46. Indie
Chapter 46
Indie
T he snow finally stops the next day and we’re able to finally clear the roads. While Tripp and Beau go tend to the porches and the barn, Ram invites me up onto the fancy enclosed tractor to help him clear the driveway well enough that we can drive down it if we need to. The city of Steele is hard at work clearing their own streets according to the radio and the highways will be next. Life will go back to normal.
Or at least as normal as things can be when you’re sleeping with three men.
No one seems weirded out by the new dynamic. No one acts jealous. I’m tempted to bring it up and ask, but part of me fears my questions will ruin things. Right now, it’s okay for us all to just exist in our little bubble, to just enjoy each other’s company. They don’t seem to mind sharing and I’m enjoying myself just as much. Does there need to be anything more than that?
I’d worried being in the tractor with Ram would make it cold, but because it’s enclosed, it apparently has temperature control, so it’s warm by the time he loads me up into it and we set out scrapping the driveway from our house to his mom’s cottage. She stands on the porch gratefully and waves as we continue our way along the path. We manage to clear that pathway all the way to the house, and I get a good look at the plantation home again.
“He was evil, wasn’t he?” I ask Ram, staring at the thing that looks more monstrous than cozy.
“I don’t know much about evil,” Ram murmurs, “but the devil for sure lives in that house. If not for Tripp and Beau, I’d have convinced my mama to go somewhere she was appreciated long ago.”
“Why stay now?” I ask. “Why not find her somewhere else?”
“She won’t leave,” he replies. “She cooks for everyone who works here, just like her own mama did. Like Tripp, we have a legacy here, but ours wasn’t so grand.”
“Until you,” I murmur, leaning back to look in his eyes. “You’re paving your own legacy.”
His eyes crinkle. “ Sí, periodista ,” he says, leaning down for a kiss. “We all are.”
I glance back at the house. “How do you stomach it? Knowing what he’s done?”
His shoulders tense. “I don’t,” he admits. “If not for Tripp, I’d have already killed the bastard. But that’s his dad. That’s his right to choose the path.” His eyes narrow. “I do sleep a little better now that he’s a prisoner to his own mind, as terrible as my mom would tell me that is. But I’m only human, and that man, es tan malvado como parece .”
I glare at the house, too. “I agree. I have a half a mind to go up there and brand his ass.”
Ram’s arms wrap around me. “He was fifteen when that happened. A punishment for going out with friends instead of practicing. Beau was three seconds from shooting him for it before Tripp stopped him.” He sighs. “I still think Beau should’ve pulled the trigger anyways. Pretty sure even Tripp regrets stoppin’ him. But trauma, these sorts of bad memories, they don’t cancel out the boy who was desperate for his father’s love.” He squeezes tighter. “Even if he is a racist piece of shit.”
We clear the road all the way to the highway before turning back the way we came. It's quicker work to make it back, and I’m grateful to pass the large mansion and find our way back to the Victorian house that’s become a sort of home.
Ram drops me off with the promise of coming right back after he puts the tractor up and I step inside the warm confines of the house to the smell of something amazing cooking.
“What is that?” I ask, sniffing the air. “It smells like heaven.”
“That’d be Tripp’s famous chili,” Beau declares as he picks me up, twirls me around, and plants a big ole sloppy kiss on my lips. “He makes the best chili in Steele.”
“He does?” I ask, furrowing my brows at him where he has his back to me in the kitchen. “I thought the Cowboy Caviar was a fluke.”
Beau laughs. “Tripp is the best cook out of all of us, a real artist with food. Just wait until you get a load of his peach cobbler. You’ll ask him to marry you after you try it. I know I did.”
Laughter bubbles out of my lips at his words and I trail into the kitchen. “That true, cowboy? Am I going to fall in love at first bite?”
Tripp looks at me over his shoulder and grins. He’s been more open since our time in the barn yesterday, more at peace. Despite his insistent tapping every now and then when the urge for a drink grips him, he’s been nothing but affectionate. Right now though, as he stirs a large pot, there’s not a single sign of his withdrawal, of his need for a drink.
“You’ll have to let me know,” he teases, but then his eyes flick to Beau. “Did you go get it from Mama?”
“I did,” Beau nods. “You wanna do the honors or would you prefer me do it?”
