It made sense. Letting him come out of it on his own. A part of me worried that it would only make him withdraw further into himself if we just let him, but that was just my fears talking. Logically, it made sense. Give him time to process and come to terms with things, and he’d open back up.
“Do you think it’ll last ten months?” I asked, worry trickling into my tone.
He shook his head. “Nah. Last time, Maverick wasn’t just dealin’ with the trauma of the accident. He was dealin’ with a whole bunch of other shit. Shit he’s come to terms with since then. I say a month tops.” He gave us both a pointed look. “A lot sooner if y’all start treatin’ him like normal and don’t coddle the piss outta him.”
I lowered my head. “Yes, sir.”
It was hard not to treat him differently. What he’d done… I still couldn’t believe he’d done that for me. I couldn’t fully shake the guilt that it was my fault. Deep dow,n I knew it wasn’t, but tell that to my stupid head. My heart.
A warm, heavy hand settled on my shoulder. I looked up to find Mister Mooney holding me in place with his stare. “Chin up,darlin’. You didn’t know. How could you possibly? But do me a favor, don’t be so busy tryin’ to take care of him, you don’t take care of yourself.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You went through shit too. And pushin’ it aside to take care of him ain’t gonna get rid of it. At some point it’s gonna pile up, and shit always rolls downhill.”
I blew out a breath and offered him a soft smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“We’re havin’ dinner at the house tonight,” Mister Mooney said, glancing at Cash. “Tell everyone to come. Your mama’s making fried chicken.”
Cash grinned. “What’d you do to convince her to make that? A new gun?”
Mister Mooney grinned. “She don’t even know yet, but if she won’t do it for Maverick, I think your idea just might work.” He looked between the both of us and pointed at me. “You go work that filly and take care of yourself. And you—” His finger landed on Cash. “I hate to say it, it’ll give you a bigger head than you already have, but bring some of that Cash sparkle when you come over…or else you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ but burnt pieces.”
“Like fuck I am,” Cash huffed, some of that said Cash sparkle returning to his gaze.
Chapter twenty-two
Ranch Hand
Maverick
Most people hated work.Hated the monotony. The daily grind. And I knew it was corny as hell, but how did that old saying go…? If you did somethin’ you loved, you’d never work a day in your life—or something like that.
But it was true. At least for me.
From that first morning Uncle Bad woke me up at 4 AM, I’d loved it. Every bit of it. Moving cattle, doctoring calves, working horses, hell, mending fences or even shoveling shit…I loved it all. Every day—despite its certain routines—always had something different to offer. Every day I woke up, I never knew exactly what the day would bring.
I’d always be grateful to Bad for that work ethic. Lord knew his son didn’t feel the same way.
Sweat dripped down my brow as the afternoon sun beat down on me. It was hot as hell, not even taking into account the humidity, but I’d long since stopped caring. We’d be done soon enough.
“That’s the last one,” Goodie shouted over the lowing of the cattle. I wiped at my face with the back of my sleeve and steppedaway from the calf as it bolted upright and bounded off toward its mother.
Bad took off his hat and ran an arm across his face. “Alright, let’s pack up this shit and head on back.”
Goodie muttered something about needing a beer as he headed for the horses. He hauled himself atop his dapple-grey gelding with a huff. Bad and I followed. The wind felt good against my face as we walked across the pasture. It was still warm, but cooler than when we were at a standstill, so I’d take it.
“So, that girl…”
Here we go.I’d been waiting for this conversation. Bad liked to say he minded his own business, but he was a sucker for drama, you’d never convince me otherwise. And with Cheyenne coming into my life like a whirlwind and changing everything, well, hell, I’d be interested too.
Bad’s gaze met mine for a moment. “She’s a pretty thing.”
Goodie snorted and cracked open a Coors from in his saddle bags. “Pretty’s a bit mild for that girl, Bad. She’s a cowboy killer if I ever saw one.”
My lips tugged up at that. Shewasa cowboy killer. I bet she’d love hearing that too. I could even see her wearing it on a shirt proudly.
Bad looked at me. “Cash told me she’s stayin’ with you. Is this a romantic thing or just ‘til she gets on her feet?”
