Twelve
TWELVE
Bea
I poked around the kitchen, looking for the cold breakfast items the website promised. In the fridge, I found some pre-cut fruit, yogurt, bagels and cream cheese. The coffee grounds I found in the cabinet over the coffee pot were expired by six months. I made a cup anyway and gagged it down. My caffeine needs trumped taste at the moment.
I’d changed my clothes and put my muddy stuff in the washer I discovered off the kitchen behind slat doors. The two outfits I had in my carry on weren’t very ranch friendly—one white tennis outfit, and a pink tank top and skinny jeans—but they were better than nothing. I chose the tennis outfit today.
A gigantic clip held my messy hair up—Tag’s shampoo was definitely not frizz-taming. But the spicy, manly smell of his clothing and bath products lingered on my skin. I breathed deeply every so often.
My brain bounced from thought to thought, worrying and wondering about him and why he seemed to resent the sight of me. Ever since he realized I wasn’t some random Meadowbrook guest, he’d done nothing but frown and barely said a word.
Speaking of guests…nothing about this place felt very hospitable? No w that I was properly clothed, I planned to take a peek around. Was I the only “guest” here?
The side door opened and Jesse stepped in. His smile was a warm regard, his demeanor as friendly as he was over the phone. His vibe was through-and-through cowboy. He wore an olive t-shirt tucked into faded jeans, a bronze belt buckle, and a cream colored felt hat. He was shorter than Tag, but buff, kind of stocky. Seemed genuinely kind. I liked him.
“Bea, hey.”
“Hi.”
A little boy was on his heels, obviously Jesse’s son. They shared the exact same almond shaped eyes. Jesse put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “This is Cade.”
“Cade, nice to meet you. I’m Bea.”
He lifted his hand in a silent wave.
Jesse got to the point. “Tag wanted me to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“So, we’ve got a little bit of a situation. Cade and I are heading out on a trip today, and Tag needs someone to drive the sheep to the rodeo.”
Rodeo?
“I know this is a total shot in the dark, considering you just got here, but since you and Tag are friends, I thought I’d ask if you would be willing to try driving the trailer. He’s prepared to pay you for your time.”
He told Jesse we are friends?
I stood like a deer in the headlights. “Uhh…okay.” I had to coerce my brain away from the friends comment. “How long is the trailer?”
“Twenty-eight feet.”
“And the drive?”
“Four hours.”
My expression must’ve demanded an explanation. He rushed, “And it’s fine if you don’t want to, I just thought there’d be no harm asking.”
My gaze narrowed. “Are you asking? Or Tag? ”
His gaze rolled away with a smile, “ I am, but only because he’s too stubborn to ask himself. Deep down, he likes the idea.”
“Deep down?”
“Okay, if I’m shooting straight, he told me not to ask you, but I did anyway.”
I thumbed over my shoulder. “Is the 3500 out there the hauling truck?”
Jesse’s eyebrows rose, a smile playing at his lips. I guessed he was surprised I knew it was a 3500. “It is.”
“My dad is a truck driver, so I’ve had to listen to a lot of information about trucks.”
“Ah, nice.”
“I’m open to it, but I might need a crash course.” I took a sip of my coffee again, forgetting it tasted like toasted raisins, and grimaced.
Jesse grimaced, too. “Is that fresh?”
I shook my head, fighting the urge to reach for a chaser.
“That pot needs to be tossed. Cade go get some fresh grounds from our cabin for Miss Bea.”
An hour later, I cut the wheel hard right, watching for the fence through the side view mirrors. I eased off the brake, letting the hitch fully straighten, then let the turn unravel, the wheel spinning against my hand.
“Good. Good.” Jesse said from the passenger’s seat where he was squished in with Cade. “You’re doing amazing.”
Once straight, I watched the back-up camera until the trailer doors almost kissed the fence. I put it in park and turned to my passengers with a smirk. “How was that?”
“Real good. One more time.” He pointed across the field to a little fence full of crammed together sheep. “Drive up the road then back up to the green painted fence there. See it?”
“Yeah. I see it.”
