23. Arizona
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Arizona
Black paint curls away beneath my wire brush and falls around my boots while Willy works a few feet farther along the wall, scrubbing hard enough that I start wondering whether he’s trying to clean the barn or sand the whole thing flat.
He pauses long enough to flex his fingers before attacking the timber again. “Whoever invented black paint deserves a kick in the shins.”
Emmett rinses his brush in the bucket between us and flicks a glance along the wall. “At the rate you’re going, we’ll be replacing the barn before lunch.”
Willy jumps in. “I’ve always wanted to learn carpentry.”
“You couldn’t build a birdhouse.”
“I built half of one.”
“It collapsed.”
Willy points the brush at him. “That’s because birds are notoriously ungrateful.”
I smile despite myself, but the joke fades as quickly as it arrived. Willy goes back to scrubbing with the same determination he’d shown since sunrise, and the smile never finds him again.
Most of the paint has gone, yet dark stains still cling to the grain of the timber. Nobody needs to read the words anymore because every person on this ranch knows exactly what covered this wall yesterday.
RED brONSON PAYS HIS DEBTS.
Red hasn’t come anywhere near the barn. As soon as Willy told him about it, he left with two ranch hands to check fences and water troughs, throwing himself into work while the rest of us grabbed wire brushes and paint thinner.
I work another stubborn streak until my arm starts aching, then look over at Willy. “Do you think whoever did this knew him?”
He keeps brushing for another couple of strokes before resting the handle against his shoulder. “I reckon they knew which scar to poke.”
Emmett tips fresh thinner onto his rag and works it into the timber. “They wanted him thinking about Travis.”
I look between them. “The guy that rode drunk, right? What was he like?”
“Argumentative.” Willy chuckles under his breath. “If Red said the sky was blue, Travis would’ve argued for green just to keep the debate going.”
“They didn’t get along?”
“They competed at everything,” Willy says. “Rodeos, poker, who could finish a fence line quicker, who could annoy the other the most. Half the county figured one of them would eventually throw the other into a horse trough.”
“They never did,” Emmett says. “But they came close.”
Willy nods. “Close enough that I stopped betting on ’em.”
I scrape my brush across another patch of timber. “So what changed?”
“The ride,” Willy says, and the humor slips away.
Emmett drops his rag into the bucket and wipes his hands on his jeans. “Red blames himself for it, more than anyone else can.”
Willy rests both hands on the top of his brush. “He still figures Travis would’ve gone home if he’d said the right thing.”
“You don’t believe that?”
His eyes lift to mine. “I watched the whole damn thing.”
My brush hangs in my hand. “What happened?”
Willy rubs the back of his neck. “Two stubborn cowboys spent years trying to beat each other.” He looks across the ranch toward the distant corrals where Red disappeared hours ago. “Then one of them climbed onto a horse he never should’ve ridden.”
Willy drags the wire brush through another streak of paint until black flakes scatter across the dirt, then bends to rinse it in the bucket.
Beside him, Emmett works thinner into the timber with a rag, his attention fixed on the wall.
I scrub at a stubborn patch that refuses to disappear. “You both keep saying Red blames himself, but neither of you talks like he deserves it.”
Willy glances over. “That’s because he doesn’t.”
Emmett nods without looking up. “He never did.”
I shift closer, brushing paint dust from my jeans. “Then why does he act like the accident was his fault?”
“Others do too.” Emmett sighs as he wrings out the rag. “Because people like easy answers. Red and Travis were rivals, Travis got hurt, and folks decided they’d already worked out the rest.”
Willy shakes his head before dipping his brush into the bucket again. “Red’s spent years trying to own a decision another man made.”
My brush stops halfway across the timber.
We finish the wall in silence, scrubbing until the last traces of black fade into the weathered wood. By the time I rinse my hands and gather my things, night has settled over Dusty Spur, but the conversation keeps circling through my head.
I cut across the yard toward my truck, already fishing my keys from my jacket pocket, when I spot Red making his usual circuit around the pasture.
His hands are buried deep in his pockets, his head tipped toward the ground as though the gravel might finally offer an answer after all these years.
He notices me before I reach him. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, keeping the same pace.
I fall in beside him and tuck my keys away again. “I was about to ask you that.”
A dry chuckle slips out of him. “Sleep quit returning my calls a long time ago.”
“I’d say you should file a complaint, but I don’t reckon it’d listen.”
“It hasn’t so far.”
We follow the fence line together while horses graze beyond the rails, their occasional snorts breaking the stillness between us.
After a few yards, Red glances sideways. “How long’ve you been following me?”
“Long enough to prove these boots were worth the money.”
“They’re wasted on a woman who keeps making questionable decisions.”
I bump his shoulder lightly with mine. “Says the cowboy taking a midnight stroll instead of using the perfectly good bed waiting inside.”
His mouth gives in to half a smile before he looks back across the pasture. He rubs a thumb across his beard.
“I tried.” His words disappear into the night, and I wait beside him until he speaks again. “He laughed at me. Travis.” A humorless smile pulls at his mouth. “Said I was looking for excuses because I’d finally realized he could beat me.”
We walk another few steps before he continues.
“I watched him climb into that chute knowing he shouldn’t have been anywhere near a horse, and every time I think back on it, I end up asking myself why I let him.”
“You didn’t let him.”
“I didn’t drag him off it either.” His answer comes so quickly it sounds rehearsed. “I should’ve grabbed him, thrown him over my shoulder if I had to, and let him spend the rest of his life cussing my name.”
“He would’ve fought you the whole way.”
“I would’ve taken that deal.”
I reach for his hand without thinking. His fingers stiffen against mine before they curl around my own. “You’ve spent years trying to rewrite a day nobody could control.”
“I was standing right in front of him.”
“You were trying to help him.”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t enough.”
I stop walking, and after another step he stops with me. “Then help me understand.”
He turns to face me, tiredness etched across every line of his face.
“When somebody gets hurt making their own choice, everybody left behind starts bargaining with memories. You replay every conversation, every argument, every chance you had to change their mind until you convince yourself the ending was yours to prevent.”
His grip tightens around my hand. “I’ve lived that ride a thousand times.”
My chest aches. “And every version still ends with you blaming yourself.”
“I don’t know how to stop.”
“You don’t have to solve it tonight.” I give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Just let somebody carry a little of it with you.”
He studies me for a long beat before lifting my hand to his lips. “So that’s why you chased a complete stranger into the woods.”
A laugh escapes me. “You really are going to milk that story forever.”
“I’d be doing the story a disservice if I retired it this early.”
“I was hoping your memory had started failing.”
“It has.” His grin grows. “I only remember the important bits.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
I step closer until our boots nearly touch. “There’s the man who’s been hiding behind all that guilt.”
He searches my face before giving the smallest shake of his head. “I don’t see him much anymore.”
“I do.”
His forehead comes to rest against mine, and we stay there beneath the stars while the ranch settles around us. Neither of us says another word because this time the silence isn’t asking either of us for answers.
It simply lets us stand there together.