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There’s a country song playing over the speakers, and a bit of commotion as the riders and horses get in place.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice says over the speaker. “We’re so excited to have you here at the Silverwood Junior Rodeo. We’ve got some of the stickiest cowboys this side of the Mississippi competing here today. First up in the mini broncs is Cody Barnes. We are in for a treat today, folks. Cody Barnes will ride Rock ‘n Roll. Rock ‘n Roll is the horse, and Cody Barnes is the cowboy!”
The men start to shift as Cody makes his way up the back of the bucking chute to mount his bronc. Noble’s eyes are focused on Cody, and it’s pretty obvious he’s invested in this now.
Funny he cares this much about a kid he just met a few days ago.
A man in front of the chute holds up an orange flag as the announcer calls out, “Here we go, folks. Cody Barnes!”
They open the gate, and the guys holding onto the reins let go. The horse starts bucking immediately, but Cody is locked in. I realize I’m holding my breath as the horse does his best to throw Cody off. Cody bounces like a ragdoll in the saddle, but when the buzzer sounds six seconds, he lets go and falls to the ground, covering his head as the horse keeps bucking.
The crowd cheers and whistles and applauds as Cody pops up off the ground and throws his hands in the air.
“Well, folks, that’s six seconds for Cody Barnes,” the announcer says. “I can’t wait to hear what the judges have to say.”
Cody jogs back toward the chute, straight to Noble, who slaps him a high-five and opens the gate so he can come out. Even from where I’m sitting, I can see the joy on that kid’s face. And who can blame him? He just had the ride of his life. And he did it in front of the World Champion.
What surprises me is seeing the genuine joy on Noble’s face.
“Look at that, now he’s coaching these kids?” one of the women behind me says. “It sure is nice to see him doing so well.”
“Sure is,” the other woman says. “He’s really turned it around.” There’s a brief pause, and then, “It’s nice to know people can change.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Noble
Never pictured myself as much of a coach, but man, that felt good.
Getting pulled up onstage and called a “hometown hero?” Not so much. I’m not looking for praise for doing what I should’ve done years ago. Still, walking around that festival, helping Cody with his ride, listening to West’s band, talking with locals . . . it was the simple, ordinary stuff my life’s been missing.
And doing it all with Hattie took that simple, ordinary stuff and made it feel special.
Now that I’ve let myself admit it, my feelings for her just keep getting deeper and deeper. I’m pretty sure I’d upend my whole life for her if she asked me to. I’ve spent more time than I want to admit thinking about what comes next, and even though I haven’t got it all worked out, one thing is sure: whatever it is, I want it to be with Hattie.
We spend the evening celebrating Libby and Jordy’s win in the scarecrow decorating contest, though there is speculation that Melinda stuffed the ballot boxes. Rowe made West play the harmonica around a big bonfire up by the main house. When we got tired, I walked Hattie back to the lodge, kissed her goodnight, then fell asleep thinking it was the best day I’ve had in a long time.
The next day, I disappear for the afternoon.
Hattie’s busy with her sister and her mom, the rest of the family is working, and I’ve still got one very important stop to make before we go into full-on wedding mode.
Once that happens, my only goal is to make Hattie’s life easier.
Might be my purpose in life, now that I think about it.
I’m back at Rip McCauley’s house, but this time, I’m doing what I came here to do. I pull into the driveway and put my truck in park. I can see the old man sitting on the porch, looking exactly how one would imagine an old Montana rancher looks. Cowboy hat and boots, jeans, and a mustard yellow work jacket over a plaid button down.
Lines of hard work etched into his face, tanned from years of working outside. All weathered skin and leathered attitude.
He doesn’t move.
The German Shepherd laying at his side, however, pushes itself up onto its front paws and faces my truck, seemingly on high alert.
I take the list out of my pocket and zero in on his name. I’d much rather not do this, especially after the way his grandson reacted to my being back.
But this is who I am now. I’m a person who owns up to mistakes and pays the price.
In hindsight, I realize what Hattie said is true—I don’t need anyone’s permission to move back here, to make Silverwood my home.
