32. Bonnie
BONNIE
Two weeks after the final, Gage fits a new hinge to Cleo’s gate.
He offered last month, and the hinge has finally arrived. I am in the barn sorting equipment after a lesson when I hear him swear. It is a familiar, unpolished sound, and I smile before I go see what happened.
“Wrong size?” I ask.
“Right size. Wrong hole.”
“That’d do it.”
He gives me a look. I hand him the smaller drill bit from the open box and sit on the fence rail far enough away to stay clear of the work.
Cricket is inside with Cleo while her son naps. The ordinary Sunday has enough room in it that nobody needs to hurry me back to an arena.
Gage resets the hinge and swings the gate shut twice.
“Want to try it a third time?” I ask.
He mutters something and does.
His phone lights up on the toolbox with a message from the ranch manager. He reads it and puts the phone down.
“What?” I ask.
“They posted the final standings with the season summary.”
“Did you look?”
“Yes.”
I wait. He picks up the drill, then sets it down because the work is done.
“I keep thinking about the ground in the second turn. The winning horse drifted. The bay might’ve held it better.”
“He might.”
“I won’t know.”
“No.”
He sits beside me on the low rail.
He picks the phone up again and hands it to me. His manager has sent a screenshot of the standings. REDFERN, G. SCR. The winning time is at the top. Beside Gage’s name, there is no time at all.
“I wanted it,” Gage says. “I wanted that run.” His breath goes out through his nose. “It makes me sick to look at that. I haven’t watched the winning run. Hearing the drift called was enough. I can’t watch it yet.” He rubs his palm down his thigh. “I’d do it again.”
I scroll up. The message before it links to the circuit’s posted statement confirming the false consent claim.
Byers Western has lost its screen time and its sponsored segments at next season’s final.
The circuit has also canceled the remaining promotional appearances it booked with Tawny as the Byers rodeo queen.
“Good,” I say. My pulse kicks in my neck. “I’m glad they put it where everybody can read it.”
He takes the phone back. “I thought telling Dewey would be enough.”
“Byers went around the office. Nobody called either of us.”
“The circuit has it directly now,” he says. “You decide about your name, your work, and Mercy. They can’t take my answer for yours. Cricket stays out of the publicity.”
“They have to ask me.”
“They should’ve asked you from the start.”
I take his hand.
“Come have lunch.”
Inside, Cleo has made soup. My blue bowl is on the counter because I brought it over yesterday with leftover rice and she has washed it. Gage takes it for me without asking which one I want.
We eat at the table while Cricket plays beside us in Cleo’s old high chair with her toy, reaching toward everybody’s spoon.
Cleo’s son comes in sleepy and furious that lunch began without him.
Gage lifts him onto his chair and listens to the complaint as seriously as he listened to Keeley describe Flint’s gate problem.
After lunch, Cleo goes out to meet a boarder. Gage washes up while I sit with the children. I can hear him in the kitchen, opening the right cupboard, putting the mugs where Cleo keeps them.
I picture another evening in the cottage: his boots by the door, his shirt in the wash, his opinion about dinner when I am too tired to decide. The image no longer arrives with the expectation that I will pack everything and return to Texas.
When he comes back, I ask how long his lease runs.
“Through the end of the year. Why?”
“I was wondering.”
He sits beside me and waits.
“I’m thinking about us,” I say. “If my lessons and your riding collide in a bad week, what happens when there’s one kitchen and nowhere fifteen minutes away to drive to?”
He takes a while. His hand goes up for a hat brim that is hanging on Cleo’s peg, and comes back down empty.
“I’ll still be disappointed sometimes,” he says. “I might need to get out of the kitchen until I can talk without taking it out on you. But I have to come back and talk.”
“And the part you still get wrong?”
He rubs the mark the hatband left across his forehead. “I start counting. The client I didn’t drive back for. The sorrel. The hours on the road. I chose those things. When I’m sore, I can start talking as though you owe me for them.”
My stomach dips. He found that fast.
“I don’t want to spend our marriage catching you at it.”
“I know. I have to catch it too.”
Cricket drops her toy, and he picks it up. Cleo’s son asks to go see the new hinge. Gage takes him outside after checking with me, and I watch them through the window while Cricket leans against my chest.
I want him in the house. Watching him show Cleo’s son the hinge, I nearly call him back to say so. I wipe down Cricket’s tray and leave the question where it is for today.
When he leaves later, I kiss him beside the repaired gate. It closes cleanly behind him, and he turns back to admire it one more time.
I laugh all the way to the cottage.