Chapter 12 #2
Grabbing a water from the fridge, I walk toward the front door and open it, stepping onto the porch.
It’s getting to be that time of year where the sun sets later, and I love it.
There’s nothing worse than leaving the house when it’s still dark outside only to return home to that same darkness.
Headlights appear in the distance. I strain my eyes, trying to make out who they belong to, but I can’t tell.
As the truck gets closer, I realize it belongs to Truett, but what the heck is he doing showing up at my house unannounced?
Parking next to my truck, Truett bounds up the steps and tips his hat in my direction.
“What brings you over to this side of the property line this fine evening, Jennings?”
He huffs a breath and leans against the railing. “Was on my way home from the store and thought I’d stop by and find out how things are going on your end.”
I’m not surprised Truett is here checking up on his brother. He’s done it at least once a week since Chesney got back into town. I’m guessing when he asks his brother, he gives him a short, vague response.
“Good. Cabins are ahead of schedule.”
Relief immediately flashes across his face. “Really?”
I nod. “They’re making good progress.” That’s an understatement. I’m still shocked at how quickly they’ve transformed that entire section of property in such a short time. Truett looks genuinely pleased. And tired. The dark circles under his eyes are unmistakable. “How’s your dad?”
His face hardens, and I regret asking. “Not great,” he offers gruffly.
My stomach drops. “Shit, I’m sorry, man.”
Truett shrugs. “Doctors adjusted his meds again,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I don’t know how much longer we have.”
His honesty takes me by surprise. It’s not unusual for us to have a conversation, or even talk about tough things, but this feels deeper.
More personal. Something I could never imagine his brother admitting to me.
Maybe that’s where the mood swings and distance are coming from.
Maybe it has nothing to do with me or the conversation we shared that night a few weeks ago.
I know I built a lot of walls after my dad’s heart attack. And then again, after he died.
“He’s worried about Chesney,” Truett adds, laughing quietly even though nothing’s funny.
I lift my gaze and meet his. “He’s his dad. Of course he is.”
“He doesn’t say it. But I can tell it’s weighing on him. Their relationship was never the same after Lyle, and they only got more distant over the years. I thought having him back in town might...” Heaving a sigh, he shakes his head. “Hell, I don’t know what I thought.”
My chest tightens. I know exactly what he’s trying to say. He was hoping they’d be able to mend their relationship before their dad dies.
“You never know what could happen,” I offer, even though I don’t believe it. Truett doesn’t either, because the truth is, Chesney and his dad are too stubborn for that, even in a situation like this.
Truett huffs a breath, but doesn’t say anything. The conversation drifts after that. We stick to the safe topics. Cabins. Ranch updates. Cattle. The easy ones that don’t require a whole lot of emotion or vulnerability.
“Well, I’d better get home and start dinner,” he says after a while. “Thanks for the update. Glad to hear things are going well.”
I smile. “Me too.”
“Goodnight.” He tips his hat again before walking back toward his truck.
“Night.”
Heading back inside, I consider cooking something for myself, but can’t stop thinking about Truett.
And Chesney. And their father. Losing a parent is never easy, but watching them wither away day after day is a different kind of pain.
They both need people to talk to, but I doubt either of them do.
The Jennings men are the grin-and-bear-it type, but I can tell the burden is becoming too heavy for Truett, and I can’t imagine it’s any easier on Chesney.
An idea comes to mind. It’s kind of crazy and might not even work, but before I can talk myself out of it, I pull out my phone and find Chesney’s contact.
Me: Hey, I know it’s getting late but do you mind meeting me down at the creek in half an hour? I’ve got some ideas about dude ranch activities that I’d love your thoughts on.
It’s a lie. But I know if I told him the real reason, he’d shut me down in a heartbeat. Surprisingly, a response comes through only a couple of minutes later.
Chesney: That’s fine.
I’m willing to bet he’s less than enthused about this, but at least he said yes.
After I pack some food and drinks into my cooler, I toss it in the back of my truck, along with a couple chairs and the fishing equipment I haven’t used in way too long, and make the drive over to where there’s a break in the trees near the property line.
As I unload everything, my stomach twists.
This could either be a really great idea… or a terrible one.
The walk to the creek is short. It hasn’t changed a bit.
The same crooked sycamore leans over the water, its branches stretching toward the opposite bank.
The same flat rocks break the surface where we used to sit.
Even the old stump where Chesney carved our initials is still here, though the letters have nearly disappeared beneath years of weather.
It’s been ages since I’ve been down here. Even after Chesney left town, I would still come here to get away, to think, or to simply let myself remember all the good times I had here. Eventually life got in the way, as it always does, and finding time to come here became less and less of a priority.
Placing everything on the rocks, I set up the folding chairs, nostalgia slamming into me with each one.
It’s not long before Chesney shows up. He changed his clothes since I saw him earlier, trading his jeans for a comfy pair of sweats.
If it wasn’t for the hard set of his jaw, I’d say he looks relaxed.
His eyes meet mine briefly before sliding over to the fishing poles and my battered tackle box. There’s a comical furrow to his brow as he asks, “What’s all this?”
My heart races, and I feel silly all of the sudden. Chesney’s probably going to hate this. He’ll probably be pissed off that I dragged him out of the house for something completely different than he was told. But we’re here now, so it’s too late to change my mind now.
“Don’t be mad—”
“That’s never a good start.”
I laugh nervously, but push forward. “I didn’t actually need to run an idea past you for the dude ranch.”
“You don’t say?” he drawls sarcastically. There’s a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“When I came down to the cabins earlier, you seemed…tense.” And like an asshole. “Maybe it’s because you didn’t like me poking my nose around and checking on you. But in the off chance it wasn’t, I thought maybe some good old-fashioned fishing might help.”
Chesney studies me for a long beat. I fight the urge to squirm because I can’t read him at all. “You brought me down here…to fish?” he asks skeptically.
I nod and offer him one of the rods. “To be honest, I could use a little bit of distraction from everyday life too. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to clear my head and do something I actually enjoy.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Ah, what the hell, I’m already down here. Let’s do it.”
My heart slams in my chest. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs. “Might be a little rusty, but I bet I can still out-fish your ass.”
A laugh slips out of me. “We’ll see about that.”
Chesney sits in one of the chairs, pulls off his sneakers, and rolls his sweats up to his knees. I catch myself staring a little too long, and unfortunately, he does too. “What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, feeling my cheeks warm. “I’m surprised you said yes.”
He looks at me a beat longer before shifting his focus to the water in front of us. “Beats being at the house.”
“Why’s that?”
Shaking his head, he says, “Nothing. Just could use a little fresh air.”
There’s more I want to ask, but I don’t press.