The uncle

chapter 15

Betty stepped into the house, warm from the afternoon sun, and froze. Chris was there, leaning against the banister, looking as though he’d been waiting.

“Hey,” he began, voice softer than usual. “Can we talk?”

She shifted her bag, wary. “Talk about what?”

He let out a small breath, meeting her eyes. “About earlier. I was out of line. I’m sorry, Betty.”

His sincerity took her by surprise. Chris never apologized, at least not like this.

“…Okay,” she said after a moment, letting her guard lower.

A faint smile crossed his lips. “Thanks. Listen — you’ve been here for months, and you still haven’t met my horse. How about a ride? I think we both need it.”

Betty hesitated, then nodded, the thought of riding through the open fields suddenly comforting. “Sure,” she agreed, glancing down at her dress. “But I don’t have any riding clothes.”

Chris chuckled, the sound lighter than she’d heard in days. “A T-shirt and jeans will work fine. Come on.”

She went upstairs to change, pulling on worn jeans and a simple shirt. As she tied her hair back, a sudden pang of guilt hit — Dean. She’d promised him lunch today. For a second, she considered texting, but the thought of spending the afternoon with Chris — seeing this easier side of him — was too tempting to pass up. She’d explain to Dean later.

Back outside, Chris was already adjusting the saddles. “I can teach you if you want,” he offered.

Betty grinned, surprising him. “I can ride.”

His eyebrows rose as they mounted up. “Really?”

As they set off, he watched her handle the horse with a natural ease. “Okay, show-off,” he teased, a playful note in his voice, “how do you ride so well?”

Betty laughed, shifting comfortably in the saddle. “Horses were one of my many jobs back home,” she said lightly. “Grooming, exercising, whatever needed doing.”

Chris laughed, genuinely, and for a second Betty forgot about everything else. He was so relaxed out here, making silly jokes about her posture, pointing out birds along the trail, even laughing at himself when his horse stumbled on a rock.

They rode across the golden fields, the breeze tangling her hair, and Betty found herself talking about New York — the crowded streets, the endless noise, the impossible rents, the way you could disappear in it if you wanted. Chris listened, steering his horse easily alongside hers, genuinely focused on her words.

“So,” he asked after a moment, voice thoughtful, “do you think you’ll ever go back?”

Betty hesitated, glancing across the sunlit trail. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “There’s nothing there for me anymore.”

Chris nodded slowly, seeming to take that in.

She shrugged. “I mean, it was…home, once. But it doesn’t feel like that now.”

For a second, something unreadable crossed his face, but then he smiled again, making another joke about how she’d left behind big-city pizza for ranch beans. Betty laughed, the tension easing, letting herself enjoy the ride and the rare lightness between them.

When they returned to the stables, the afternoon light had softened, painting everything gold. Chris helped Betty down from the saddle, his hands steady on her waist, and for a moment she was too aware of how close he was. He seemed to notice too, clearing his throat and stepping back.

“Thanks,” she said, patting her horse’s neck.

“No problem,” Chris replied, giving a half grin. “You handled him like a pro.”

Betty smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. The warmth in Chris’s expression felt new, and it tugged at something inside her she hadn’t quite named yet.

As they walked back toward the house together, Betty’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Guilt pricked her when she saw Dean’s name on the screen, along with a missed call and a text:

> Where are you?

She swallowed, feeling the weight of it, but couldn’t bring herself to answer right away.

Chris glanced at her, picking up on her sudden quiet. “Everything okay?”

Betty tucked the phone away, forcing a smile. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

He studied her for a second, as if he might push, then let it go. “Hungry? I was thinking we could grab something from the kitchen. I’m starving after that ride.”

“Sure,” she agreed, grateful for the distraction.

Inside, the kitchen was quiet, sunlight catching on the countertops. Chris rummaged around, pulling out bread, cheese, and some leftover stew. Betty helped him set things out, feeling a strange sort of peace settle over her.

It had been a good day. A simple day.

