Chapter 38
thirty-eight
Tarr glanced up when the light shifted, a smile coming to his soul when he saw Briar standing there with hot pads on her hands as she held a giant pot of what he assumed to be soup.
“Are you at a good stopping point?” she asked.
Tarr surveyed the floor in front of him.
He’d been doing finishing work on his house for what felt like forever, though it had only been a couple of weeks.
He wasn’t particularly fussy, but installing his own floors and shutters and backyard fencing would save him thousands of dollars, and Tarr didn’t mind the work.
“Yeah, let me get to the end here,” he said, and he moved down a plank to add another snap-in-place piece to the hardwood-look-alike laminate he’d been installing.
He wore knee pads and a mask over his mouth and nose, as he had to go outside to the back deck to cut pieces of wood, and he didn’t want to inhale the sawdust.
“It looks so good, baby,” she said as she walked across the front part of the house—which had already been done—to the kitchen in the back where Tarr currently worked.
He finished up the row he was on and took a measurement for the last piece he needed. He wrote it in the pocket-sized notebook he kept on the counter, then swept the mask off his face so he could kiss his lovely girlfriend.
“What’d you make?” he asked. “I didn’t even realize it was dinnertime. Tuck had that open house today, and I swear I went back for another sandwich six times.” He laughed, though what he said was true.
“Did he sign anyone new?” Briar asked.
“He had almost two dozen people here,” Tarr said. “And I think our demos went really well, but I’m not really sure if he signed someone or not.”
“How many people does he want to take on?” she asked. “He’s already got four.”
“Well, another buddy of ours wants to come be a rodeo manager now that he’s retired from the circuit,” Tarr said. “Tuck thinks he can handle six, and if Myron can too, then he’s got slots for eight people.”
“Wow,” Briar said. “And they’re all going to live here on the farm?”
“No, Tuck’s given up that idea,” Tarr said. “He made that very clear during today’s presentation, that the trailer community where Alex and I live is not permanent and is not an option.”
Tarr moved over to the sink and turned on the water. It sputtered out, because it had only been hooked up for the past couple of days. He’d been cleaning up over at the arena, because he didn’t keep any supplies here at the house.
“I hope you brought bowls and silverware,” he said. “I don’t have anything here.”
Briar blinked at him, and since she hadn’t carried in a bag with any bowls or plastic spoons, Tarr took that to mean she hadn’t brought anything.
“I’ll have something in my car,” she said, and she turned to go get it.
While she was gone, Tarr lifted the lid on the pot and found that she’d made one of his favorite concoctions—broccoli cheese soup with chicken. He could slurp this right out of the pot, but he wouldn’t want to do it in front of her.
She returned triumphantly, a pair of clear plastic spoons in her hand, but Tarr eyed them dubiously.
“Where did you get those?” he asked.
“Out of my glove box,” she said. “They’re unused.”
“Are they? How would I possibly know that?”
“Oh, my word.” She stepped over to the sink and turned it on to wash the spoons. “Now they’re clean. Are you satisfied?”
“I’m just saying it’s kind of weird to have loose plastic utensils in your glove box.”
“It’s not that weird when you’ve eaten out of your car a lot,” she said.
Tarr tilted his head at her. “You eat out of your car a lot?”
“I mean, I used to,” Briar said. “I’d leave the farm and drive to get something, and then just eat it in my car—especially in the winter—because the sun comes in and it’s nice and warm through the window.”
Tarr grinned at her and took one of the now-clean spoons. “I suppose we’re just going to eat it right out of the pot.”
“I don’t have any bowls in the SUV, no,” Briar said with a teasing lilt in her tone. She went straight into the pot and took the first bite, getting a chunk of chicken and a floret of broccoli with the cream-based soup.
Tarr followed suit, thrilled at this super casual date that Briar had sprung on him.
At the same time, they saw each other every night, and he wasn’t exactly sure why she’d shown up now, when she could’ve just waited for him to come over, and they could’ve had crusty bread and real bowls and spoons.
He watched her for a moment, quickly looking away when her gaze also darted to his. “This is real good, sweetheart,” he said.
“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to come over tonight,” she said. “After being down on your hands and knees so much. I know that’s hard work.”
“Yeah, it is,” he said. “But you’ve got a real nice couch, and Wiggins is over there, so….” He trailed off, giving her a grin, as if he liked her dog more than her.
“I’ve also been thinking,” Briar said. “And I’ve texted a little bit with Kristie after the wedding. Did you know her parents didn’t come?”
Tarr had known that, but only because Tucker told him. “Yeah, I guess they had a falling out a few years ago,” he said. “She texted them and invited them, but they said they didn’t feel comfortable.”
Briar nodded, her mouth tight. “Right.”
She took another bite of soup, then twirled her spoon in her fingers. “I’ve got to be real honest, Tarr,” she said. “I’m not sure I can handle that rejection. If I text my mom and dad and they don’t text me back, or they say they’re not interested….”
