10. Clara
CLARA
Icheck the time on the clock that sits behind the bar while waiting for my drinks to be made. Forty-five minutes left. I’m so ready to get out of these silly heels and home to my babies.
Last I heard from Cole, everything was fine. The kids were asleep and he was out in his barn working on his truck. But that was almost two hours ago, and my cell is in my locker in the dressing room, so I can’t do one last check.
“The more you look, the slower it goes,” a voice says over my shoulder.
I turn to see Kendra sidling up next to me, handing her order to the bartender. I like her. She’s nice.
“What are you doin’ later?” Kendra nudges me, her smile teasing. “A few of us are gonna kick on for last drinks at The Saddlery.”
“Oh, I—” I shake my head. “No, I-I need to get home.” I consider my words carefully. “Relieve the… b-babysitter.”
“You’ve got a kid?” Her eyes light up.
“Two.” I nod, unable to hide my smile.
“Aw, how old are they?” she coos, practically gushing.
“Tom’s ten, and Billie’s five.” I beam.
We’re suddenly interrupted by Maci coming in between us with an exaggerated sigh.
“I swear to god.” She huffs, glaring back at something over her shoulder.
“If these fuckin’ cowboys don’t learn to keep their goddamn hands to ’emselves, I’ma take off my heel and use it to castrate ’em like they do those sweet baby cows. ”
I balk, looking her up and down, trying to make sense of what she just said. Not only is her accent thick, but… did she just say something about castrating cows?
“Fuckin’ calvin’ season,” Kendra mutters, shaking her head.
“I keep hearing that.” My brow knits. “What is it?”
“Busiest time of the year,” she explains. “Travelin’ cowboys migrate into town for the spring to help turn the calves out for pasture.”
“Great for tips,” Maci adds. “Ain’t nobody tip better than a drunk cowboy with a stiff one.” She glares back over her shoulder, and I see the group of four rowdy looking cowboys copping the heat of her glower. “But fuck me, they need to learn their goddamn manners.”
“You want me to get Buddy to boot ’em out, Mace?” the bartender, Kevin, interjects, placing drinks onto my tray.
Maci seems to consider Kevin’s offer before a slow grin spreads across her pretty face. “Nah, I’ll give ’em one last chance,” she says, shrugging. “Worse comes to worse, I feel like kickin’ some ass tonight.”
My eyebrows climb high in surprise because Maci is probably no more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.
“Careful Maci,” Kendra says with a throaty chuckle. “Don’t you go forgetting your parole conditions.”
With another nonchalant shrug, Maci spins on her heel and struts back to her area, and I watch her go, feeling Kendra close in on me with a laugh. “She’s a wild one.”
I glance back at her to find her smirking, watching Maci with a knowing look in her eye. I’ve never had many girlfriends in my life, but something tells me it’d be kind of fun being friends with the likes of Kendra and Maci.
I roll up the three-hundred and forty-five bucks I made in tips tonight, tucking the money into my tennis shoe and, with a wave to the girls hanging out in the dressing room, I hitch my tote bag onto my shoulder and walk out into the cool night air.
When I checked my phone as soon as I clocked off, there was no follow up text on my phone from Cole.
Not that I’d sent him anything that required a follow up, but there was no update at all.
And I suppose if the kids are in bed, and Cole’s busy in his barn like he said he was, why would there be anything?
But anxiety still swirls low in my belly as I turn off the country road into Cole’s driveway.
Hopping out of my car, my feet are killing me from those damn heels, and I practically limp across the lawn, but when I notice the barn door wide open, the lights on inside but no sign of Cole, a flicker of panic stirs in my chest. His truck is still here, so he hasn’t left, but if he’s not in his barn like he said he was, then where is he?
I hurry up the steps and jimmy the rusted knob, pushing open the door, finding the house almost eerily silent, the only light shining in through the doorway from the kitchen.
Scanning the space, I drop my bag onto the couch and step tentatively toward the opening of the short hallway that leads to the bedrooms. The door to the kid’s room is slightly ajar, and I can see Tom’s feet through the muted light.
He doesn’t like the blankets covering his feet when he sleeps, not even in the dead of winter.
When I see no sign of Billie, my heart skips a beat as a flare of panic jolts through.
