✧ 克里斯蒂安·沃克 ✧
睁开双眼时,清晨的阳光已然炙烤着大地,德克萨斯州的阳光从不留情面。但和往常一样,我怀着一种只有热爱乡村生活的人才能体会到的热情,起床了。这种生活习惯深深地烙印在灵魂深处——早早起床,喝一杯浓浓的黑咖啡,穿上牛仔衬衫,系上牛仔扣宽腰带,穿着长途跋涉磨得锃亮的靴子踏上土地。
我叫克里斯蒂安·沃克,是当地最伟大的马匹饲养员的儿子,也是一座与其说是财富,不如说是自尊的农场的继承人。在这里,每个人都认识我。有人钦佩我,有人躲避我。我以坚强、少言寡语、多做事而闻名——或许这不仅仅是名声。
封住思绪后,我抓起编织草帽,走出主屋,穿过脚步嘎吱作响的木质门廊。外面,随着第一批马匹在牧场上奔跑,尘土已经开始扬起。
今天是孤星牧场(Lone Star Ranch)的拍卖日,它是该地区最大的牧场。人们不远万里前来,只为一睹纯种马优雅的游行和高昂的价格。阿拉伯纯种马、夸特马、花斑马……这些马的价格甚至比一辆全新的卡车还要贵。
我钻进那辆红色卡车,它虽然老旧,却像公牛一样强劲,沿着公路行驶。绵延数公里的红土吞噬了轮胎,乡村景色在篱笆、干燥的山丘和被阳光照射的灌木丛中模糊地掠过。这是一种原始的美。狂野。就像这里的一切一样。
抵达孤星牧场,拍卖会的大棚屋前已经聚集了一小群人。马儿在畜栏里焦急地嘶鸣。戴着大扣环的男人和穿着高跟靴的女人们手捧苏打水,头上戴着帽子,目光专注地注视着出价。
我下了车,扶了扶帽子,走向棚子。一股干草、马汗和某种女士发胶的甜腻香味扑面而来。一位拍卖师已经占据了棚子中央,站在一个临时搭建的小舞台上,手里拿着麦克风,语气坚定,字字句句都洋溢着热情:
“我们这里有全州最好的四分之一英里赛马种马之一!冠军血统,屡获殊荣的血统!起价三万美元!”
这匹马呈深棕色,额头上有一处白色斑纹,堪称一幅画作。它姿态庄重,肌肉分明,目光炯炯。即使是那些出于热情而非盈利目的饲养它的人,也一定会为之倾倒。
我静静地站了一会儿,仔细地观察着一切,这时远处的一个动静让我转过头。
我浑身冷汗。
她就在那里。棕色的头发,蓬松地垂在肩上,如同回忆的瀑布。她穿着紧身牛仔裤和一件简单的白衬衫,但穿在她身上,一切都截然不同。自然而然的优雅。她既是局外人,又是这片风景的一部分。毫无疑问,她就是劳拉。
五年。
五年了,她从我的生活中消失了,只留下一张叠好的纸放在梳妆台上。连个再见都没说。只是懦弱罢了。
我还没来得及反应,就有人碰了我的肩膀。我转过身。是阿丽亚娜。
“朋友,”她说道,脸上带着那种保守秘密的人特有的微笑,“我没想到会在这里见到你。你告诉过我你可能不会来。”
“我改变主意了。”我回答道,尽管过去的往事在我的胸口炸开,但我还是努力保持声音平稳。
阿丽亚娜的目光跟随我并注意到了。
“啊……原来你已经看到了。”
“很难不被注意到,”我咬紧牙关说道,“她不一样,而且还带着个孩子。”
阿丽亚娜叹了口气。
“没错。他们说她是个单亲妈妈。怀孕了,那个男人逃走了。没人知道孩子的父亲是谁。我只知道她回来时面无表情,手里还抱着孩子。没人愿意承担责任。孩子的父亲,任何男人都不愿意。”
她干笑一声。
有人评论说她在城里“活得太久了”。她离开这里时满怀爱意,回来后……可以说,她活得更久了。不过,你知道人们的言辞是什么样的吧?