I drove up the gravel driveway, where we passed Tag and an older gentleman loading horses into the back of a semi. Tag looked at the truck, then did a double-take. I smiled and zoomed past him, gassing a little more than I should’ve.
“So, rodeo, huh?” I asked as I drove. “What does Meadowbrook do, exactly? Back in the day it used to be a beef outfitter.”
Jesse nodded. “Yep. It’s only about eighty acres now. Tag is a roughstock contractor. He has a reputation for training some vicious broncs.”
“Broncs?”
“Bucking horses.”
Vicious ? Tag used to be so tender with animals. Did he have to mistreat the horses for them to be vicious? I gave my head a light shake. I couldn’t imagine Scribbs ever mistreating anything—especially a horse.
And eighty acres? Didn’t Meadowbrook used to be hundreds? What happened to all the land? There was so much to unpack in what Jesse had told me. I shoved it out of my mind as I put the truck in reverse, a low beeping signal filling the air as I eased off the brake.
I didn’t vocalize any of those thoughts. “Huh. Rodeo horses. How many are there?”
“Forty.”
“Wow. That’s a lot.”
“Yeah, keeping them in tip top shape is a lot of work.”
“How many employees are here?”
“Aside from Tag, there’s me, and a weekend employee.”
I couldn’t stop the physical reaction to his answer. My head jerked backward in surprise. “You and Tag do everything?”
“Sure do. I mean, Tag contracts a trainer, but we do everything else.”
Once I parked, Jesse hopped out and pulled the trailer doors down to load up the sheep. Tag walked across the drive toward us. I rolled the window down, simultaneously annoyed and amused by the frown on Tag’s face. Was he always so cranky?
“What’s goin’ on here?”
“Jesse said you needed a driver.”
“I don’t. I was just about to call Billy and tell him I wasn’t bringin’ the sheep. ”
“That’s too bad, Jesse says I’m a natural. Like I got diesel running through my veins or something.” I quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering if he’d remember my dad’s occupation. Years ago, I’d told Scribbs my dad drove trucks. My guess, for reasons I hadn’t worked out yet, was he’d ignore everything about our past and pretend we were strangers.
His jaw clenched, but he turned toward the trailer before I could say anything else.
I quietly slipped out of the seat and followed him, leaving the driver’s door ajar.
Tag said, quiet and hurried, “I told you not to ask her.”
Jesse’s voice was low, too. “But good thing I did. She’s great behind the wheel. You can take the sheep now, Tag.”
“I don’t have the time to entertain her at the rodeo.”
“Entertain?” Jesse scoffed as he raised the trailer doors, latching it. “She’s going to be fine. Loosen up. You said you were friends.”
Tag growled, “That’s not what I said.”
“Well, you need to be thanking me. Meadowbrook can’t afford to lose a contract.”
“I was just about to call—” Tag stopped abruptly when one of my low-top Chuck Taylors accidentally brushed the gravel.
We all stared at each other for a long, uncomfortable moment. I stuffed my hands into the silky pockets of my white tennis skirt. The breeze ruffled the wisps of my hair against my neck. A sheep bleated in agitation, a tinny sound filling the silence as their little hooves stamped into the trailer bed. “If you don’t want me to go, I won’t, but I really don’t mind helping, Tag.”
Jesse raised his eyebrows at Tag, like see?
Tag turned to me, his eyes meeting mine. “You’re a guest. Don’t you have something to do?”
I shrugged. “I’ve got three whole weeks. What’s one day of driving?”
Tag shot Jesse a disapproving look before correcting me. “ Three days. The rodeo runs all weekend.”
“Oh. Do you stay in a hotel?”
Tag’s face relaxed, he thought he found the way out. “Nope. I sleep in the semi so I don’t need hotels. Even if you wanted a room, this particular rodeo's in the middle of nowhere. Trashy motel territory. I wouldn’t blame you one bit for stayin’ here.”
“Is there room for two in the semi?”
Jesse and Tag responded at the same time.
Tag said, “No.”
Jesse said, “For sure.”
