CHAPTER 39
Olivia
I ’ve lived in Kentucky most of my life and I’ve never been to the rodeo.
It was just never of any interest to me, but sitting here now at Buckshaw Farm’s annual rodeo in Fallow Ridge, Kentucky, just outside of Laurel Creek, with Asher, Hunter Black’s brother Beau, his twin daughters, and his mama Maeve, I can’t stop smiling.
“All right, rodeo fans, here we go. Contestant number six of twelve all the way from Lexington, Kentucky, is Andy Yarrows. Ten and four is the time to beat, y’all, ten and four.”
I listen intently to the rodeo announcers who have been keeping us entertained throughout this tie-down roping competition as I take in the sights and sounds around me.
The large dirt arena we’re sitting in is one of four, surrounded by metal fencing.
Just beyond the fence are bleachers filled with spectators, most of them wearing cowboy hats.
Even the kids are decked out with the best boots and hats, talking happily as they munch on popcorn and candy.
“Thank God I’m a Country Boy” plays over the loudspeaker, rivaling the announcers’ voices as Andy takes off out of the gate just after the calf he’s set on roping.
“He looks young,” I comment to Asher beside me. “Surely he can’t be more than twenty.”
The father of my child is all cleaned up now, as am I, from our moment of weakness.
The deep brown and tattered cowboy hat he was wearing earlier sits on his head, hanging low over his intense eyes.
His black T-shirt is partially tucked into another pair of perfectly fitted Wranglers and his thick thigh rests close to mine under the table.
Thanks to Hunter, we’re in the VIP section right near the gate and our view of the arena is impeccable.
“He’s only eighteen,” Beau Black says, bouncing one of his three-year-old twins on his lap.
He’s a big, burly man just like Hunter and Walker, but he’s older, and it’s obvious he doesn’t live life like the fun-loving, free-spirited Hunter.
He’s reserved and stoic, with dark hair, a thick beard and mustache, and haunting green eyes that tell a story I can’t imagine is filled with joy since the twins’ mother died when they were one.
I smile down at the toddler, safe in his big hands, as she returns a gummy grin.
I’m not sure if she’s Sadie or Piper—since they’re virtually identical with bouncing dark curls and big blue eyes, chubby little rosy cheeks and hands, and the most infectious smiles you ever did see.
Seeing them makes me so excited and intrigued about who our baby will look like.
“He worked on the ranch the last few summers, but he’s heading to college this fall,” Beau continues in his deep timbre.
“Any other sport—football, baseball, basketball—you can’t play at the professional level when you play for the school.
But tie-down roping has no restrictions, so he can rope all he wants. ”
“Helps his mama pay for that schooling,” his mom, Maeve Black, pipes up.
She’s a breathtaking woman who looks to be in her sixties, with long, flowing blond hair that has an almost silver tinge to it and deep green eyes you could get lost in.
Her style is completely boho country, and I envisage her to be the type of woman who forges for berries in her bare feet on the Grosvenor Ranch.
“Rumor has it he’s gonna be a doctor,” she adds.
“This town seems a little like ours,” I comment as I watch Andy wrestle his calf and wrap his rope securely around its legs as the crowd cheers.
The opening strings to “Sweet Home Alabama” start to play as the announcers let us know he had a bit of trouble on his dismount; his time will easily be beat at thirteen and six.
“Everyone knows everyone’s business?” Maeve guesses with a grin.
“Precisely.” I smile back as the breeze blows my hair and the scent of hot gravel and barbeque wafts over to our stand.
Asher squeezes my thigh gently under the table and it sends those sparks I’m doing my best to understand through me.
After this afternoon’s session, my body has fully gone off the rails.
My mind tells me we need to keep things uncomplicated—for the baby—but it’s a losing battle when he looks at me with those charcoal eyes.
“Hungry, mama?” he asks low, as if he’s reading my mind. The way he dips his head down to whisper in my ear, closing the gap between us, warms my chest, and I realize I am hungry.
“Whatever the barbeque is smells delicious,” I tell him.
He gives my thigh a little squeeze. “On it.”
“Anyone else want anything from the stand?” he asks Beau and Maeve as the next roper is sent from the gate.
“Want Daddy to get you some french fries, Sadie-baby?” Beau asks the twin in his lap, his voice gruff but gentle. He kisses her chubby cheek.
Sadie nods and little Piper pulls on his shirt from Maeve’s lap. “Me too!” she says happily.
“I’ll come with you.” He looks to Asher as Piper reaches her hands up to him. “Up,” she tells him as he easily switches one twin for the other before planting a kiss on his mother’s head. “Anything for you, Mama?”
“No thank you, darlin’.” She shakes her head as she swipes Sadie’s curls off her cheek.
“He has his hands full, doesn’t he?” I say once the boys are out of earshot. I finish playing a little game of peekaboo with Sadie, who giggles as Maeve strokes her soft hair.
“He does,” she confesses. “But he handles it with grace.”
I don’t ask what happened, figuring if she wanted to tell me, she would.
“I’ve met Asher a handful of times,” Maeve continues, picking up a little toy and placing it in Sadie’s hand. “But he’s different this time. How far along are you?”
My mouth falls open slightly before I manage to close it and flash her a rueful smile. No point in lying. “Eleven weeks.”
“Mmm.” She muses.
“How did you—”
“I just know things, darlin’.” She smiles sweetly at me. “I feel things. Some people say I’m a witch. And I do come from a long line of them. Generations of them.”
“That’s incredible that you know your history that far back,” I say as a pang of jealousy cuts through me, knowing I’ll never know my history like that.
“When we can’t discover everything about our own past, it’s important to create a future. Pass it on to your child, then they’ll pass it on to theirs. Make your own history.”
I study the woman next to me; her deep green eyes twinkle with wisdom and her silvery blond hair swirls on her slim shoulders. She nods toward the concession booth where Asher and Beau stand.
“There’s deep trauma there.” She’s looking at Asher. “But his spirit seems lighter now. And it’s because of you.”
I smile softly. “I think maybe it’s because of the baby.”
As if he senses we’re talking about him, Asher turns over his shoulder.
I admire the way his T-shirt clings to the wide expanse of his upper back, and how his jeans hug tight to that perfect ass.
He winks at me, tipping his cowboy hat to shield his face from the sun, as longing hits me in the chest.
“He’ll be a good father,” Maeve says firmly. “But trust me on this, the way that boy is looking at you? That has everything to do with you. ”