I quickly move to the other bedroom—mine—and see the door is open, the glow of the lamp shining out.
Peeking in, I’m stopped suddenly by the unexpected sight, my brows knitting together because there, on the bed, lying back against the pillows, one jean-clad leg hanging off the side of the mattress, Freckles Goes to School lying on his chest, is Cole, wide awake, staring up at the ceiling.
Right next to him, cuddled up so close, snoring softly is Billie.
“Is everything okay?” I whisper.
Cole seems to startle, barely moving a muscle. His eyes flit to the side, finding me. “She fell asleep and I’m too scared to move in case I wake her…”
I bite back a smile, covering my mouth. Because not only is this the most adorable sight I’ve ever seen, but it’s also hilarious; Billie sleeps like the dead.
“She’s fine,” I assure him, walking in and reaching across, moving Billie and rolling her onto the empty side of the bed. I grab Curly from where he’s been abandoned at the bottom of the mattress, and place the dog close to her, gently smoothing my hand over her soft cheek.
Cole moves ever cautious and slower than a wet week, glancing at Billie every few seconds like he’s scared to wake her. Again, I’m forced to tamp down my smile.
“She had a nightmare,” Cole murmurs when he reaches me, smoothing back his mussed hair.
My eyes dart to Billie, widening with fear.
“She woke up screamin’,” he continues. “I was in the barn with Tommy.”
Unease stews in my gut. “Did she… say what it was about? The nightmare?”
His eyes search mine for a moment longer than necessary before he shakes his head. “I brought her in here so that Tommy could get some sleep.”
Relief causes my shoulders to sag on an exhale and I turn, walking out of the bedroom, fully aware of Cole’s overwhelming, yet in no way intimidating, presence as he follows close behind.
I grab my bag from where I left it on the couch, turning and almost colliding with him.
Taking a big step back, I clutch my bag strap tighter on instinct before forcing myself to calm down.
He hasn’t given me any reason to suspect he’s not a good guy.
I take a steady breath, knowing I need to give him the benefit of whatever doubt I have left in me.
“How was work?” Cole asks, tucking his hands into his pockets.
“It was okay.” I shrug a shoulder. “Tips were good.”
“Spring,” he says with a knowing nod. “Cowboys are in town.”
“So I’ve heard…” I smile tightly.
“You let me know if they cause you any trouble.”
I narrow one eye, smirking wryly. “What are you? The cowboy police?”
He doesn’t respond, just sniffs a laugh, his lips turning upward behind his mustache.
When Cole doesn’t make a move to leave, I rock a little awkwardly on my feet, looking around aimlessly. “So… Did you get much work done on your ’88 F250 before Billie pulled you away?” I say with a droll smile, still not sure at all what an ’88 F250 even is.
He smirks. “Actually, yeah. Tom came out and helped me for a bit.”
I quirk a brow. “My Tom?”
He nods, looking at me like I’m a little nuts.
I consider that for a moment. Tom has never shown any interest in cars or engines, or anything other than books, and math, and space.
He’s quiet, never really had many friends.
He enjoys his own company. The fact that he went out with Cole to his barn and helped him with his truck…
I can’t help but feel a spike of pride in my chest.
“I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell could use a beer.” Cole steps around me, the limited space causing his side to brush against me as he passes, and I’m momentarily caught within the wake of his scent: leather and spice, and something smoky and warm.
I watch as he walks through to the kitchen, suddenly confused when I hear the refrigerator door rattle open.
“You want one?” he calls out.
“Uh”—I consider the question, longer than I probably should—“sure…”
Seconds later, Cole returns, carrying two cans of beer that look tiny in his huge hands.
“Let’s go sit outside,” he says as he opens the front door, nodding for me to follow like I can’t possibly say no.
I place my bag back down and follow him out onto the porch, watching as he takes a seat on the step, glancing back at me over his shoulder and cracking a beer.
Nervously, I tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear and follow suit, moving to sit on the step next to him, surprised when he hands me the already opened can of Pabst.
“Thanks,” I say with a small smile, accepting the drink.
I’m not normally a beer drinker—I’m not normally a drinker—but out here, beneath the stars, with the light breeze blowing across the yard and nothing but the sound of a chirping cricket somewhere in the distance, a beer sounds like the perfect end to my night.