Tag deadpanned at him. Looked like he wanted to have a few private words. And Jesse’s pleased expression proved he knew how to push Tag’s buttons and enjoyed doing it.
“Perfect! I think it sounds like an adventure! I’m in.”
Jesse piped up, “Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”
“Yeah!” My gaze found Tag’s. He looked away, a soft touch of red traveling up his neck. “If I get the green light, that is.”
Tag’s shoulders dropped with a deep sigh. “Alright.”
Jesse told Cade to walk me up to the house.
On our walk, I learned Cade was eight years old, and had lived at the ranch since he was five. And there were only a few weeks left of his summer break.
“Is Tag always so…” I groped for the right word, not wanting to talk ill of him.
Cade filled in, his mossy green eyes darting up to mine. “Crabby?”
I held in a laugh. “Yeah. Crabby.”
“Mostly.”
“Any ideas why?”
His shoulders lifted in an exaggerated shrug. “My daddy says sometimes people are all tore up inside because they don’t know the difference between surviving and living.”
“Hmm. Interesting. Do you know the difference?”
“Nah, not really. But I’d guess that one makes folks pretty happy and the other just makes ‘em think about death all the time.”
I didn’t say anything else. My brain had to digest that for a few minutes.
Half an hour later, Jesse tossed my small suitcase into the passenger’s seat of the 3500, and I bid them farewell.
He ditched me.
Left me to bake in the Texas sun.
I sat in the bleachers with beads of sweat trickling down my chest and embedding into the soft fabric of my tank top. My legs ached from pressing into the firm seat. Occasionally, I lifted my thighs and rubbed the pressure scars created by the tiny grooves on the metal bench. The sun had moved from directly above to beating down my back. I needed to find shade, but hoards of people claimed the shady spots hours ago.
Mid-day rodeo activities were boring. Watching cowboys chase and tie down a cow stressed me out the first few times, but now the contestants blurred together and the commentary flew over my head. The two men directly behind me were on their fourth (maybe fifth) round of Bud Light and it was only 4 p.m. I’d bought myself a beer—a Shiner—but I was a bit spoiled to craft brews, so it grew tepid and the condensation left a sloppy ring on the metal seat.
A deep breath filled my lungs as a group of fans jumped up around me and cheered. The screaming, the blaring speakers, the smell of greasy funnel cake and alcohol wafting through the breeze, and the micro-shifting of the bleachers left me feeling disoriented—both physically and emotionally.
The pair behind me hadn’t stopped talking long enough to breathe. They’d droned on and on about the cattle, the cowboys, the organizers of the event, and a lot of other things that sounded like another language. But I did learn a few things…like the tiny cage they put the animals in so the cowboy can get on is called a bucking chute and the idiots who distracted the raging bulls once the cowboy was thrown were called bull fighters. Their chatter, educational yet annoying, filtered in and out of my consciousness.
I kept my eyes peeled for Tag.
Because I was driving his sheep, Tag passed me his number earlier. I sent him a few texts throughout the day, hoping I could get off the bleachers and tag along with him, but he never texted back. I scanned the crowd, but he was nowhere to be found. When would he go back to the semi for the night? Would he come get me?
I stood from my seat and hopped off the bleachers to take a walk, needing to clear my head. I meandered around the fairgrounds, through the vendor tents, and to the smaller arena beyond.
No Tag.
I shuffled back to the bleachers, kicking loose stones beneath my feet. The sun was finally falling a bit in the sky, and the large, now intoxicated, men cast shade over my previous spot. I plopped down, relishing in the temporary relief from the heat and inched down the bench, following their shadow as it slowly moved.
After a while, my phone rang. It was Jackie.
“Hey sis.”
“Okay, I drug your two big ass suitcases up two flights of stairs and I still haven’t gotten a picture.”
I chuckled. “Sis, sorry, but I don’t think it’ll happen anytime soon.”
She scoffed. “Because why?”
“Because he won’t even talk to me.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yes, seriously, I can’t get him to even look my direction.”
She made an invested ohh sound. “The plot thickens.”
“Yeah, I’d say it’s thickening. You’ll never believe what I’m doing right now.”