Wondering if the problem lay with you and not them.
Movement at the barn doors had Hayden straightening.
Gran.
She eased inside the barn. Hayden set his mug down on the porch railing and hurried after her.
Hayden found her in the tack room, poking around inside a large trunk full of old riding gear, mismatched stirrups, extra girth straps, and the like. She wore one of Grandpa’s old blue puffy jackets. It hung over her jeans nearly to her knees.
“Gran?” Hayden kept his voice easy. “What are you doing out here so early?”
“I can’t find something.” Gran closed the trunk and moved to a large wine barrel containing ropes, lariats, and pullies. Her brown gaze was unfocused.
“We used to hide in that trunk and barrel.” Hayden moved closer, glancing inside the now stuffed barrel. Not even small Katie could hide in here. “Do you remember that?”
“I do.” Gran replaced the lid on the barrel and faced Hayden, smiling a little. “As I recall, you got stuck in that trunk.”
“Only because Rhett locked me in.” They’d bickered about that for weeks afterward. “It was a dirty deed.”
“But you forgave him,” Gran pointed out. She left the tack room.
Hayden followed. “If you tell me what you’re looking for, maybe I can help.”
She glanced up and down the barn, but her gaze was no longer clear. And after a moment, Gran sighed. “Must’ve put it somewhere else.”
“Yep,” Hayden teased softly. He hoped that if he kept asking what she was looking for, someday she’d tell him.
Gran stared at him, long and hard. “I think you’re making fun of me.”
“No, ma’am. Wouldn’t dare.” Hayden gestured toward the barn doors. “How about a cup of coffee?”
She nodded. They walked back toward the house together; her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. Birds tittered. In the distance, a cow lowed. The sun wasn’t fully up, but the ranch was revealing itself, color taking the place of shades of gray.
Halfway to the house, Gran stopped. “Hayden.” Her voice sharpened. “If you were to talk to Clyde today, what would you say?”
“Nothing.” Hayden tried to move her forward, but Gran dug in her boot heels.
“I know what he’d say to you. He’d tell you he was sorry. He’d ask for your forgiveness.”
Guilt pressed a large hand over Hayden’s heart and squeezed, making it ache. “I don’t need his apologies.”
“’Course you do. You’re buried in a whole lotta hurt you haven’t managed to shed. It’s holding you back.”
For a woman still recovering memories after a stroke, Gran was spot-on.
She stomped her boot. “I want you to march into that house and make up with your grandfather.”
“If anything needs to be said, it’s to you,” Hayden said in a stiff voice. “I’m sorry for arguing with Grandpa and giving him a heart attack. I know you blame me and—”
Gran drew a sharp intake of breath. “Is that why you left?”
He nodded. “You blaming me.”
“But…I didn’t.” Gran glanced around the ranch yard, as if looking for that always elusive something. “Oh. I said, ‘What have you done?’”
Hayden nodded once more. He’d carried those words like a verdict.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Gran said absently.