But she couldn’t shake the worry about Dean, or the complicated way Chris made her feel — like he was pulling her closer even when every bit of common sense told her to stay away.

They had just started eating, the kitchen calm and quiet, when Betty heard footsteps in the hall. Tasha appeared in the doorway, raising her eyebrows at the sight of them together.

“There you are,” Tasha said, glancing between Betty and Chris, a teasing note in her voice that quickly faded. “Betty, Dean is outside. He’s been looking for you.”

Betty’s stomach dropped. She’d forgotten how late it had gotten — and Dean.

“Oh,” she breathed, pushing her chair back. “Thanks, Tasha.”

Tasha gave her a curious look but didn’t say more, disappearing down the hall again.

Chris watched Betty carefully. “You okay?”

She nodded, trying to pull herself together. “Yeah. I should go talk to him.”

Chris set his fork down, his expression unreadable. “Tell him I didn’t keep you hostage.”

Betty gave a small, nervous laugh, but it faded fast. “I’ll handle it,” she said, standing up.

As she headed for the door, her heart thudded painfully. The afternoon with Chris had felt so simple, so free — but facing Dean again reminded her just how complicated everything was.

Betty stepped out onto the porch, blinking in the late-afternoon sun. Dean stood by his truck, arms crossed, a frown drawing lines across his forehead.

When he saw her, he pushed off the truck, trying to steady his voice. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Betty replied quietly.

Dean studied her for a long moment. “I was supposed to meet you for lunch.”

“I know,” she said, guilt swirling through her chest. “I’m sorry, Dean. I lost track of time.”

He glanced toward the house, then back at her. “With Chris?”

Betty nodded, her throat dry. “We went riding. He wanted to show me his horse.”

Dean let out a short, tight laugh, shaking his head. “His horse.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she tried to explain. “I just—”

“Betty,” he interrupted gently, stepping closer, “I’m trying to understand. This morning you and Chris could barely stand to look at each other. You were fighting. And now you’re off riding together?”

She swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s complicated.”

Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, well…it’s confusing. It feels like he has some kind of hold on you, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

Betty looked up then, her heart twisting painfully. “Dean, it’s not—”

But before she could finish, he cupped her cheek with one warm, calloused hand and kissed her — soft at first, then deeper, as if trying to remind her of what they had.

When he pulled away, his eyes searched hers, raw and open. “Call me later, please,” he said, voice breaking a little.

She nodded, stunned and shaken. “I will.”

He stepped back, lingering for a moment before getting into his truck and driving off, leaving Betty on the porch with a thousand questions churning in her head.

Betty stood on the porch long after Dean’s truck disappeared down the dusty driveway, her heart pounding in her chest. The kiss still burned on her lips, a reminder of how gentle Dean could be, how steady. He deserved someone who wasn’t a mess, someone who didn’t second-guess everything, someone who wasn’t drawn to the very person who had turned her world upside down.

Chris.

She closed her eyes, exhaling shakily. How had everything gotten so tangled? Just that morning, she and Chris were snapping at each other, both too proud to back down. Now, hours later, she’d laughed with him in the fields, watched him soften in a way she’d never seen before. It made no sense.

And Dean — good, kind Dean — waiting patiently, trying to understand, trying to hold on to her. Guilt tore through her. She’d promised him honesty, but her feelings had become a shifting, messy blur she couldn’t even name.

Was it just that Chris made her feel alive, challenged her, surprised her? Or was it something deeper, something she was terrified to admit?

Betty hugged her arms around herself as the breeze picked up, brushing against her skin.

Dean had been right: it was confusing. Even to her.

Part of her wanted to run after his truck, to beg him to trust her, to promise she would figure this out — but another part of her was drawn back inside, where Chris was, where things felt dangerous and safe all at once.

What is wrong with me?

She felt tears sting her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. There was no time to cry — no room for weakness.

Betty took one steadying breath and stepped back into the house, telling herself she would find a way to untangle this, somehow, before she lost them both.