Chapter 32 #2
“You don’t curse.” I wag my finger. “If you’re cursing that means you’re worried about him, and if you’re worried—” I stop myself and let the screen hit my foot as I step outside.
Birds chirp, and the warm breeze lifts the hem of my nightgown, and in the coop, Sadie appears, waving.
I wave at her, then focus on Tate. “He took over-the-counter painkillers all night. He couldn’t get comfortable.
He sat up until three, then finally laid down shortly after. ”
Tate nods and I try to make sense of this. “Is that… all normal?”
He nods again, pulling at the back of his head. “Yeah, yeah, he’s a little beat up and sore. It’s just… been a while since he rode that hard. The nec kroll folded and… He’s okay… it’s just gonna take a little more time to get him feeling better than it did before.”
I wave at Sadie again but keep my focus on her daddy. “What can I do to help him get better before next week’s ride?”
Tate nods, as if he expected me to ask. “Heating pads. Keep him hydrated and make sure he just lies around. If he aggravates it before next week…” He doesn’t need to finish that sentence.
If Landry can’t ride next week, he’ll lose, and he’ll lose far more than some fucking rodeo, and we both know it.
“Hey, Quinn, this is… par for the course.” Tate smiles. “He’ll be okay. I just… want you to know, this is the life of being with a bronc rider. You’ll learn to temper the worry or it’ll eat you up.”
I nod. “Okay.” I trust Tate.
“Tell him I came by. Heating pads, those disposable ones, work well. They have ’em at the Sable Sky Shop Rite.”
I nod. “I’ll get dressed and go get some.”
Tate backs off the porch and nods to Sadie as she makes her way inside with Big Bertha tucked under her arm. “Medicine time, Big B.” She grins at me. “Mornin’. You making pancakes? I’m starved.” She lowers Bertha to the ground, then says, “How’s your neck?”
After waving Tate off, I step inside off the porch and am seconds away from asking Sadie what in the world happened to Big Bertha’s neck, when I see Landry at the bottom of the stairs, hand on his own neck.
“Landry Vaughn,” I scold, brow furrowing as I take him in, wrinkled white T-shirt and crumpled pajama pants, bare feet and tousled hair. “You are supposed to be resting.”
He winces, dark crescents hanging in pools beneath his eyes. “Out of Advil up there,” he groans, “and could use some coffee.”
Sadie knows he’s hurt and gently wraps her arm around his waist. “I’m sorry your neck hurts, Daddy.”
He tousles fingers through her hair. “Ah, it’s okay. I’ll be all good in a day or two, sugar.”
She runs upstairs with Big Bertha, and from the top of the stairs shouts, “Call me when the pancakes are done!”
Landry looks at the top of the stairs for a moment then smiles, and I watch him watching his girl and feel my chest swell.
But then he cuts his gaze my way, and his eyes go dark and wanton, despite the fact he still rubs at his neck.
Landry’s saunter is slow and deliberate, and as much as I want to shout at him to go back upstairs and rest, my fingers itch to tug him into me, my lips yearn for his, and I long to be engulfed in his chest. “Thank you for checking on me all night and taking care of me,” he breathes, sinking his lips against my temple with a soft kiss.
I soak up his affection and the heat of his body against mine as we hold each other in the early sunlight. The kitchen floor is cool against my feet, and I know the Texas sun won’t leave it that way for long. I pull back. “You up for some pancakes?”
He nods, and I fix him a cup of coffee while he settles into a seat at the table. “Tate came by, told me you like those disposable heating pads for your neck.”
Landry unfolds the newspaper and lays it across the table, still watching me. “I do. Though I’m not sure they make those anymore.” His eyes attempt to pierce my linen nightgown as a ray of sun pours through the window.
I can’t help but smirk. “Well, I’m gonna go out after I make breakfast and get some for you. And anything else you may need.”
Over the last month, each time I’d go out for footage, I’d stop by the market and grab a few things.
Just a few. And then I’d slip them into the cupboards, hoping that it would be subtle enough to know I’m not helping, but also still subtle enough to ease some of that unconscious stress you wear when you’re in debt.
I get to mixing pancakes, dropping and flipping, while Landry and I remain in the kitchen in easy silence. He reads the paper and sips coffee, and I add mix-ins to the pancakes, enjoying the soft swish of leaves kissing in the gentle breeze outside. It is the perfect little morning.
Sadie comes down and we give Big Bertha her medicine in a blueberry pancake—Sadie alleges that this is Big Bertha’s favorite flavor and who can say no to a sick, old chicken? Afterward, the three of us enjoy our breakfast while reminiscing about last night.
