This is the sixteenth part in a series, so if you have not already done so, you might want to read Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, and Part XV before continuing.
I awoke the next morning with a groan. It had been so long since I’d been in a saddle I had forgotten how painful it is to be saddlesore. Muscles I had forgotten about throbbed with pain.
Uncle Phil laughed when he saw me walking bowlegged to the kitchen table for breakfast. “How long since you been in a saddle?”
I was tempted to check my watch and tell him it had only been about sixteen hours, but I knew what he meant.
“Vincent took me riding for our anniversary last year, but that was nothing like yesterday.”
Uncle Phil snorted, then said, “You ever gonna tell me what happened between you and Vincent that sent you running away from the city with your tail between your legs?”
I sighed heavily as I plopped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Do I have to?”
Uncle Phil held up a hand, palm out as he said, “It’s your business. I won’t pry if you don’t want me to. I’m not your grandmother.”
I laughed, then immediately regretted it as my back spasmed.
“Yeah,” I said through clenched teeth. “She would have ripped every, last detail out of me.”
“Before you even got unpacked. Speaking of which, you all unpacked?”
I nodded. “I took care of it yesterday after Mike and Jen left.”
“Is there something’ goin’ on between you and Mike? The frost between you two at dinner yesterday could freeze the nuts off a bull.”
“Ew,” I said with a grimace. “That’s so gross.”
“You get the picture. Answer the question.”
I heaved another sigh. “How could you not tell me Carl died?”
He shrugged. “You haven’t exactly been in touch.”
I groaned and buried my face in my hands, elbows propped on the table.
“If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re looking in the wrong place.”
“I’m not looking for sympathy,” I said. Then I heard the whine in my voice and realized I did want sympathy, even though I knew I didn’t deserve it.
I sat up and attempted to pull myself together. “Can we have this conversation after coffee?”
Uncle Phil responded by nodding and gesturing to the coffee pot. I stood up (groaning some more as my back and legs protested), got a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee.
As long as I was up, I figured I might as well get a plate and help myself to some bacon and eggs. If I had to get up again for food, I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t just forego food altogether. And that’s saying something because breakfast is my favorite meal of the day.
Then I sat back down at the kitchen table and told Uncle Phil to update me while I ate. He had already had his breakfast and I knew he could talk for hours, so all I had to do was eat and listen.
To be continued…