“You got a pet back home?” She didn’t know the difference between a rooster and a chicken, and I’m ninety percent certain that mounting Daisy was her first time touching an actual farm animal.
She winces, pulling her long hair over her shoulder, running her fingers through as she launches into the story of Magnum, her childhood hamster who she unfortunately lost. “I had this plastic ball that he’d roll around in,” she explains, and I’m listening, I am, but I’m also a little transfixed by the blunt ends of her hair. She keeps talking about Magnum and the ball he ran in, and I keep replaying the image of herstraddling me backward, sucking me deep, the ends of her hair tickling the middle of her back as I played with her pussy.
She squeezes my leg but leaves her hand there when she’s done. “Are you listening?”
I nod. “Magnum in the plastic ball with the little poop that spun around with him.”
She smirks. “That sounds like a weird game ofClue.”
I laugh, and I haven’t thought about that board game in years. I haven’t sat in the lobby of the vet’s office and laughed in years, either. “So the missing hamster, that’s your only pet?”
“Yeah, but we did find him… eventually,” Quinn says, then whispers, “rest in peace, Magnum.” Still dragging her fingers through the ends of her hair, finally I clamp my hand around hers, and her eyes jump to mine. “Was my fidgeting making you nervous?”
Her knee bounces.
I lean over, stop her bouncing knee with my hand, and press my lips to her ear. “I kept my focus on the ends of your hair when you were on top of me the other mornin’, so watching you play with your hair is doing some Pavlovian stuff to me right about now.”
That was… bold.
I’m a lot of things. Grouchy, old, right now I’m also hungry. I’m tall, I’m strong, I can be arrogant when I’m in the arena.
Butboldis not a word anyone would use to describe me.
She brings it out of me.
Her eyes go wide and her cheeks flood with pink, and I think of her boots, all glittery and fancy, like something Benson Boone would wear at a concert. “I’m thinking next time you want me at your disposal, keep those pink boots on.”
A shy smile curves her full lips as she swats at my bicep. “I knew you just needed to warm up to those boots.” She shimmies in her validation. “Mabel and Sadie love them, too.”
I’m about ready to tell her that the reasons I like her boots and the reasons my kid likes her boots are entirely and utterly different, but our banter is halted when Elena appears, her dark hair in a braid swung over her shoulder, hiding the embroidered name on her coat.
I get to my feet. “Hi, Elena, you got my message?”
She nods, smiling as her gaze slides to Quinn. “Hello,” she greets, moving her braid from her lapel so that Quinn can clearly see her name. “I’m Dr. Elena Vargas,” she says as they shake hands.
Quinn then slides her hand into mine, and I sink my fingers into her palm, wanting to show support and unity. Elena’s eyes fall to our joined hands, but her smile never falters.
Scattered around us in the waiting room are a few faces I know, since everyone knows everyone in Sable Sky. Adjacent with her Yorkie puppy in her lap is Renee, the mother of a classmate that Tate and I went to school with. I nod my head at her, tipping my hat to say hello. Around her are a few other folks I recognize from the rodeo grounds and diner, too.
All of that is to say, I have an audience.
“Elena, this is Quinn Farley.” I clear my throat and despite the brief awkward moment, I love the way Quinn squeezes my hand for comfort. I’ve missed being someone’s comfort, someone’s confidant. “My wife,” I add, then immediately tack on, “and the filmmaker from UBS. She’s making a documentary about my return to the arena.”
“His comeback victory,” Quinn adds, cozying up to me by wrapping her free hand around my bicep, tipping her headagainst it, too. “I moved here from San Francisco,” she says, adding detail because the more detail, the less people question. “I fell in love with more than Sable Sky,” she says, patting my arm before nuzzling into me again.
Elena looks between us, her smile slowly fading. “Well, I can’t wait to see you ride, Landry. And, Quinn,” she says, focusing solely onmy wife. “I can’t wait to see your film. Will there be a local premiere?”
I look down at Quinn because that’s a great question. There’s been so much brewing between us, and her and Sadie, that the reason she’s here—the film—had ridiculously kind of slipped my mind lately.
Quinn nods. “Yeah, we’re gonna do a full dinner, screening, and party. I’m not sure that a location has been scouted just yet.”
Elena smiles. “Well, I look forward to it.”
We get the meds, Elena and Quinn make small talk about the weather here versus the weather in California, and Elena shares an anecdote about touring a college in California but not being able to go there because of the heat then ironically moving to Texas for love. She asks Quinn which of the Vaughn Ranch animals is her favorite, and she surprises me by naming Big Bertha instead of Daisy. “She’s got a backstory, that’s why she’s a jerk. I have to believe she’s been hurt. You know the expression, hurt chickens hurt chickens.”
Elena snorts, bringing her hand to her mouth. “You’re funny.” She looks at me. “You did good with her.”
Later that evening, we attend the Sable Sky barbecue, one that typically takes place just four weeks before the rodeo. Riders and their families come and cut loose, enjoy brisket and beer, live music, and face painting. It’s great.
