That could’ve gone better, but it’s ass o’clock, and I’m not at my best. I have to cut him some slack and not judge Colt on the first thirty words he’s given me. I’m sure I haven’t made a great first impression either, showing up to the barn in running shoes and pulling him from his job.
After changing into dry socks, shoes, and jeans, I exit the guesthouse to find Colt already waiting outside. That was a lot less than twenty minutes.
I smile at him now and take a moment longer to study the man. He’s very tall with shoulders that tell me he works hard, but he’s not a weightlifter or anything close to it. He’s slim but solid and carries himself in a way that’s different, and I can’t put my finger on it. He’s switched out the rubber boots he was wearing in the barn for a pair of well-worn cowboy boots.
Which I absolutely love.
“I need a pair of those,” I say as I point at his feet. “I’ve been in Colorado for a year, and I still don’t own a pair of cowboy boots.”
Colt’s eyebrows raise like I’d just confessed something worse than not owning cowboy boots while working for a ranch. “Where were you before that?”
“Oh, a little here and there. I grew up mostly in Canada. My dad was in the military, and my mom was a visiting journalist from Minnesota. They met and had me, to make a long story short. But for the last five years, I’ve moved around the United States working contracts in marketing small businesses and writing articles freelance.”
“Wow,” Colt breathes with what I think is a tone of amazement. “I’ve never left Chance. Unless you count going to the city for doctor appointments and shopping.”
It’s different that his comment is about where I’ve traveled and not what I do. Not what I expected him to say, that’s for sure. Most people ask what I write about, then progress to where I traveled. Colt, though…he didn’t ask either of those questions. He just seems in awe of the fact that I haven’t stayed in one place.
Colt turns without another word and leads me toward the barn we were in earlier. “Are you putting me to work in the barn? I don’t really have another pair of shoes to switch to if you’re using the hose again.”
I’m smiling when I say it and hoping for a little playfulbanter, since he strikes me as a little uptight, but he remains quiet for several beats.
“I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again.” Colt’s shoulders draw in, like he’s embarrassed, and I reach out to touch his arm. He stops walking, staring at my hand, and I take it back. A bad habit of mine that I need to stop. I’m a tactile person, and sometimes it’s hard to switch off.
“Hey…it was a joke. It’s fine. I was just trying to lighten things up and make a joke. Clearly, I failed.”
“Oh.”
He looks at his feet and shoves his hands in his pockets before finally clearing his throat and looking at me. “Would you like to go to town and get boots? I know you said something about creating content, but if you’re here for a while and a part of the ranch, you’ll need boots.”
“I’d love to! Show me the town, Colt.” I spread my arms out and probably look like an idiot, but whatever. “Take me to Chance and outfit me for a ranch visit. I can document the whole thing. I love it.”
Even though it’s early and I’m not properly adjusted to the hour, my exuberance is real. I love visiting new places and discovering literally everything. I may not be an outside guy, but I’m definitely a show-me-where-to-shop guy.
When Colt smiles, he’s positively breathtaking. Something I didn’t get when I met him in the barn earlier. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
He motions to a nearby truck, and after we buckle in, he takes us down the same dusty road I drove in on and…talks. Nothing usable for me, but it’s nice to listen to how excited he is about something as mundane as taking me to the Mercantile. A shop that will have everything I need, all in one place. Except tires, apparently. I need to go to Fort Collins or the local mechanic for second-hand ones if I need tires.
His chatter comes in spurts, almost like he’s not sure whatto say, so he keeps adding random sentences. I get the impression he’s not used to talking to people this much and perhaps thinks he needs to fill all the silence.
While he speaks, I notice how the edges of his hair curl out from his ball cap like he needs a haircut, and I blurt out the first thing on my mind.
“How come you don’t wear a cowboy hat?”
Colt glances quickly my way. “What?” Clearly, that’s not a question he was expecting.
“A cowboy hat. You didn’t have one on in the barn or now. Do you not like them? I noticed the men in the yard this morning, and they were all wearing cowboy hats.”
“No…I just prefer ball caps. I mean, sometimes I wear one on the trail rides or whatnot, but I don’t wear one all the time like the others.” He shrugs like he has nothing else to say about it, and maybe he doesn’t.
“Are you still a cowboy without a hat?” It’s just another joke, but Colt considers his answer like it’s a quiz show.
“I think a lot of things make a cowboy, but the hat isn’t one of them.”
The journalist part of me perks up. “Can you tell me what you think makes a cowboy?”
“That’s a long answer.”
His fingers flex on the steering wheel, and it’s just a minor thing, but as a journalist and marketer, I’ve gotten good at noticing small things. If I’m not mistaken, I think the question stirs something I shouldn’t poke right now.