She let the words hang there, and Tarr kept his gaze low. Though he didn’t dip his spoon in for another bite, he let several seconds of silence flow between them.
“So what are you going to do?” he asked.
“I’ve been thinking that I’m the one who initiated the distance between us, and I’ve been okay with it all this time, so maybe I don’t need to text them.”
Tarr looked at her then, really trying to see if that’s how she felt.
“A family isn’t always a family just because they’re related by blood,” she said. “I have you and Tuck and Bobbie Jo.” She waved her hand. “And all the Hammonds; they like me, and having my mom and dad here for a wedding would just be super stressful anyway.”
“Is that what you’re thinking about?” Tarr asked. “Having them only in your life for the wedding?”
“I haven’t given much else any thought, no,” she said. “And Kristie’s parents weren’t at her wedding, and it was beautiful and lovely, and she was really happy.”
“Yeah,” Tarr said. “But you’re not Kristie Higgins.”
“I know.” Briar’s voice had turned soft and small, and Tarr hated that. “It’s just what I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Because I think if they don’t respond, or the response is bad, that it will set me back five years, maybe longer.”
“Well, we don’t want that,” Tarr said, because he couldn’t imagine waiting five more years for Briar to be ready to marry him.
Heck, at this point, he was worried she may never be ready to marry him, and he wanted her to continue to be able to heal.
If that meant she didn’t have her parents in her life, then perhaps that was the right thing to do.
“Why do you think they won’t text you back or want you in their life?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Briar said.
But Tarr thought she did, and just like at Thanksgiving, he felt like he could push her and get a real answer. “I think you do,” he said. “Why can’t you just tell me?”
His words maybe came out a little aggressively, but he didn’t back down, and he didn’t regret the question, because Briar said, “I’m not lovable.”
Tarr scoffed. “Oh, come on, Briar. That’s just ridiculous.”
“Maybe for you,” she fired back. “But it’s how I feel, Tarr.
I don’t—” She cut off and made an angry sound.
“I’m not like you, okay? I’ve never had anyone love me just for me.
My mom and dad loved me because of what I could do and the fame that I could bring them, and my fans loved me for my performances, and the other rodeo cowboys I dated loved me because I had curves, and they thought they could take advantage of me. ”
“Wiggins loves you,” Tarr said.
“Wiggins is a dog,” Briar practically shouted.
“Tucker and Bobbie Jo love you,” he said.
Briar’s jaw hardened.
“I’m just not sure that I can take the rejection,” she said. “They let me go so easily, and I don’t think they want me back in their lives.”
“But you don’t know that,” Tarr said. “You made it hard for them to find you.”
“Did I?” she asked. “How many people do you know named Briar?”
Tarr had only ever met her. “Well, I think you’re totally lovable,” he said.
“But I’m not,” she said back, and she seemed determined to argue with him today. “And just because you feel like that doesn’t make it true, and it doesn’t mean that I can automatically flip a switch and feel like other people can love me.”
Tarr wanted to throw his plastic spoon as far as he could and knock over the pot of soup, because Briar felt further than ever from being able to be with him long-term.
Sure, they spent time together every day, and he held her and he kissed her, and they talked about their favorite TV shows and the animals on the farm and his dreams and goals—but not hers. Never hers.
The anger boiled in his stomach along with the soup she’d brought, and he really wished he could just go back to work and hammer out his frustrations and disappointments. She was essentially rejecting him in this moment, and Tarr honestly had no idea what he’d been doing for the past six months.
No, he thought. The past year and a half—you’ve been dealing with this woman, trying to get her to see something in you that maybe doesn’t exist for eighteen months, cowboy. Or maybe it does exist, but she’s not ready to be with you.
“Well,” he said, “I know for a fact that you’re lovable.” He looked right into her eyes, finding every angry fleck and defiant edge. “Because I’m in love with you, Briar, and if you’re not lovable, what does that make me? A fool? Hopelessly romantic? An idiot?”
He shook his head. “If you’re not lovable, why do I love you?”
He reached up to swipe his hat off his head, then realized that he wasn’t wearing it. “I’m the biggest moron on the planet, thinking that you can change enough to want to be with me.”
“Tarr,” she said.
“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s fine.”
He looked at the pot of soup and at the stupid plastic spoon in his hand. “I’m gonna take a walk, and then I’ll come back and finish my floors. Thanks for the soup, Briar.”
He tossed the plastic spoon onto the countertop, where it clattered, mimicking the shattering sound of his heart as he turned on his heel and started for the front door.
He unstrapped the knee pads as he went, and he stalked right past Wiggins, who lay in the spot of shade on his front porch that the setting sun had started to illuminate.
For the first time in Tarr’s life, he didn’t reach down and pat the dog and tell him how wonderful and smart and handsome he was.
He simply left his house—this site that was supposed to be a place of comfort and refuge for him—and started walking down the dirt road that led toward the highway, an empty landscape in front of him, just like he now had a blank future waiting for him too.