Chapter 7
Sawyer
With October rolling in, most of the ranchers at Lucky Star have been moving our cattle back to lower pastures and begun weaning calves off their mothers with shipping day coming in quickly.
After Beau told me to try getting more involved, I’ve been heading out to see how the ranch is getting on every other day, to learn better how everything works.
Even visited the mess hall on the odd occasion to check in on Bertha and get to know some of the employees.
On the other days, I’ve been going through all my dad’s paperwork on the ranch, getting to grips with all the staff and their jobs, ordering new machinery to replace what’s inevitably broken down this year and, of course, discovering a gambling debt of my dad’s that he’s still yet to pay. Nice of him to leave that to me too.
If I get my head around how this place works then I might figure out if it’s somewhere I envision keeping, even if I barely stay here. It’s something to do anyway while my leg is still busted and keeping me from my usual antics. The only women in my life right now being Bertha and Trixie the dog.
The doctor changed my cast to a slightly smaller one this week, but I’ve still got another month before we can even consider moving to a boot and I can’t fucking wait. Then it’s only three more months to go before I can start thinking about getting on a bull again.
And getting out of this town for a needed breather.
The demand for which feels even more pertinent when I stumble upon my old bull-riding practice dummy from when I was younger—a large barrel tied with rope and springs between four posts—in one of the barns closest to the main house.
A thick layer of dust comes away when I run my hand over it, remembering the ranchers who tied the barrel up for me, inspiring a twelve year old with rodeo tales of flashing neon lights, buckle bunnies, and glory.
It’s a shame to see it so unused.
It’s not far from how I see myself right now—stowed away, potential wasted, just begging to be riding again. To feel that rush.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing in here, just staring at the dummy, when my phone suddenly rings and Trixie barks at the sound.
‘Alright, Trix, I got it,’ I say, trying to calm her.
I don’t recognise the number when I pull my phone from my back pocket—which at least means my agent has stopped hounding me. I consider ignoring the call since I’ve had a few journalists attempting to get hold of me recently to talk about my fall too.
But something urges me to answer. ‘Hello?’
‘Sawyer, hey,’ Honey replies, my body instantly alert at the sound of her voice.
How did she get my number?
I wondered if I’d hear from her after our talk last week at the café. After she basically ran away from me. Again.
I knew I’d screwed up when Briar appeared. I could see it in Honey’s face—that she thought I was no more than a womaniser, exactly how she used to look at me when we first started talking in high school.
It was stupid to think she’d want to waste her time with me—my jagged edges don’t fit into the perfect cookie-cutter life she’s trying to build. They never did.
‘I hope you don’t mind—Miles gave me your number.’ Her voice is shaky. Panicked.
It has my free hand flexing with the need to help. I grab my crutches, tucking one under my arm that’s holding my phone, and struggle with just the other as I start heading back to the house, whistling at Trixie to follow me.
‘Everything okay, Blue?’ I keep trying not to use the nickname, but my mouth has never been good at listening to what my brain wants me to say.
‘Um, not really.’ She swallows thickly. ‘I hate to ask this of you, but are you free to pick up Noah from school?’
She wants me to pick up Noah?
Has she ever seen me with kids? Even Wolfman tells me off for looking so disgusted whenever he’s got his four-year-old niece over. I just don’t get the appeal. Especially when they cry.
Honey continues when I don’t answer, ‘I got a call from my neighbours saying that a pipe’s burst in our building.’
Oh shit.
The panic in her voice heightens with each word. ‘I’m supposed to be picking up Noah in a half hour, but I need to go see what’s happened. My mom’s out of town until tonight, and I can’t get hold of anyone else. I don’t really have any friends here. I thought you might be free, seeing as—’
‘I’m doing fuck all ’cause my leg’s broken?’ I joke.
She chuckles slightly, and it emboldens me, knowing I made her laugh even for a second amidst her crisis.
‘Well, kinda, but also because Noah thinks you’re some cowboy superhero—hasn’t stopped talking about you since we saw you at the rodeo, and I’ll feel better knowing he might be less anxious with you. ’
Well, fuck. That hit me harder than I was expecting.
That she trusts me with her son.
Because she thinks we’re friends.
We were good friends before, right?
It feels wrong that she reduced us to just that.
