or ten minutes late.
Sleep had been more difficult to obtain recently. For obvious reasons.
Although, Jeremiah was trying to change that. Or, at least he thought he could. He wanted her to move out of the house her mom had left her, and into his lovely condo across town.
Ryan wasn't too keen on this for a couple of reasons. One, they had just gotten engaged. Like a week ago. So it felt a little rushed. But their entire relationship had felt that way.
Agreeing to a date the day before her mom's funeral while standing at the checkout with black stockings in one hand and a box of tampons in the other, was a terrible way to begin a relationship. She had never felt like she'd gotten her bearings; everything was always up in the air, moving faster than she felt ready for. But she'd never been in a serious relationship before, had never seen one up close. Jeremiah said he loved her, she really had no choice but to believe him. The alternative didn't seem conducive to a healthy engagement.
She supposed it could be attributed to Jeremiah's chosen profession of bull rider. He was intense. And always on the go — here, there, up, down, spinning, spinning, spinning — Ryan couldn't keep up. And she sort of didn't want to. He had his thing, she had hers.
Two, she liked her house. She really liked her house. It was right on the beach with a gorgeous view of the Gulf from the top balcony. Big, clean, perfect.
And it was home.
It had been her home her entire life. She loved to spend her evenings watching the sun set over the Gulf. It settled her heart and quieted her mind — which she happened to need a lot more of these days.
She couldn't see the sunset over the water from Miah's place.
But he was adamant that her lack of sleep was due to her still living in a house that she had only ever lived in with her mother. He believed that she needed someone with her in order to be at peace.
This was a weird point of contention between them. Ryan didn't mind living alone. Missing her mom and living alone were two different things. She did miss her mom. And that was why she wasn't sleeping. But being alone was actually quite nice. She liked her space. It gave her room to think.
Another factor contributing to her lack of sleep was the weird phone calls she'd been getting from her mom's older brother Vic. In fact, all the phone calls she was getting from that side of the family were unsettling. So far, she had no idea how to navigate their new fascination with her and her life. And Miah wasn't too interested in talking to her about it.
It's not that he shut her down, he didn't. His eyes would glaze over and his shoulders would slump — the universal sign of “not even pretending to care.”
So, she was dealing with all that shit on her own.
Which was fine.
Really.
It was her shit.
She should be the one to deal with it, not make it someone else's problem.
She yanked the shower curtain back in the second floor bathroom and twisted the water on, her mind drifting back to the email she'd just sent. Was it ridiculous? Probably. He had already replied once, the chances of him replying again were slim to none.
Still.
The tight knot in her belly was hoping he would. She was especially hoping he would answer her question. Because while she was writing again, she was doing so in a careful and limited sort of way. Making sure that nothing, not even something small, looked anything like her real life.
She actually didn't know why she did it that way. She just did.
The anonymity of sending emails to a writer she looked up to was addictive. It caused boldness where she would otherwise shy away. If he didn't want to reply, she didn't have to see it in his face first.
Seeing rejection in a facial expression was the worst. It was the equivalent of period cramps — it's unstoppable, unexpected, unwelcome, and no one feels how much it sucks but you.
These were the thoughts that she drifted on as she showered. Along with the random item she mentally added to her grocery list for after work. She knew she ought to write them down because otherwise, she'd forget. But she never did.
Stepping out of the shower, she heard her phone ping with a new text.
Jeremiah: lunch today?
She loved him, she really did. But he never remembered her schedule. Not even if she wrote it down for him and stuck it to his dashboard — which was what she had been doing for the past two weeks.
Ryan: I work all week. We can do dinner if you want.
Which meant getting groceries tomorrow.
She finished toweling off and got dressed in her standard jeans and t-shirt. She wished she could wear shorts to work, but it wasn't the smartest idea. She'd rather wash manure or other unsavory accumulations from her occupation out of her pants than off of her legs. Even if the humidity in Florida made the denim stick to her skin and pinch her in weird and awkward places.
Hair in a ponytail, no makeup, and she was out the door.
She was halfway to work when her phone pinged with a new message.
Jeremiah: Sounds great, pick you up at 8
She tossed the phone back onto the passenger seat of her blue Chevy Camaro — a gift from her mom for getting her degree. She did it smiling.
Unfortunately, her smile didn't last long.
As she pulled her car into her parking space (the one at the very end. It wasn't marked or anything, it was just the one she always used), she saw that today was not going to be a normal “day at the office.”
Not by a long shot.
Her dad was there today.
Ryan Zacherson had a difficult relationship with her father, Caleb. Difficult because he had left her and her mom when she was ten and started a new family — a better family. A family Ryan had never been allowed to meet. She didn't see him normally... or ever, even though she technically worked for him.
> It was a tentative détente they had reached after her mom had passed away. The job provided her with the hours she needed to gain experience in her preferred field of study, and it let him feel less guilty for being the definition of absent father. At least, that was her assumption for why she'd gotten the job. It wasn't like they'd discussed it (see again: absent father).
Although, if it hadn't been for Doc Henry, she probably wouldn't have this opportunity at all.
Doc Henry was the vet she was interning for. He took care of the horses at Zacherson Racing Stables and she'd been his biggest fan for the past five years. When she had first met him, she had no idea he worked for her father. She had been drawn to the track and the powerful animals and Henry was always there. She'd begun asking questions and he'd provided the answers. He was probably the smartest man she had ever met. Being in the business for more than forty years, he'd seen it all. And he was the only vet she had seen at the track who took such good care of his charges. Which was a big deal for her.
Ryan loved animals, always had. She grew up reading Walter Farley and James Herriot books, falling in love with the sweet devotion to every creature. James Herriot was the biggest contributing factor to her wanting to be a veterinarian. So it bothered her to see them mistreated, even marginally.
But Doc doted on his animals.
A girl with no father figure to speak of, Ryan latched onto Henry's wisdom and patience, forcing a bond with a man who was a veritable stranger. But he hadn't seemed to mind.
Under his encouragement, she had pursued and achieved accelerated graduation in high school, enrolled at the University of Tampa and had begun her under graduate studies, majoring in biology. She sucked up the information and was a voracious student — much to the surprise of her mother — and ended up getting her degree in just over three years.