“You do it,” Tripp says, stepping back. “I don’t trust myself.”
“Do what?” I ask, frowning.
Tripp sighs. “My recipe calls for a bit of Naomi’s moonshine in it. Or bourbon if we ain’t got that. We dumped out everything in the house, but Beau went to get a little bit from Ram’s mom for the chili after you and Ram cleared the road.” He nods to Beau who pours out the contents of a small jar. He watches the liquid disappear into the chili before Beau stirs it in so it’s not sitting at the surface. Only once it’s mixed in properly do his shoulders ease and he takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure if. . . well, I didn’t want to do it, but the chili needs it. It’s important for the flavors.”
I step over to him and take his hand, smiling up at him. “I’m proud of you,” I tell him.
He smiles back down at me, his eyes bright with emotion. “Thank you.”
“I’m proud of you, too, Trippy,” Beau exclaims, coming over to wrap us both in his arms. “You’re punching this alcoholism in the balls!”
The front door opens and Ram steps in. “What are we proud of?”
“Trippy,” Beau exclaims. “For finally burying his face in indie’s pussy instead of a bottle!”
I flush and scrap my hair back. “Okay. Alright. When is this chili gonna be done?” I ask to distract him from his words. Or else, I might not ever get to taste his cooking.
“A few hours,” Tripp answers, his eyes watching me carefully. “The cobbler won’t be far behind.”
I nod. “I can’t wait to taste it and see if I wanna marry you for it.”
He grins and drags me close, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Who says you gotta wait for a taste before you agree to marry me?”
“What?” I say, staring at him.
“What?” he parrots back at me before letting me go and pushing me toward the living. “Go find us something to do after dinner. Until then, I believe you have an article or two to write.”
I narrow my eyes. “I do. Just a fashion column.”
“Good,” he nods, turning back to the stove. “Go talk about fashion.”
A few hours later, Tripp serves us up a full bowl of chili and I sit down with the three of them around the table. There’s a pile of crackers and homemade cornbread in the center that I reach for immediately. He’d sprinkled some cheese on top of my chili and told me the cornbread is the best with it, so I trust his judgement and go for that.
The first bite nearly makes my toes curl. The second nearly does me in.
“Holy shit,” I say after I swallow. “Tripp! You didn’t tell me you cooked this good!”
“I warned you,” Beau says with a grin. “His cookin’ will make your toes curl.”
“You’re not wrong,” I say, pointing my spoon at him.
Tripp flushes. “It’s just chili.”
“The best chili I’ve ever had,” I reply, before taking another bite. “I’m gonna need you to make this at least once a week from now on.”
His eyes crinkle and despite his blush, it’s the cutest I’ve ever seen him. “Deal, as long as you stick around.”
The profoundness of his comment hits me and I set my spoon down, staring at him, at all three of them. It takes me a full minute to find my words. “You. . . want me to stay?”
Tripp shrugs. “Well, with us. We’re on the road with the circuit a lot, so we’re not always here. . .”
“Is that. . . are we going to talk about what that would look like?” I ask, glancing between them. None of us have spoken about what exactly we are, let alone where it’s going.
“It would look a lot like this,” Ram answers, sitting back in his chair watching me. “You in this house with us.”
“Or in the truck,” Tripp adds.
“Or bent over it,” Beau teases with a grin. “However you please.”
I bite my lip. “Would that make us. . . Would we be in a relationship?”
“If you want a label, sure,” Ram shrugs. “Titles are up to you.”
I frown. “So, like, you three’d be my. . . boyfriends?” Somehow, the word “boyfriend” doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel heavy enough. We’re deeper than that already, but what title even fits something like this?
“Yeah!” Beau exclaims. “And you’d be our Indie bird. It’s perfect.”
I wince. “I’d still have to work. I don’t plan on working for Saddle & Spur forever. One day, I’ll be working for a different newspaper, maybe one in a different city.”
“Ain’t not a one of us gonna stop you from chasing your career or your dreams,” Tripp nods. “Whatever you have to do, you do it. We’d just support you along the way.”
“But why though?” I ask seriously. “I’m just a journalist. I’m nothing special.”
Tripp snorts. “Nothing special? You serious?”
