Page 89 of Paper Horses

The movie started, and I let his comment linger in the silence. Time had been my enemy back then, and now it sat poised to attack again. If I let it.

My eyes scanned the figures Tori had sent in response to my proposal. Solid figures that gave breath to my ideas for the ranch. I picked my phone up from the table and shot Gabe a text.

Liv: These numbers look good.

It took a few minutes for him to respond with, Why are you up so early? Isn’t it only eight there?

Sending him a rolling-eye emoji, I typed, Cowboys get up early.

I could almost hear him laughing as he typed his next line. Beating him to it, I added, I put together a list of potential buyers.

His dots faded before I read, Send it to me. You’re more in tune with those people than I am, so I’m sure it’s a solid list.

Liv: That’s because you’re antisocial.

Gabe: Not anymore. If Tori drags me to another charity event, I’m going to sell all her dresses.

Liv: Stop.

Gabe: You know I hate those things.

Liv: But you get to see Tori all dressed up.

Gabe: True. Those cocktail dresses with the heels are sexy.

Liv: Gross. Where is she?

Gabe: Running a meeting on the financials with the hotel managers.

Liv: Boring. I’m so glad numbers are your thing.

Gabe: How’s it going there?

Way to change the subject, Gabe. Every time I talked to him, he wanted to know about Hudson. Dismissing any talk about the ranch and telling me it was my project. Meddler. That’s what he was, but I couldn’t be angry, not when he and Tori had brought Hudson back into my life. Although I wasn’t so sure I’d still be happy about it when I was back in the city with thousands of miles separating me from him.

Liv: Fine. I decided cowgirl clothes are not my thing.

Gabe: Oh thank God, because that shirt made me want to drive out there and throw a coat over you.

I stared at the phone, my brows crinkling.

Liv: I’m thirty-seven years old, little brother. I can wear whatever I want.

Gabe: Doesn’t mean I won’t protect you.

Tears pushed behind my eyes. I still hadn’t been able to stop the damn things from regrouping at inconvenient times. The phone shook in my hand because Gabe’s words were true and reminded me of how lucky I was to have him.

I tucked my feet up, resting my chin on my knees, and hit call.

“Whoa, a text and a call. Are you going to get pissy about that last comment?”

“Shut up and just listen.” I inhaled as the scattered remnants of my mask swirled deep within me, trying to rise to cover the emotion and the hurt it anticipated. The hurt that wouldn’t come because this was Gabe, not my father.

“You’ve always been my protector. And…” I tipped my head into my knees, closing my eyes as my instinct fought against the vulnerability I was showing. “…I never thanked you for it. For all you did.”

“You don’t need to thank me. You’re my sister.”

“I know.” My voice cracked, a tear sliding down my cheek, the mask battling to cover this moment of softness.