I take a sip, my eyes burning when the bubbles hit my tongue, but it’s cold and refreshing, and with a big swallow, I sigh contentedly, basking in the comfort of the calm silence.
“How old are you?”
Snapping back to reality, I look at Cole, confused by his sudden and unexpected question. He tips his head back, chugging a few mouthfuls of his own beer, and my eyes are instantly drawn to the way his Adam’s apple bobs with each swallow. He looks at me then, eyes finding mine.
“You asked me how old I was earlier,” he continues, shrugging. “It’s only fair you tell me.”
He has a point. In my defense I was only asking him because I was leaving my children’s lives in his hands, but I’m also the one who left them alone in a seedy motel at night so I should probably tone down my audacity. “I’m thirty-three.”
He nods slowly, his gaze so discerning, I feel the need to speak just to break the heavy silence.
“Oh,” I say, suddenly remembering the money in my shoe. I dig my fingers in and pull out the small roll of cash.
“Why you got money in your dang shoe?” Cole asks, lifting his can to his lips with a droll chuckle. “Ain’t you got a wallet or somethin’?”
I roll my eyes, trying to play it off, not willing to tell him that the reason I hide my money in my shoe is because it was the last place he would ever think to look.
Plucking two fifty-dollar notes from the bunch, I hold them out for him. “You forgot to take the fifty when you were here earlier. Here’s a hundred. For next week, too.”
Cole eyes the money as he takes another swig from his beer, his gaze lifting and meeting mine. When I don’t let up, he rolls his eyes and reluctantly takes the cash from me, and I can’t help but smile, feeling a sudden rush of accomplishment I haven’t felt in forever.
“Bruce only has me working Friday and Saturday nights at the club,” I explain, suddenly nervous.
“Okay…”
“It might mean we’re here… a little longer than I first hoped.” I glance back at the house. “But if you need us gone, we can—”
“Stay as long as you need,” he interrupts.
I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, looking down at the remainder of tonight’s tips in my hand. “Thank you.”
“But I can’t always be here,” Cole continues.
I look up, my eyebrows tugging together.
“To look after the kids,” he says, answering my unspoken question.
“Oh.” I shake my head. “That’s okay, I can figure it out.
” I don’t know how I’ll figure it out exactly, but I’m sure there’s a responsible teenager in town, looking for some babysitting hours.
I can’t expect Cole to be here every Friday and Saturday night.
I don’t know if he has a girlfriend, or a boyfriend.
Or maybe he just wants to go to the bar and spend his weekends being single. He’s entitled to that.
“I’m a bull rider.”
I jolt back, confused by his declaration.
“I’m usually riding on Friday nights, the occasional Saturday too.”
Blinking, I consider what he’s just told me, realization dawning. “You mean like… real life bulls?”
He deadpans. “Yeah…”
“Like at a rodeo or something?”
“Yes.” He sniffs another laugh, hiding his smile behind his beer can.
“Oh… wow,” I say on a breath, allowing my eyes to rake over him from his strong shoulders and arms, down his body to his long legs, finally landing on the big, calloused hand clasped around his Pabst can.
When I look up, I find him watching me from the corner of his eyes, the hint of a knowing smirk curling his lips, and I quickly avert my focus, thankful for the darkness to hide the flush that heats my cheeks. He’s hot, but he knows he is.
“So.” I begin small talk because when I’m nervous, I’m either a runner or a rambler, and right now I’ve got nowhere to run. “Did you grow up here? In Summer?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cole takes another swig from his beer.
I can’t help but smile at the ma’am, looking down at my can. “Are your folks still here?”
Cole shifts next to me, clearing his throat. I don’t know why, but I can feel the energy that surrounds him turn heavier. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, watching as he stares straight ahead, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Nope.” His answer is curt, tight, and final, leaving no room for questioning, so I keep my nosy mouth shut, looking out at the darkness, at the imaginary shadows that move through the thicket of bushes.
“You like riding bulls?” I ask after a few moments of loud silence.
“I love it.”
I roll my lips together, thinking of something else to talk about just for the sake of it. But before I can decide on a safe topic, Cole speaks first, shocking me with his words.