Ram shakes his head. “You think we’d all be asking you to stay if you were nothing special?”
Beau tilts his head. “We’re the ones that ain’t special, Indie. You? You’re. . . you’re. . .”
“World-ending,” Tripp offers. “In a good way.”
Ram nods. “I haven’t ever been this tied up in knots over a woman. I’m hard-pressed to think you done cast a spell on me or something. That would make more sense.”
I grin. “You callin’ me a witch?”
“If the shoe fits, bruja ,” he teases back. “Regardless, we want you to stay with us, for whatever length of time you’re willing.”
“But hopefully forever,” Beau announces, and then furrows his brows when the others glare at him. “What? That’s the plan, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to scare her, pendejo ,” Ram grunts. “We agreed to ease her into it.”
I chuckle. “Not a single one of you eased me into this,” I chastise. “It’s been full throttle since the beginning.”
Ram’s eyes crinkle. “Well, maybe we’re not so good at being gentle.”
I lean my elbows on the table and smile at them. “I’ll think about it, but,” I say, pointing at them with the spoon, “I’ll stay for now.”
Their answering smiles are what help me realize just how good of a decision I’ve made, and it makes something in my chest unfurl. “So,” I start, changing the subject. “If you weren’t doing what you do now, what career would you chase?”
“I’d probably be a daredevil in a circus somewhere,” Beau admits with a shrug. “I’m always hunting adrenaline. If I didn’t get it from the rodeo, I’d find it somewhere else.”
I glance at Ram. “How about you? What would you do if bronc riding wasn’t your thing?”
He squints his eyes and looks up. “You know, I’ve never really thought about it, because I’ve always just been in the rodeo circuit. But maybe. . . I’d have my own ranch. Raise a couple of horses. Have a couple of goats. Simple life stuff.”
I can see him in that life, but also, it feels not like him at all. Which makes me think that Ramiro Mondragon was always meant to ride broncs, to force his way into the Rodeo Hall of Fame.
“What about you, Indie?” Beau asks. “What would you do?”
“I’m a writer through and through,” I reply honestly. “If not newspapers, then maybe screenplays. Even something more boring like copywriting would be fine. I just need to put pen to paper.”
“You sure got enough of them,” Tripp says, grinning at me. “I seen how large your collection has gotten. I swear you’ve already stolen every pen in this house.”
I flush. “It’s a problem, I know. I just. . . really like pens.”
“We’ve noticed,” Ram says, laughing. “I think you stole a pen from every single person on the circuit. Evey time I heard someone complaining about missing their pen, I’d laugh and know it was you.”
I shrug. “It’s a habit. What can I say?” Smiling, I tilt my head toward Tripp. “How about you, cowboy? What would you do if you didn’t ride bulls?”
It’s a loaded question, because I’m not sure Tripp has ever considered what life would be like if he didn’t follow the rodeos. He was raised to be where he is, was never given a choice, so I’m not sure if he’s ever thought about it. So it surprises me when he looks out the glass doors and sighs.
“I’d cook,” he murmurs. “All the time.”
I straighten. “Like a chef?”
He nods. “Somethin’ like that. Maybe open my own restaurant in town. That would be real nice, I think.”
My heart melts. Tripp Savage, the chef, so far from the legacy he’d been forced into that it makes me desperate to see him living his real dream. “You should tell your dad that,” I whisper.
He glances at me. “He don’t even know who I am most days, scribbler.”
“Why not tell him on a good day, when he knows you?” I push.
“It doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, looking back down.
I reach over and take his hand. When he glances back up at me, I say, “it does to you.” His eyes grow shiny, but no tears fall. “You’ve given enough of yourself to the legacy, don’t you think?” I ask. “If you wanna open a restaurant, well, I think you’ve fucking earned that, Tripp Savage.”
His breath shutters out. “Maybe,” he whispers. “Maybe you’re right.”
But I can see the unease in his eyes, the trauma, the fear.
“A restaurant would be pretty cool,” Beau says gently. “The best chili in town. People’d come from all over to get a taste.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Ram says, before taking another bite. “Best damn chili in all of Wyoming.”
And their support is what softens Tripp’s shoulders fully. His eyes meet mine and this time, there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Maybe you’re right,” he says, a little more sure. “That would be the dream.”