Only With Me (Sugarland Creek #4)

Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Harlow

“ O h my gosh, I’m so sorry!” I blurt the moment I jump out of the truck. “I stopped to help a friend on the way and was running behind.”

Waylon’s wide blue eyes meet mine before he turns off the four-wheeler.

A sexy, six-foot-something, muscular cowboy who I’ve known for years.

Not that we’ve talked much. He hardly notices me.

Waylon’s the quiet Hollis twin and hardly looks in my direction. He’s my older sister, Delilah’s, ex-boyfriend and probably still sees me as a little kid.

“It’s okay, Harlow. I shoulda been payin’ better attention, too.”

His intense eye contact and deep voice send a chill down my spine. Waylon might be reserved and keep to himself, but he’s all man. Tall, brooding, and too attractive for his own good. He’s a hard worker like the rest of his siblings, but Waylon makes it look effortless. I’ve been on the ranch enough over the past four years to notice how dedicated he is.

“Damn, almost had a collision.” Ruby joins us. “Y’all okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” I brush a hand over my forehead, glancing nervously between Waylon and Ruby.

“I’ll get outta your way,” Waylon starts the four-wheeler, then shifts around my truck.

Ruby smiles briefly at me before walking back toward the stables. I hop back into my truck and make my way to the parking area. Once I reach the stalls, I find Noah and Ellie.

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” Noah asks.

“Good. I was hopin’ to lunge Piper and take her for a ride before our session.”

Piper’s my six-year-old Appaloosa show horse. Noah and I have been working together with her since I was sixteen—four years ago. She gave me riding lessons and taught me the skills for show jumping. I started competing a year ago, so I still have a lot to learn and experience, but I enjoy it.

The season ended last month, but I’m trying to get in as much practice as possible before the next one begins in spring.

“Yeah, of course. Ellie will be done in an hour and then we can start,” Noah replies.

Noah stays busy enough that she needs to work on the weekends, too. She takes off when she can, but for as long as I’ve known her, she always has a full plate. Since I’m not competing right now, Piper and I train with Noah whenever she’s available or when I’m not at my part-time job.

Since I didn’t want to put all the expenses of Piper’s boarding fees on my parents, I work at a Western clothing boutique called Rodeo Belle. It’s a cute place downtown that’s popular with tourists and college-aged girls.

“Hey, sweet girl.” I rub my palm up and down Piper’s white-spotted nose. “Ready to get outta here?”

She bobs her head underneath my hand, and I laugh.

Getting fresh air and trail riding with Piper is the core of keeping my mental health stable. After fighting for my life and being unable to walk when I was a teenager, I’ve learned not to take it for granted.

I brush her for a bit before attaching her lunging tack.

“Alright, let’s go.” I click my tongue and lead her out to the corral. I lunge her for twenty minutes since I got caught up at home and haven’t ridden her in a couple days.

“Thatta girl,” I praise when she walks up to me. “Let’s get ready to ride.”

After I bring her back into the stables, I cross-tie her in the aisle and put on her saddle tack.

“Where’re you ridin’?” Ruby asks before I head out.

“Up to the retreat trails. There shouldn’t be any guest tours right now, so figured it’d be a good place to go.”

“Okay, be careful. It gets icy up there this time of year,” she warns.

“Don’t worry. Piper’s a baddie, ain’t ya?” I pat her neck.

Ruby snorts. “Text if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

At the mention of texting, I remember to check my phone that was vibrating while I was outside.

Annie’s horse had a hoof issue, so I swung by her ranch before coming here so I could lend an extra hand in helping her check if there was a nail in it. Unfortunately, there was, so I distracted Gretchen by brushing her and speaking softly while Annie managed to soak her hoof in a bucket of warm water.

Since Annie’s farrier couldn’t get out there until Wednesday, I texted Noah and Fisher to see if he could help since he normally has off on Sundays.

Fisher: I’m heading out there now if you want to let your friend know I’ll be there shortly.

Harlow: Thanks so much, will do!