我感觉胃里翻江倒海。愤怒和失望就像汽油和火一样混合在一起。
“那现在呢?她来这里干什么?”
“她被邀请了。”他们说她想尝试和育种者,也就是城里有钱人,一起开一家咨询公司。但没人认真对待……在这里,名气来得快去得也快。
我沉默不语,眼睛紧紧地盯着她。
我差点娶的女人。
我守护着她,不惜一切代价。我爱她,爱得无比深沉。她曾对我发誓,她会是我的……然后却像扔掉一封旧信一样消失了。
如今,她孤身一人,带着一个儿子,而这个儿子的证件上,恐怕连父亲的名字都没有。她回来时,脸上却挂着一副想要重新开始的表情,仿佛什么事都没发生过。
我不知道还有什么让我困扰。是她在那里,想要一切如常,还是即使经历了这一切,只要看着她,我的心仍然会有所触动。
阿丽亚娜轻轻地将手放在我的手臂上。
“克里斯蒂安,这不关我的事……但你对她还有感觉吗?”
“不是‘某件事’,而是‘一切’,”我回答道,看到她眼中无声的惊讶。“在她属于任何人之前,她都是我的。我从未忘记。”
“现实是这样的,朋友。算了吧,克里斯蒂安。不值得翻旧账。为了这个女人,你已经受了太多苦。别让她再毁了一切。”
我点点头,没有回答。
✧ Laura Campbell ✧
I thought I could possibly be happy away from Cristian. The truth is, I tried. I swear to God, I tried.
Five years ago, I left everything behind—our house, our plans, our history. I abandoned Cristian, the man who was always my refuge, my peace, my home, because of my family.
They were never part of this world here. They lived in the city, in an expensive neighborhood, one where no one gets their shoes dirty, where money speaks louder than any feeling.
They always treated me like a display doll, expecting me to marry some suited executive and not a cowboy with a big soul and calloused hands.
My mother hated Cristian from day one. She said he was a brute, a man too simple for my future.
"You deserve more than a cowboy with dirt under his nails and the smell of horse on his body," she repeated, as if it were a prayer.
My father pretended to accept, but all it took was a setback, a comma out of place, for him to throw in my face that I was "throwing my life away."
"You were raised for more, Laura. More than living in the middle of nowhere with a man who lives to take care of animals."
Even so, I stayed with him.
I chose Cristian every day. Every sideways glance. Every silent dinner. Every veiled criticism. Until the day I couldn't bear the weight of the choice.
It was the eve of our wedding.
The dress was ready, hanging in the closet at home. A simple, delicate dress, with lace details that I chose myself thinking of him. We were happy. Anxious.
That night, my father fell ill. A high blood pressure crisis, chest pains. Almost a heart attack.
And in the hospital, with the cold lights and the smell of disinfectant, my mother looked me in the eyes with all the coldness she carried and said:
"You're killing your father. Marrying that man will ruin your family. Is that what you want?"
That sentence cut me inside.
I spent the night in a hard chair, trembling, guilty, broken.
When I got home, I already knew what I was going to do. I couldn't breathe just imagining walking down that aisle with the weight of being the cause of my family's ruin.
I climbed the stairs with wobbly legs. I entered the room that was ours for the last time. He wasn't there, he was in the city. I sat on the edge of the bed where we slept so many times intertwined, and wrote a letter with trembling hands.
"Sorry. I need to go. I can't marry you. Take care of yourself."
I folded the paper and left it on the bedside table.
And I left. Without the courage to look back.
...✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ...
Two weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. It was Cristian's. It could only be his.
My feet faltered when I saw the positive test. I sat on the cold floor of my parents' house in the big city, and cried like a child.
I cried for myself, for him, for the baby, and for the love I threw away.
I thought about calling. Writing. Coming back.
But pride…
Ah, that damn pride tied me down.
And as always, my mother made a point of poisoning everything:
"This child will be yours alone. You don't need that man. He was going to trap you in that poor life, on that dirty farm. You deserve more. And if you think about calling him, I'll take that child from you, and leave him in an orphanage somewhere."
And once again, I remained silent, for the good of my baby.
Miguel was born nine months later.
