Chapter 4 – Kaityln #2
At first, I thought their hesitation was due to my age. I refused to believe it was my sex. But as the months kept passing without making partner, I had to wonder if the reason was maybe both.
“Hey, you know that’s on them though, right? You’re not the problem. That big brain of yours is not the problem. It’s their insecurity. They’re the problem.”
“Tag?” I said. “Are you a feminist cowboy?”
He slumped back down into his chair. “Card-carrying,” he said, and he popped his hat back over his face like this conversation was over.
Maybe it was because he wasn’t looking at me, or because I’d talked my way into the center of all my fears, but I found myself asking the question I didn’t know how to answer. And nothing bothered me more than a question I didn’t know how to answer.
“What if I can’t save the Swinging D?”
“You’ll save it,” he said, from under his black cowboy hat. Again, as if it were fact. As if by speaking it into existence, Tag Durham could make it so.
I watched him without him realizing it. I admired the length of his jean-covered legs that filled up the space in front of him. His heavy thighs manspreading all over the luxury leather seat.
Suddenly, and without warning, I imagined him telling me, hat still covering his face, to get down on my knees in front of him. Between those thick thighs. He’d tell me to unbuckle his belt, reach inside his button fly jeans, stroke him until he got hard. Bend over and…
“Sunshine?”
My name startled me out of the fantasy. He couldn’t know what I was thinking. He couldn’t see how flushed I was. He couldn’t feel my body heat across a foot of aisle.
Could he?
“Yes?” I croaked.
“You’ll let me know when we’re getting close to home?”
“You bet.”
“Hmm.” The sound he’d made was nothing more than a satisfied hum. Still, I felt it between my legs.
This was unfortunate. When I fixated on something, that fixation took up my entire existence. Until I either satisfied the craving for it, or through sheer force of will, expelled it like a poison from my system.
It was how I eliminated chocolate ice cream, pasta carbonara and nail biting from my life.
Compared to losing ice cream, this unfortunate fascination with Tag Durham was nothing.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
“I forgot how flat it is,” I said, as I stepped off the plane onto the tarmac in Big Horn.
A hot wind blew across the high plains, and the sun sat fat and golden in the bright blue sky. It was endless, windy and…beautiful.
I’d forgotten that, too.
Tag was at the bottom of the narrow plane steps, his hand stretched out for me to take. The white linen dress matched with canvas wedges was probably a ridiculous choice. But I’d decided to suit up in my Ralph Lauren armor this morning
I had no choice but to take his calloused hand in mine. His palm hot, his fingers strong. As soon as I was on solid ground, I pulled my hand away and fought the urge to wipe my palm against my dress that was already gathering the red dust of Wyoming around the buttons.
I stared out at all the green around us. So much green. Late Spring in Wyoming was the epitome of the word. The fields on the far side of the airport were full of Indian paintbrush and lupine.
I tilted my head back and tried to take in the blue sky above me.
It was fathomless.
“God, that sky is big,” I breathed.
“Big Sky is Montana,” Tag said. “Our sky is just regular sized.”
No, it wasn’t. It went on and on without a skyscraper or a sidewalk in sight. It made the earth feel round. All flat earthers should stand in this spot just to feel the curvature of the planet.
The mountains were to the East. We didn’t have the skiing culture of the Tetons, but Bighorn National Forest was about an hour away from Last Hope Gulch and featured some modest ski lodges.
Tag picked up both his beat up duffle and my Louis Vuitton carryon. Which should have looked out of place slung over his shoulder, but somehow didn’t.
“You want to go home first, or directly to the Lodge?” he asked over his shoulder.
He looked like an ad for Louis Vuitton.
The Lodge was what everyone in town called the main building on the McGraw ranch. There were a few scattered homes in and around the property, Tag and his dad’s place being one of them. But the Lodge was where the family had lived until they all moved out.
Now there was a Calloway living there.
Somewhere in the McGraw section of the cemetery, a dozen McGraws were rolling over in their graves.
Going home meant Mom. Maybe Bliss and Amity, too, if they were around.
The Lodge at least meant Harmony, and as always, I found it easier to start with her.
“The Lodge. I want to cut right to the chase and see this nonsensical will.”
I followed him to a truck that was parked inside one of the open hangars.
At the other end of the landing strip, there was a modest building that served as the only airport to the northeast region of the state.
There was a single rental car option and minimal parking.
These private hangars were for the big land owners in the state, of which McGraw was one of the largest.
Tag put our luggage in the bed of the truck and opened the door for me, but then hesitated as if considering something.
He looked, if I was honest, worried.
“Everything okay?” I asked. He winced really quickly, like he’d come to a hard decision about something, but then he nodded. “Yeah, everything is fine. But you might want to call your sister. Give her a heads up you’re coming and that you’re planning to read the will.”
I slid my phone out of my tote and did just that .
“You’re here!” Harmony squealed as soon as she answered the phone.
“Here is relative,” I said, hopping up into the passenger side of Tag’s black Ford F150. “I suppose we’ve got another hour or so drive to the ranch. I want to see this will, Harmony.”
“Really?”
“What do you mean, really? Of course I want to see it. Leroy McGraw calls me out by name and tells me from the grave I’m supposed to save his ranch? Yes, I would like to see that for myself.”
“Uh. Well. Yes. Of course. You should. Of course you should. I’ll call everyone to come over and put something together for an early dinner. We should all be here. When you read the will.”
I hadn’t seen my sister in person in years, but I knew my sister. “Harmony? What aren’t you telling me?”
“I’m not telling you what I’m cooking. Just come and we’ll have a proper family meal.”
She disconnected the call. I glanced over at Tag, who’d put on his aviators and was pulling us onto the access road that led to the highway.
“She sounded weird,” I said. “Why do you think she sounded weird?”
“Maybe marriage, in addition to killing women, turns people weird,” he offered.
“I didn’t say marriage killed women. Just that statistically…never mind. And, no, I’ve talked to her plenty of times since the wedding, and this was different. Tag, is there something else? Something you haven’t told me yet?”
“My job was to get you to come home,” he said. “I did that.”
Which very clearly didn’t answer my question.