I quickly change over to my text convo with Annie to let her know.

Annie: You’re a lifesaver! Thank you!!!

Harlow: No problem - give me an update on Gretchen when you can :)

One of the many reasons I’ve loved growing up in Sugarland Creek is how tight knit the community is. I’ve met so many amazing people through their love of horses and the rodeo. Although Delilah’s been a professional trick rider for years, I didn’t get interested in riding until after I’d spent three years in and out of hospitals.

When I finally recovered from the assault that altered my life—“the incident” as we call it—my mom and her thought equine therapy would help keep my mind occupied so I wouldn’t fall into a deeper depression.

I was reluctant at first since I didn’t know much about horses, only what I’d witnessed from my sister riding over the years, but I’m glad they encouraged me. Delilah’s ten years older than me and spends most of the summers traveling across the state for her job, but she’s always been protective of me.

Whether it’s because she’s my big sister or she felt guilty for not being home that day, she’s always been my biggest supporter. She helped me get lessons with Noah so I could learn from the best. I’m no expert in show jumping, but I’m having fun with it and getting to do something for me.

After taking Piper for a trail ride and doing an hour of training with Noah, I’m home before dinner. Delilah moved out a couple years ago into an apartment with her best friend, so it’s only my parents and me with our three dogs.

“Hi, Daddy.” I lean down to his power wheelchair level and kiss his cheek. He doesn’t look like he’s in a great mood today. “How was your day?”

He grunts. “Fine. Yours?”

Fine means bearable but not great.

“Good. I stopped at Annie’s before going to the ranch. Took Piper up to the mountain trail before her training session. She made all her jumps except one, so not too bad.”

I leave out the part where Piper and I got lost on our ride. I ended up walking her through some brush to get back on the trail. Though it made me nervous to be out there alone with only God knows what, I managed to keep it together long enough to find our way back.

“That’s great, sweetie,” Mom chimes in, entering the living room with an apron across her waist. “Dinner will be ready in a half hour if you wanna shower beforehand.”

“Sounds good.” I take the hint that I smell like a barn and walk down the hallway. Mom’s never been a lover of ranch animals, even though we have pets, and is obsessed with keeping everything clean at all times—including me.

Moose, my childhood boxer, follows me to my room. He’s ten years old and loves sleeping under my covers. When I was bedridden, he never left my side. He became my little therapy dog and still is.

Once I’ve washed off the smell, I meet my parents in the kitchen. Dad sits on the end, and Mom and I are across from each other. Her two Pomeranians, Shelby and Sasha, lie by our feet.

Moose tends to stay in my room and wait for me to return. He knows I’ll bring him treats or leftovers later.

The table’s already set, so after we say grace, we dive in.

“Is there parmesan cheese?” Dad asks Mom.

“I sprinkled some on top of the sauce,” Mom replies without glancing up from her plate.

“More like half a sprinkle…” Dad grumbles.

“Do you want some more, Daddy?” I ask, smirking around my words.

This is a regular occurrence. Mom wants Dad to eat healthy and he wants to eat whatever he wants without being told otherwise.

Pushing back against my chair, I stand and go to the fridge. Dad sits in a regular dining chair at the table, so he’s not mobile until he goes back into his power chair or uses his walker.

“Here, Daddy. Not too much.” I set the cheese next to his plate.

“Thanks, sweetie.” He grabs a handful and smothers his pasta.

When I sit, Mom’s narrowed eyes meet mine, and I shove food into my mouth to hide the grin forming across my face.

It’s bad enough he has minimal control over his life, so if a little extra cheese makes him happy, then so be it.

After dinner, Mom serves fruit and Greek yogurt parfaits. A few minutes later, Dad groans in agony, his eyes pinch closed, and he releases a whimpered groan.

“You okay?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“I’m gonna take some meds and go to bed,” he responds, not bothering to finish his dessert.

Mom brings over his chair and helps him get settled before he takes off through the living room toward their bedroom.