‘Yeah, sure. I can get him.’
The audible sigh from her end gives me an intense satisfaction and is enough to make this worth it. To know I’m helping her. I’ve never hopped so quickly as I make my way down the dirt track to my house.
‘Thank you. So much, Sawyer.’
‘Hey, it’s fine. Take a deep breath and go sort out your place. Text me all the details of where to pick him up from and everything. If you need any help with anything at your apartment, just call me. I know a man about a lotta things.’
She lets out another sweet sigh of relief. ‘Thank you. I’ll come pick him up from yours as soon as I can. Is that okay?’
‘Of course, Blue. That’s what friends are for, right?’
If you’d have asked me how I planned on spending my Friday afternoon, it was not sitting on my couch watching a kid who isn’t mine draw on some paper I found in my dad’s office.
With one hand, Noah’s sketching while using his other hand to stroke Trixie who’s lying contentedly beside him.
He’s been like this since we got dropped back at the ranch by Luke, one of the only cab drivers in Willow Ridge, and basically my personal chauffeur given how much I use him for rides while I can’t drive.
Willow Ridge might be small but it’s a bit of a drive from Lucky Star to the main town, like it is for a lot of ranches.
Noah was starstruck when I turned up at his elementary school at the end of the day, giving me the same gawk he did at the rodeo.
Still, when I told him he’d be spending the afternoon with me while his mom had to sort something out back home, he smiled and shyly took my hand.
I stood and stared at the way his little hand barely wrapped around my fingers, unsure what to think. Why my chest was tightening.
Probably because I don’t like kids.
I don’t know what I was thinking saying I’d look after him.
I don’t know how to keep a kid entertained.
Honey said it was unusual for him to talk to me, that’s why she knew he’d be comfortable here, but he’s hardly said a word since we arrived.
Maybe that talking streak started and ended at the rodeo.
Maybe he was a little bolder because his mom was nearby, but now he’s realising I’m just a downbeat stranger.
His eyes flick up and quickly back down each time I shuffle restlessly on the couch from the anxiety to make sure I’m doing the right thing.
To not feel useless at this. I don’t need any more blows to my already broken ego.
I also don’t think I can keep calling myself the cowboy with no fear if I’m terrified about how to look after a kid.
So, as Noah quietly carries on drawing, I whip out my phone and shoot a text off to Wolfman.
Sawyer: What am I supposed to do with Noah?
Wolfman: You mean the kid of some choir girl you hardly knew in high school who immediately called you when she needed a favour?
I shouldn’t let that go to my head, but it emboldens me, nonetheless.
Sawyer: Shut up and help me.
Wolfman: Have you tried … talking to him?
Sawyer: Wow. Never would’ve thought of that.
Sawyer: How are you replying so quickly anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be at football practice?
Wolfman: Yeah but they pissed me off by doing some stupid TikTok dance so I’ve got them running laps as an apology.
Sawyer: Seems fair.
Talk to him. Okay, I can do that. According to most people I usually don’t know when to shut up, so making conversation should be in my remit—even if I’m not sure how to adapt such to kids.
‘Hey, buddy,’ I try, tossing my phone beside me on the couch.
Noah’s floppy blond bangs flip up as he looks at me through his silver-rimmed glasses with those big blue eyes that could rival his mom’s. He swallows before saying, ‘Yes, sir?’
There he goes with the sir again. If he knew the way I usually spent my Fridays he sure as hell wouldn’t be calling me that.
I guess I should ask him something now. ‘What you drawing there?’
‘Cowboys.’ He pauses to hold up his drawing. I was kind of hoping he’d say a bit more, but his words don’t lie, that paper is covered in stick figurine cowboys, some riding horses, some throwing ropes, some maybe even line dancing.
I give him an impressed nod just as my bad leg starts to give me grief again with a dull ache. To quell the pain, I swivel on the couch and lift my cast up onto the cushions, providing it some elevation.
Noah chews on the end of one of the pencils as his assessing eyes roam over my cast. His gaze volleys between my face and broken leg, mouth opening and closing like he wants to speak, and then it clicks—what he’s too shy to ask.
‘Wanna draw on my cast?’ Might as well make something nice out of the goddamn cage that it is. It’ll come off eventually.