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I also hated how, when they left the field to get in their trucks and go to the dance, Noble reached over and tousled my hair like I was a little kid. I pushed his hand away and marched inside, wishing, for the first time, that I was the kind of girl who could wear strappy silver heels and a sparkly dress.

Noble reaches past me to grab the basket of rolls and I’m snapped back to the present.

We’ve spent this entire dinner talking about him, the rodeo, and about his rise to fame on the circuit. I listen, but I don’t participate much because Momma always taught me if I don’t have something nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all.

I don’t have a high opinion of the life Noble’s built for himself.

A revolving door of women. A transient life out on the road. A dangerous profession that could actually get him killed.

It’s stupid. He’s stupid.

He doesn’t even have a real address. He lives in a tricked-out airstream trailer that he can attach to his truck. Which is where he would be staying if Momma hadn’t insisted he’d be more comfortable staying at the lodge.

Never mind how uncomfortable I would be.

When the subject came up, I was quick to point out that his trailer was going to have to be hidden during the wedding. “It can’t stay parked over by the stables. It’ll ruin the whole aesthetic.”

Momma shot me a look that I’m sure was supposed to shut me up, but Noble said, “I’ll move it wherever you tell me to, Hattie. I’m not here to mess up your plans.”

Yeah, well, good. I’m the boss, I thought to myself.

Then I thought but messing up my plans is exactly what you’re doing. Blech. I want to leave. So what if I haven’t seen Noble ride in person. So what if I occasionally looked him up over the years, and slightly kept up with his career.

Slightly.

Do we really need to rehash the whole thing over pot roast and pie?

Yeah, yeah, I know he’s one of the best and most decorated bull riders in the country. Big deal. I know all about the huge payouts and the brand deals and the “buckle bunnies.” I know that every time he’s out there, the announcers talk about his form, his skill, and his “million watt” smile.

Million watt smile, my eye. He can take that and⁠—

“Hattie, you okay?” Momma asks, breaking my mental temper tantrum, and I realize I’ve been frowning.

“Yeah, no, yeah,” I try to play it off. “Just a lot on my mind with things, the lodge, the wedding, you know.”

“Little sister, big brain,” West pokes at me.

My brothers laugh, except for Quent, and I turn and look at Noble, who’s smiling along with them.

Million watt smile, my eye.

I glower.

Don’t sit there and act like everything’s fine, I think to myself. I know who taught you how to ride a horse.

He makes a face at me, as if he’s confused, and again, I realize my own face is betraying what I’m thinking.

This is why the boys say I suck at poker. I’m not good at pretending.

The thing that’s really annoying is that no one is asking the questions I want answered: Why is Noble back here now? Did he expect a hero’s welcome? Did he think the whole town had forgotten who he is and what he did? And the most important one: Why did he leave in the first place?

It doesn’t matter.

Momma taught me to pay attention to people’s actions, and Noble’s have told me plenty. “When people show you who they are, believe ‘em,” she’d say. She’d say other things too, about forgiveness and whatever, but I’m choosing not to cling to those lessons.

The bottom line is, I thought Noble and I were closer than we were. That’s all. Rookie mistake.

And I never make the same mistake twice.