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She’d see Liv in the morning, but she doubted she’d get any rest.
1968
“If you aren’t going to Western State, neither am I.”
“But, Dottie, you have to. You can’t give up a chance to go to college on account of me. I won’t hear of it.”
“Listen to you, Mr. Bossy. You won’t hear of it. Well, I won’t hear of waiting another minute for you. And I’m not giving you up either.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“What do you propose we do?”
“I’m not the one doing any proposing, Bill Flynn, but you better be.”
Just a couple of days ago, his mama had given Bill the ring his daddy gave to her. Now that she was marrying Clancy, she didn’t feel right having Gene Flynn’s ring. He’d carried it with him in his pocket, but sure hadn’t planned what he was about to do.
Bill pulled it out and got down on one knee.
“Bill—”
“Now, don’t interrupt me, Dorothea. I have somethin’ important to ask you.”
Dottie grinned and put her hands on her hips. Bill reached out and brought her left hand closer to him.
“I’ve loved you since the day I met you. Will you marry me, Dottie?”
16
Tristan was a nervous wreck, and it wasn’t because of the meeting planned for that afternoon. Bullet had called and asked if they could talk. He wouldn’t elaborate over the phone, but she could guess how the conversation would go.
She’d hurt his feelings last night, and while it was unintentional, there was something to be said for the way she pulled away from him. It had been a knee-jerk reaction, literally, and once again, she was faced with the realization that when it came to Bullet, even she didn’t understand her feelings or the way she reacted to him.
He invited her to join him for breakfast. There was a place in historic downtown Monument, the town located northwest of Black Forest, called Cup of Coffee, that he liked. He thought she might too.
In fifteen minutes he would be picking her up. In the meantime, she couldn’t sit still.
“What are you gonna say to her?” Lyric had spent the night at Bullet’s after her mother had driven them there, saying she was in no condition to drive to Palmer Lake. After having three of her five-ingredient cocktails, Lyric agreed. Her mama had never been much of a drinker, so it didn’t surprise Lyric when her mother opted for tea.
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Why’d you invite her to breakfast, then?”
Bullet wasn’t sure why he had, other than knowing the time they had together was short, and he didn’t want to waste it being mad at her. He didn’t know when she was scheduled to go back to New York, but beginning next month, he’d be busier than he ever had been in his life.
Flying R had hired another hand to travel with Bullet, Bill, and Dottie. They were going on the road to help, but not in the way Bullet would need it most, with the broncs.
Kingston West, the guy they hired, was a bulldogger, which meant he was strong and tough as all get-out. Steer wrestling took timing, speed, and strength. The cowboy needed to be a damn good rider to chase a steer, dismount his horse, mount the steer, and then wrestle it to the ground. Good bulldoggers could do it all in three or four seconds.
There were no historical records that connected this event with everyday ranch life. Bullet remembered Dottie saying it was the timed events in rodeo that Bill had the most trouble with. Had Billy or the other Flying R partners consulted Bill before hiring Kingston? Bullet sure hoped so since Kingston would be traveling with them pretty near non-stop for the next six months.
Bullet shook his head and looked at his phone for the hundredth time that morning. He had five minutes before he had to leave. Instead of thinking about the new hand, he should be thinking about what he planned to say to Tristan.
He parked the truck, and before he could get out and knock on the back door of the house, Tristan was walking toward him. He got out anyway, to open the passenger door for her.
“Good morning.” He couldn’t really understand why he was feeling sheepish this morning; it had been Tristan who pulled away from him. There had to have been a reason though, and it had to have been his fault. It seemed almost everything was, one way or another.
