Chapter 4 Brick
brICK
The lemonade stand smells like sugar and childhood, which is funny considering how many adults are lined up in front of it.
I’ve been to a thousand rodeos, but this little corner of the festival might be the most honest part.
The woman at the front is wringing out a rag over a bin of fresh lemons.
Kids run past barefoot, their laughter competing with the announcer’s voice echoing through the loudspeakers.
It’s one of the rare times when the noise doesn’t feel like a headache waiting to happen.
I grab my hat brim and tip it against the sun. The heat’s a heavy blanket, and I’m thinking about heading back to the trailer for water when I see her.
Dr. Annie Pearl.
She’s standing in line ahead of me, hair pulled up off her neck, scrubs traded for jeans and a plain white shirt that clings in all the right places.
She’s got her phone in her hand, thumb scrolling, jaw tight like she’s fighting with herself about something.
Probably whether she should stay or run. She doesn’t see me yet.
I take the moment to look—just look. She’s all soft edges hiding steel. Same woman from the medic tent earlier, but now the fluorescent lighting’s been swapped for sunshine, and she’s damn near blinding.
Golden-brown hair up in a ponytail, perfect for pulling from behind. Green eyes flashing behind those cat-eye sunglasses. Mind going a mile a minute. I’ve always liked that in a woman.
The line shuffles forward. She steps up, still scrolling, and the guy behind the counter leans in with the kind of grin that says he’s about to flirt.
Not on my watch.
“You should try the pink lemonade,” I say, voice lazy, drawl turned down to its natural setting.
Annie glances over her shoulder, already smiling out of politeness, until she recognizes me. Her smile drops fast enough to make me laugh. “Oh, it’s you.”
“You caught my act earlier?”
“Against my will,” she mutters, but there’s the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Glad to know I made an impression.”
“You made a lot of noise. Does that count?”
I chuckle and step closer. “Noise is half the job. Charm’s the other.”
“I’m guessing humility didn’t make the list.”
I tap my chest. “Right here, hiding under all the macho facade.”
That makes her secret smirk go sharper.
The man at the counter asks what we want, but Annie steps aside like she’d rather dehydrate than order next to me. I slide a twenty across the counter. “Two lemonades. One pink, one regular. Keep the change.”
“I didn’t ask for that,” she says, crossing her arms.
“Didn’t hear you complain either.”
She shakes her head, but I can see the corner of her mouth twitch. “You know, you flirt like it’s a sport.”
“It’s rodeo-adjacent,” I say. “We’re all about competition and form.”
The kid hands over two cups, dripping condensation. I take them both, offer her the pink one.
She hesitates, then takes it. “Thanks.”
I lift my own cup and clink it lightly against hers. “To surviving another day without getting trampled.”
She eyes the cup suspiciously. “Do you know how pink lemonade was first invented?”
“I assumed they put some strawberries in it.”
“No one knows if it’s true, but it’s said that a carnie was hanging out with a trapeze artist who wore red tights.
After her performance, she wrung out her tights over a bucket of water, turning it dark red.
” Dr. Annie shudders. “The carnie saw an opportunity, took the red water, and made pink lemonade from it to differentiate his product from everyone else’s, and it sold like gangbusters. ”
“That’s a tall tale if I ever heard one.”
She laughs before she can stop herself, then takes a sip. Her eyes flutter shut for half a second, like the cold drink’s saving her life.
“See? Worth it. Even if it’s made with some lady’s stocking dye.”
She opens one eye. “Don’t make me doubt the quality of what I’m already drinking. It tastes too good for me to stop now.”
“I knew you were a pink lemonade lady.”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. Everything goes to my head. It’s why I wear a hat—to keep the ego contained.”
That earns me a real smile, quick and reluctant, but it’s there. It changes her face. Makes her look younger, freer. She looks good when she’s not scowling. “You always this much?”
“Define ‘much.’”
“Loud. Persistent. Full of yourself.”
“Only when I’m standing near someone who looks like you.”
She lets out a small sigh, but there’s a spark in her eyes now. “You’re impossible.”
“Possible enough to make you smile.”
That one hits. She hides it behind another sip of lemonade. The line moves, people brush past us, the air fills with the clink of spurs and the whine of kids begging for candy.
I take a longer sip of my drink, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
She’s trying hard not to meet my gaze. There’s something there—interest, maybe, buried under all that stubbornness.
I’ve been around long enough to recognize when a woman’s trying to talk herself out of wanting something.
She starts scrolling through her phone again, probably pretending I don’t exist.
I can’t resist. “What’s a woman like you doing alone at a lemonade stand on a day like this?”
“Hydrating,” she says dryly.
“Hydrating’s good. Talking to strangers while hydrating’s better.”
“You’re not a stranger. Just strange.”
“Ouch,” I tease, pressing a hand to my chest. “That hurt my feelings.”
