Page 139 of We Drank the Dawn

Aquiet laugh pulled at my throat as Peter climbed down from his bunk bed like an old man. After dinner last night, Harlan and I put him up on one of our broncs, Catchmere. Catch wasn’t much of a champion yet—there was a lot of training to still do if he was ever going to earn his keep. But his boring, predictable bucks made a perfect ride for a rookie like Peter.

His rides ranged from five to eight seconds, and we were downright proud of him. The fundamentals we’d been working on for the past week paid off. He had all the right form, and his tuck and rolls were perfect. And he was nailing the mark out every time.

But he’d be sore today from all the falls.

“How you feeling, sunshine?” I asked.

He frowned, denying me an answer which wasn’t surprising in the least. Peter hated mornings and needed two cups of coffee to function like a normal human. He turned away from me, pulling on a t-shirt and jeans and finding his tennis shoes.

The cowboys went to breakfast first, but I hung back, waiting for Peter, who moved through his routine like chilled molasses. When we finally walked across the barnyard, Peter’s gait had a limp.

“You hurting?” I asked.

“My hip.” He said, his voice gravelly.

“You feeling more alive?” I used his words to irritate him.

He rolled his eyes. “Not yet, smart ass.”

I stifled a laugh.

Today, everyone was present minus Hollie and her children, since Bea was on breakfast duty today. Bea exited the side door, a platter of biscuits in her hands. Since we were the last to arrive at breakfast, all eyes flicked to us as we approached the picnic table.

“Good morning, guys,” Bea said as her brow furrowed with concern. “Oh no, Peter. Are you okay?”

He tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “I’ll be fine.”

“What happened?”

I answered for him as a grin lifted my lips. “What happened is that Peter rode Catchmere last night and ate dirt a few times.”

Bea’s mouth popped open, whirling to face Peter. “You did what?”

Peter’s smile was tired, caffeine-deprived. “I rode Catchmere.”

“Why?” The desperation in her voice made my blood thrum. It felt like she was about to freak out and not in a good way. “Why would you do something like that?”

“What’s goin’ on?” Tag asked from the table, garnering everyone’s attention.

Bea shook her head, sputtering. “Peter—he rode Catch.”

Tag’s brows shot up, his eyes darting between Peter and I. “That’s…a little risky. Who’s idea was that?”

Peter raised a finger. “Mine.”

“It’s not a little risky. It’s insane,” Bea said.

“Why?” I blurted, incredulous.

“Beacuse Peter had a traumatic brain injury. He could get injured again. Did you not consider that, Peter?”

Peter averted his face, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it crossed my mind, but⁠—”

“But what? Hitting your head again could have disastrous consequences.”

I had no idea. I guessed it made sense though.

Her voice wobbled with emotion. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”