I watch him go, my own anger deflating, replaced by a hot, prickling shame. I turn to Seth. “He’s such an asshole.”
Seth sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Tex, you can’t… you can’t understand what it’s like for him. To see her again. After everything.”
I know he’s right. I do. But it doesn’t stop the sting.
I kick at a loose rock, sending it skittering across the dirt. “Yeah, well, he’s not the only one who’s having a tough time.”
“He’s her ex-fiancée, Tex. They were so close to getting married. You know how much he loved her. He’s having the hardest time here, I can promise you that.”
I feel a pang of guilt for how I acted. For pushing him. For the part of me that knows, deep down, Billy’s anger isn’t just about pride. It’s about a wound so deep I can’t even begin to fathom it.
And I just poured salt all over it.
“I’ll go clean the water troughs,” I mutter, needing to do something, anything, to work off this frustration. “Get them ready for the new mixture.”
“Okay,” Seth says, his voice gentle. “I’ll head up to the house. I need to check our finances, see how much this is going to set us back. We’ll probably need to order more feed, too.”
I nod and grab a hose and a stiff-bristled brush from the barn, my movements jerky. The first trough is coated in a layer of green slime and grime.
I start scrubbing, the harsh scrape of the bristles against the metal a satisfying outlet for my turmoil. The work is mindless, repetitive, and it gives my brain space to churn.
Maybe I was being a little hard on him. Okay, a lot hard.
My mind drifts back, way back, to a time before the ranch, before rodeos, before Sedona. We were just kids. Mom had just died. Billy was barely a teen, a lanky kid with serious eyes, and the weight of the world suddenly dropped on his shoulders.
I remember him trying to make pancakes, burning them black on the outside while the inside was still gooey batter. Iremember him sitting up with Joey when he had nightmares, reading him stories in a voice that hadn’t even broken yet.
He never complained. He just… did what had to be done. He made sure we were okay. He made sure we felt safe, even when he was just a scared kid himself.
He’s always been like that. The rock. The foundation. And what did I do? I just kicked at that foundation because I was angry and scared.
I saw his pain, and instead of trying to understand it, I used it against him. And for what? Because I want to see Sedona?
The thought is a hot flush of shame.
He was right about that, too. Not that I’d ever admit it to his face. But yeah, I want her here. I want to see her, talk to her.
But that’s my mess.
It’s not fair to drag Billy into it, to use the cattle, our livelihood, as an excuse.
I scrub harder, my arms burning, the sweat beading on my forehead. By the time I finish the last trough, my anger is gone, replaced by a weary ache of regret. I drop the brush and lean against the fence, looking out at the valley.
The sun is higher now, burning off the morning chill. Billy is back, maneuvering the large water tank on the tractor’s hitch, his movements precise and economical.
He doesn’t look at me. He just does his job. Just like he always has. And I’m left here, the golden boy who just made everything a whole lot worse.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Seth
The rumbleof my truck’s engine is a low thrum beneath my feet, a familiar sound that does nothing to quiet the mess inside my head.
I’m driving back from the feed store, the bed loaded down with expensive bags of supplemental feed Dr. Morales recommended. Another expense we can’t afford, but the alternative is watching our herd waste away, one by one.
The sun is bleeding out across the horizon, painting the valley in shades of orange and deep, bruised purple. Lunch feels like a lifetime ago.
Tex, Billy, and I shared a few beers, a tense truce called over stale bread and a silence so thick you could choke on it. The shouting match was over, but the anger still pulsed in the air between my brothers.