“Good. Maybe they needed the exercise.”
I take one step closer, close enough that the brim of my hat casts a bit of shade across her face. “You always this mean, or is it just for me?”
She looks up then, eyes meeting mine, sharp and bright and unflinching. “You bring it out of me.”
I grin. “That sounds like flirting.”
“It’s not.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
“Then you won’t mind if I do this.”
Before she can ask what I mean, I reach for her phone. She gasps, tries to pull it back, but I’m faster. I hold it just out of reach and thumb it awake.
“Brick Wyatt!” she snaps. “Give that back!”
“Just putting my number in for when you’re in a better mood,” I say, grinning while I type.
“You’re out of your damn mind.”
“Comes with the job description.” I hand it back. “There. Now if you ever need help finding that smile again, you know who to call.”
She stares at me like she can’t decide whether to slap me or laugh. “What if I’m never in a better mood?”
“Then you should definitely text me,” I say. “Because I’m real good at changing moods.”
She laughs then, real and bright, and the sound hits somewhere deep in my chest. She tries to cover it with a mock glare, but she’s already blushing. “God, you’re cocky.”
“I prefer confident.”
“I prefer quiet.”
“Good luck finding that around here,” I say, taking another sip. “Noise and chaos are part of the charm.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but someone calls her name—Jaden, the nurse from earlier, waving her over from across the midway. She turns toward him, relief flashing across her face.
“Saved by the bell,” I say.
She hesitates, then nods once, conceding the point. “Thanks for the drink, Wyatt.”
“My pleasure, Doc.”
She starts to walk away, and I can’t help watching. She’s got this confident stride, the kind of walk that says she knows how to handle herself even when the ground’s uneven. She turns once halfway down the path, catches me still looking, and rolls her eyes.
Yeah. She’s interested.
I know it the way I know how to stay on a bull—from instinct, from years of reading small movements and knowing exactly what they mean. She’ll text. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but she’ll think about it.
I’m still grinning when someone claps a hand on my shoulder.
“Dad,” Levi says, voice low and amused. “You realize I just watched you flirt like a teenager, right?”
I turn to face him, pretending to look offended. “That’s called being friendly.”
He nods toward Annie, who’s now half-hidden by the crowd. “Friendly looks a lot like flirting.”
“You know how it goes at these things,” I say, slipping my hat back into place. “You should always make nice with the on-site doctor.”
Levi smirks. “Sure. That’s what that was.”
“Don’t start,” I warn, but he’s already laughing.
“You’re lucky Blaze didn’t see that. She’d post it with the caption Dad shoots his shot.”
“Blaze doesn’t need more ideas,” I say, grimacing. “She’s already a handful.”
He grins, all white teeth and youth. “You love it.”
He’s right. I do. Even when she drives me crazy.
I start walking, and Levi matches my pace. The dust swirls around our boots, glittering in the sunlight. The fairground’s buzzing louder now, the sound of another event kicking up. Somewhere out there, the announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling riders by name.
It’s good, this noise. It’s familiar. But for a moment, I feel a tug in my chest that’s got nothing to do with bulls or crowds or the ache in my knees.
Sixteen years. That’s how long it’s been since Vicki died.
Sixteen years of one-night stands and short-lived flings.
Technically only ten—I couldn’t wrap my head around being with another woman for the first six years after she was gone.
Ten years of pretending that keeping my heart locked up is the same thing as honoring her memory.
Vicki and I met in middle school, alphabetized into fate—White, Wyatt.
We grew up side by side, built a life before we even knew we were building one.
She gave me four kids and a reason to keep riding.
And then one bad drive home after a show, one truck that didn’t see her coming, and it was just… over.
I haven’t been in love since. I’ve been careful about that. Careful not to get close enough for anyone to matter.
I don’t like that thought. It feels dangerous now, like I’m dooming myself somehow. So I shove it back down where it belongs.
Levi waves a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Dad. You zoning out again?”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About how your sister’s probably driving Ford crazy right about now.”
He laughs. “That’s a given. But seriously, you okay? You looked…I don’t know. Weird.”
“I’m fine,” I lie easily. “Just a long day.”
He studies me for a second, then shrugs. “Blaze is up soon. We should head over.”
“Right,” I say, clearing my throat. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
We turn toward the arena. The crowd noise swells as we get closer, that familiar rush of anticipation before the gates fly open. I slip my hand along the brim of my hat, put on what my kids call my “Dad smile”—the one that says everything’s fine, even when it isn’t.
Levi doesn’t notice. He’s already scanning the lineup, excited and proud of his little sister.
I match his energy, laughing when he nudges me, pretending like my head isn’t still full of a woman with dust on her jeans and pink lemonade on her lips.
Blaze is about to ride, and that’s where my attention belongs. Not on what I can’t have. Not on what I might want. I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and let the noise of the arena drown everything else out.