Tiny, fair-skinned, deep brown eyes. He had the same way of frowning when something bothered him, the same stubborn silence. He was Cristian in miniature.
And yet, I hid the truth.
I didn't put the father's name on the certificate.
I didn't tell anyone.
I faked strength when only fear existed.
And every time Miguel looks at me, I see the father he doesn't know.
The father I took from him.
Now, five years later, I'm back.
Back to where it all began.
With my son beside me, holding my hand innocently, unaware of how much his little face can break hearts—especially the heart of the man who was once mine.
I was invited to the auction at Lone Star Ranch. They say it's the biggest in the region. I accepted without thinking much. Maybe on a whim, out of longing. Maybe, deep down, I knew he would be there.
I dressed simply. Jeans, white blouse, hair loose.
Nothing but the truth.
And I went.
As soon as I arrived, I felt everything wash over me at once: The smell of hot earth, the sound of the horses, the dust dancing in the wind, the drawn-out voices, the tall hats, the boots hitting firmly on the gravel ground.
And then… I saw him.
Cristian.
My heart skipped a beat.
Nothing changed. Or rather, it did.
He's more of a man. More firm. Wider shoulders. Harder look.
Time hasn't aged him. It has sculpted him. But the eyes… the eyes no longer had the same sweetness. There was no tenderness. There was no hope. Only coldness. Maybe it was because of the pain of losing his father two years ago, or because of my departure.
I wanted to run to him. Say everything.
But he looked at me as if I were nothing.
As if the love we had was just a blur in his past. And that hurt.
I held Miguel's hand tighter, trying to stay steady. He didn't even notice. He was playing with his own toy hat, distracted by the horses neighing in the distance.
Later, already at the simple inn where I'm staying with Miguel, I waited for him to fall asleep.
After a warm bath and a badly told story, he passed out.
I picked up my cell phone. I opened the gallery.
I scrolled through the photos until I found that one.
Miguel at two years old, on top of a pony horse, smiling sideways, holding a blade of grass in his mouth, the way his father did.
I touched the screen. A tear fell.
Cristian deserves to know.
Miguel deserves to know.
But… what if he hates me?
What if he looks at me with that same look from today, as if I were just any woman?
As if everything we lived through was worth nothing?
My fingers squeezed the cell phone tightly.
The truth is, I'm scared.
Scared of what I caused.
Scared of not being able to fix it.
Scared that too much time has passed.
Scared that he's right to hate me.
But above all… I'm afraid of Miguel growing up and asking:
"Mom, who is my dad?"
And I don't know what to answer. Or worse… Having to lie. I still love him so much, I never stopped loving him, I never let another man into my life, not for lack of options, but because my heart still belongs to that man who was my first in everything.
✧ Cristian Walker ✧
I couldn't forget the past. And seeing her right there, a few meters away from me, only reinforced the feelings I had tried to suffocate all these years. The kind of feeling that doesn't die. It just transforms into something harder.
I was angry at her, yes. And I won't deny it.
It's painful when everyone knows you're getting married the next day. When everything is organized for the party, when the guests are already in town, and suddenly the bride… disappears.
Without warning, without explanation. She just leaves a note on the dresser as if she were leaving the summer house and not someone's life.
"Take care"
Those words haunted me for a long time.
As if it were easy. As if she hadn't torn my heart out with her own hands.
The pain worsened over time.
Especially when I had to deal with my father's illness. The same week she left me was the week the old man got worse. I had to swallow my suffering and take care of everything alone. After he passed, I buried not only my father—but everything I once was.
I used the pain as fuel. I closed myself off. I became the man the region knows today.
Not the same as before.
Harder.
Colder.
More… bitter.
I closed my eyes for a second, clenched my teeth, and shook my head, trying to keep the thoughts away. But it was useless.
Seeing Laura again, with that face marked by longing—even if she pretended everything was fine—was like opening a poorly healed wound.
And then, even with all the pride, all the anger, all the "whatever" I claimed to feel… I went to her, just like that, automatically.
I knew she was staying in a simple inn on the other side of town, near the dirt road that leads to the old MacAllister warehouse.
It wasn't a place for a rich man's daughter.
