“Yeah, yeah,” he said, heading out to his truck with a wave. “Lock up when you’re done, will ya?”
“Yes, sir!” I called after him. “I like a man who’ll tell me what to do.”
His reply came with a rev of his diesel engine and rocks kickin’ up as his tires spun down the gravel road.
There was a lot I liked about Bishop. We were about the same age and had similar tastes. We both liked cold beer, horses, and being left the hell alone. And he was committed to the cowboy way of life, waking up before the sun rose and going to bed long after it set.
He lived and breathed this ranch. Everything he did seemed to revolve around the sanctity of the land, these animals, and the people who ran it all.
“Well, I guess it’s just you and me, girl,” I said, returning to Sundance and giving her a good pat. “Or are you ready for me to leave you alone?”
My horse, Boots, was still in Tennessee. Frank’s trailer had been sitting in a field for God only knew how long. When I tried to hook it up, I discovered a whole family of rats who had apparently called it home for generations. The entire thing had needed to be re-wired, and I hadn’t had the time to sit around and wait. So, Bishop had assigned me a wired little filly named Sundance.Her coat was honeyed and sun-kissed, cut only by the dark chestnut stripe along her back and a white scar along her flank.
Sundance nudged my pocket, knowing damn well I kept a few peppermints on hand for her. I didn’t typically resort to bribery—it didn’t build the kind of relationship we were trying to foster here—but I didn’t have time. I needed her to trust me for the rest of the summer.
“Alright, alright,” I said, pulling out what was left and feeding them to her. “But that’s all for the day. No more until next week.”
She huffed and turned to face the wall.Point taken.
I finished my beer and cleaned up my area before heading out of the barn and locking up. My foot caught on something against the door, and I saw Bishop’s small cooler, so I pulled out my phone and shot him a text.
Lincoln:
You forgot your cooler. Want me to bring it to you?
Bishop:
Naw, you need it more than I do. Plus, I have a stocked fridge, and you live with a bunch of college rejects.
Fair enough. Who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?
It was late enough that the stars had come out, twinkling against the deep purple sky, but I was in no rush to get back to the bunkhouse.
The guys I shared with were nice enough, but Bishop was right. I had a good ten years on most of them. It’d be a rowdy shit show by the time I got back, and I didn’t want to deal with that tonight.
Tonight, I wanted a fraction of the peace I’d been searching for since Josie Hayes stumbled into my life.
Grabbing the cooler, I made my way to the white iron fencesurrounding the area. It allowed for a perfect view of the main back pasture against the last dregs of sunlight. I could just barely make out the silhouettes of happily grazing cattle.
“Must be nice,” I muttered, reaching into the cooler and pulling out a cold can. “Y’all don’t have to worry about shit.”
I’d tried my best to give Josie her space. Really, I had. And I had every intention of keeping it that way until she stepped out of the house on Wednesday with two mugs of coffee when she’d been adamant about avoiding me like the damn plague.
Luckily, it’d given me one hell of an opening for a little gesture to show her I’d learned more about her than she thought. Though, it’d meant I had to bribe Bishop to pick up some essentials for me, which turned me into the laughingstock of the ranch for the remainder of the week.
Apparently, cowboys weren’t supposed to drink oat milk.
It’d all been worth it when I’d seen the look of surprise on her pretty face the next morning when I brought her a steaming cup just the way she liked it. It shouldn’t have made my chest ache the way it did. After all, it was just basic decency. Surely her fancy pants boyfriend did things like this, right?
For my sake, I hoped not, but for hers?
God, I hoped he did.
There were nights I still sat around and thought about how her voice wavered when she told me why she’d driven to Tennessee or how she thought she had a list of flaws a mile long.
Shit, flaws were what made a person who they were. If we were all perfect and life was cookie-cutter, would it be worth living? Besides, they were subjective. No matter how hard I’d tried over the years, the only fault I found in Josie was how she left.
I couldn’t exactly blame her, though. Not after what she’d told me about her exes. And she’d been clear she hadn’t been looking for anything serious. At the time, neither had I.