“Twister’s a wimp compared to you,” Sadie says definitively as she douses her last bite of strawberry pancake in maple syrup.
I raise my coffee mug and she raises her juice, then Landry joins and we clink in unison to Twister being a wimp.
After Sadie and I do the dishes, I help her find her overalls, and I wear mine, too.
We spend some time getting eggs from the coop, and Tate comes over to feed Daisy and Hector.
Around noon, I decide to head to the store, but get Landry comfortable in my editing nook on the back porch before I do.
“Feel kinda like a poser out here,” he says, tucking one of the pillows under his arm as he adjusts. “This is your space. I hate… encroaching.”
I swipe my hands down my overalls after setting his sweet tea down next to him.
“You built this space, it’s yours as much as it is mine!
And anyway, you can see the girls from here.
” I point to the pasture where Petunia and Sadie are playing tag.
I dig around in my pocket and produce a small pink whistle.
“And here, if you need to get their attention but don’t wanna strain your neck shouting, just blow this. ”
He takes the whistle from me, and it looks like it belongs to a Barbie when he holds it. “Is this… a rape whistle?”
I nod my head. “Absolutely. But, for today’s purpose, it can just be a kid-getting whistle.”
Landry blinks up at me, his long legs stretched out, heels stacked on the banister. “Did you bring this here for…?”
I nearly choke on the assumption. “No! I didn’t think you were gonna—No! No, no! I bought it off and had it sent to me at the inn the first week.” I smile. “It’s my ‘step-off, Mr. McCharger’ whistle.”
Landry chuckles, and places the whistle down next to his tea. “That makes sense.”
“Okay, well, I’m gonna go get you everything you need to fix you up. Do not get up, okay? Just… rest.” I move for the screen door, but Landry catches my hand and stops me. His big blue eyes always say so much.
“Hey. Thank you for taking care of me. And thank you for being there for us. And thank you for a wonderful few months.” He smiles, and the sentiment is so sweet, but something about the way he said that has me uneasy, only slightly.
I bend down and press a soft, goodbye kiss to his lips, and the moment I’m in the car, I call my mom.
“Hey, hon, how’s Landry’s neck feeling?” she asks, because I send her clips of Landry on the daily.
“Sore.” I flick my blinker on at the first stop sign. “Hey, I need you to tell me to stop overthinking.”
Mom doesn’t waste any minutes. “You’re overthinking.” A pause. “Better?”
I push out a breath as I turn the corner, the Feed ’n’ Seed whipping by. “Not really. But I know I need to stop overthinking, so tell me again.”
“Or,” Mom hedges. “You could tell me what you’re overthinking about?”
I let out a long sigh and explain the situation to her.
She’s well aware that Landry and I are planning to make things work after the rodeo, despite the fact we’ve got none of those details ironed out.
She knows that the annulment is off the table, and that what started as a solution to a pinch has evolved into something full-bodied and rich, something beautiful and special.
“He’s just reflecting, is all,” Mom decides immediately after hearing my discomfort around being thanked for the last few months. “It’s coming to a close next week and he’s reflecting. I think it’s okay, honey. This isn’t the type of man to spring any surprises.”
I find a parking spot at the market and slide in, shifting the car to park. “I know. You’re right. You’re so right. I think I’m just doing my anxious overthinking because he’s hurt and the rodeo is next week. I’m just… anxious.”
“Yeah,” my mom agrees. “The film is almost done. You’re about to be graded by your peers on your work and show the world the film you made.
Your husband is about to make the greatest comeback in his career.
Anxiety is normal. In fact, if you weren’t overthinking and anxious, I’d wonder if something was wrong. ”
I snort. “I would, too, I think.”
“Okay,” Mom says, the singular word providing so much comfort. “So, then you know, you’re under some stress and your brain is doing laps.”
Laney pipes up in the background the way younger siblings so helpfully do. “Rope ’em, cowgirl!”
“Laney just passed by. She says hi.”
“I heard.” I pull a cart from the corral and shove inside, enjoying the cool air that stings my sweaty skin once I’m in the air-conditioned store. “Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate the talk and I can’t wait for you guys to come out.”
“No date on the film premiere yet?” she asks.
I shake my head like she can see me as I dig my shopping list out of one of the many pockets on my overalls, discovering a hard candy and a rubber band before I get there.
“Not yet. I reached out to Devin a few days ago, telling him that UBS will need to secure a local place and order food and get a screen… Still waiting to hear back.”