I stood outside for a few minutes, looking at the peeling facade and the thirsty plant pots. I raised my fist and knocked twice on the door of room 6.
I heard light footsteps. The doorknob turned. And there she was. Different from hours ago, when she was among the crowd at the auction. Now… she was just inches away. Her red eyes betrayed the crying. Her makeup-free skin, marked with emotion. And for a moment, a very brief moment, something inside me threatened to give way.
But it didn't give way. Not yet.
"Cristian, I really need to talk to you. I…"
"I don't want to hear your excuses," I cut her off immediately, with the coldest voice I intended to use. "Nothing that comes out of your mouth interests me."
I looked directly into her eyes. "Looks like you were crying, weren't you?"
She swallowed hard. The pain was there, visible. But I wasn't ready to feel sorry for her.
"Nothing about me interests you?" she retorted, her voice trembling. "So you want to know why I cried? Go ahead, start laughing at my misfortune. That's all I have left."
"I don't usually laugh at other people's misfortunes," I said, crossing my arms. "I just observe. You're alone, aren't you?"
"I always have been. But it's not for lack of options," she said, her tone firm, but her eyes wounded.
"Can I come in?"
She hesitated for two seconds, then moved away from the door.
"Sure. Do you want something to drink?"
"Right now, just some tea… if you have any."
She nodded and walked to the small kitchen, which barely allowed two steps.
Meanwhile, I went in and sat on the old sofa in the living room. The structure creaked with every movement.
I looked around the room.
It was a simple place. Small. Clean, but clearly cheap.
And that bothered me more than it should have.
Laura came from a wealthy family in the city. She always had everything in her hands. Private school, fancy dinners, expensive dresses, weekend trips. And now she was there… staying in an inn that barely provided basic comfort. Back when I met her, she was snobbish, and over time she adapted to life in the countryside. But as I see it, it was all a big farce.
"I didn't expect to see you here," she said, returning with two steaming cups. She handed one to me.
I drank the tea without answering. The silence was thick.
"I just wanted you to… listen to me, at least once. I know I took a long time. I know I hurt you. But there are things you don't know, Cristian."
"And now you want to tell me? After five years?"
She sat in the chair across from me. Her hands held the mug tightly, as if that warmth was the last safe thing in the world.
"I didn't have the strength before. And I know I don't deserve your understanding." She paused. "But… if you listen to me, at least once, it will be more than I expected."
"Get to the point, Laura."
She sighed deeply. The sound of someone carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders.
"What I did to you was unforgivable. I know that. But I didn't leave because I wanted to… at least not really."
I rolled my eyes and put the mug down on the coffee table.
"Who are you going to blame? The rain? The wind?"
"My family." Her voice came out firm this time. "You know they never accepted you. They always treated you as inferior. As if you were just a summer fling of the spoiled daughter. But you were never that to me, Cristian. Never."
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears.
"On the eve of our wedding, my father almost died. My mother accused me of destroying the family. They told me that if I married you, I would be responsible for everything bad that happened afterward."
"And you believed it?" I said, staring. "You believed that and thought leaving a note was the best way to end everything?" I got up angrily, running my hands through my dark hair.
She closed her eyes for a second.
"I panicked. I felt swallowed up. Alone. Weak. And I made the worst choice of my life."
"You really did."
The voice came out lower than I expected.
Inside, I was fighting a battle between anger and longing.
"I just…" she tried to compose herself, "I just wanted you to know that I never forgot you. Never. That every time I woke up with an empty bed, I thought about coming back. But I thought it was too late. And when I realized… I had already ruined everything."
I walked to the window.
"Too late is what you did to us. To me. To everything." I took a deep breath. "I loved you with everything I had, Laura. And you threw it away as if it were nothing. And at that time it was nothing, in your eyes."
When I looked over my shoulder, she was crying silently. This time… something inside me faltered.
But I couldn't give in. Not now.
"Is there anything else you need to tell me?"
She swallowed hard.
"There is… but not now."
"As you wish."
I grabbed my hat from the arm of the sofa, walked to the door, and turned around one last time.
"Life teaches. And you taught me that loving too much also destroys."
I left there before any weakness pulled me back.
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