It’s not uncommon for Dad to go to bed early. Or take a few naps throughout the day. He suffers from chronic phantom limb pain—ever since his work accident eight years ago when he lost his leg.

The amputation cut is above his knee, close to his hip, so wearing a prosthetic is next to impossible.

But his brain still sends signals, thinking it’s there, and because the nerves are damaged and oversensitive, he experiences pain from the part of the leg that no longer exists. His body and brain are at a constant war with each other.

There’s no cure for phantom limb pain because it’s neurological, but there are temporary treatments. There’s mirror therapy, nerve pain medication or opioids, but nothing that can numb it completely. Dad’s almost always suffering, and even though he’s developed a high pain tolerance, it’s not always tolerable.

It puts him in a bad mood more often than a good one.

If that wasn’t traumatic enough, the following summer was when my incident occurred. He witnessed it, unable to intervene because he couldn’t walk, and that fucked him up mentally even more.

When he’s having a bad mental episode, he takes more medication than he should. When he wants to knock himself out, he takes extra sleeping pills and mixes them with pain pills.

Almost every morning I wonder if that’ll be the day I find him no longer breathing.

He attempted to overdose once, five years ago. And then once again, two years ago.

Since then, I’ve tried to stay strong and remind him how much we love and need him. I ignore my grief about how our lives should’ve been, so instead of adding extra guilt to his plate, I pretend everything’s fine.

Our family had it rough for a few years—hell, Daddy still does. I recovered from my incident.

He never will.

“I can clear the table, Mom,” I quickly say when she starts fussing over the dishes.

She sighs, frustrated that there’s nothing we can do to help Dad. “Thanks, sweetie.”

She opens the dishwasher and starts rinsing the plates I hand over. We work in silence, sticking to our routine afterward where she tidies up the house, and I hang out in my room with Moose. When Daddy’s in bed, we try our best not to wake him since he only sleeps a few hours at a time before the pain inevitably hits him again.

I wake up sometime after nine in the morning to a video of rain noises still playing. Reaching over, I close my laptop and that’s when I feel a weird burning sensation.

“What the hell?” Sitting up in bed, I stretch out my arms and see they’re covered in red bumps.

And they’re itchy as fuck.

Moose’s head pops up and nudges me.

“Oh my God…what the hell is this?” Flying out of bed, I rush to the full-length mirror in the corner of my room. So far, the rash only reaches to my elbows, but I can’t help scratching it.

Grabbing my phone, I snap a few photos and send one to my horse club group chat. Someone in there might know what it is and hopefully how to treat it.

I’m too scared to leave my room in case it’s contagious. The last thing Dad needs on top of his pain is to get covered in whatever the hell this is. We typically go for a walk in the morning since it’s when he feels his best. Well, he rides in his power chair, and I walk next to him with Moose. But it’s a good way to get him out of the house and for us to talk.

After a few people guess random possibilities, Jake asks for a closer pic.

Unknown: That’s poison ivy, sweetheart. Don’t scratch it.

Sweetheart? Who the hell is that?

Harlow: Don’t scratch?! I’m about to peel off my skin.

Jake: You must’ve rubbed up against it within the last 12 to 24 hours.

Harlow: Shit…I went riding yesterday and got lost so I walked through some brush to get us back on the path.

The sun was beating down on me, so I rolled up my sleeves. Shit.

Jake: That’ll do it.

Unknown: Apply cool compresses and get some itch-relief cream.

I don’t bother asking who the random number belongs to since I’m in the middle of a crisis, but I thank him anyway. Jake’s the one who added him a couple days ago, so it must be one of his guy friends.

Exiting the chat, I Google how to treat poison ivy and if it’s contagious.

Luckily, it’s not, but it can appear on other parts of my body since it develops in stages. I was wearing jeans yesterday, but that doesn’t mean it won’t show up on my neck or face. If I touch any part of my body after being exposed, it’s only a matter of time before it shows up.

And of course, it says to avoid scratching so it doesn’t get infected.

I’m in hell.