4. ashton
four
ashton
. . .
Dry Spell - Kacey Musgraves
Do you have any idea what it’s like to show up at a bar—hell, to show up just about anywhere—with three muscled, tattooed cowboys at your back?
I mean, sure, it sounds like a hot-blooded woman’s wet dream.
But now imagine they all have faces of thunder, and anyone who even glances in your direction is turned to stone with the keep-away energy in their eyes.
Is it any wonder I didn’t lose my virginity until I left Texas?
Anyway. I’m just now starting to realize why I got the hell out of dodge.
Every head in the room turns as the door to Tell’s Tavern swings closed behind us, and I pause in the doorway.
My brother stands directly behind me, flanked on either side by Jody and Brooks.
I can almost feel the mean big brother energy radiating from all three of them as they follow me to the one empty table in the corner.
We slide up onto the tall stools, and Jody continues to frown at Henry Duquette Jr. a few tables away.
Henry’s friendly finger wave stalls mid-air and his hand slowly drops into his lap.
I feel bad. Henry’s a nice guy. A year or two older than my brother, maybe; best friends with Talia who runs the dress shop in town.
Took over his father’s barbershop business when his parents retired to Florida.
They took his sister with them—made the move just in time for her to start high school in a new state—but last I heard, she had rejected their parents’ new Floridian lifestyle and moved back to Texas.
Idly, I wonder where she is tonight as I return Henry’s wave, scowling at Jody the entire time.
“So,” I begin, resting my elbows on the tabletop and leaning forward.
I don’t even care that it’s pushing my tits together, enhancing my cleavage in my low-cut tank top.
And I especially don’t care that Brooks definitely seems to have noticed, because he’s shifting on his stool and trying hard to look anywhere but at me.
I do love watching him squirm. “Which one of you boys is buying me a drink first?”
“Sure you’re old enough to drink, Ash?” Jody flashes his signature grin, even as he pulls his wallet from his pocket. “Beer?”
Every head at the table nods, including mine, and Jody pushes away from his stool and makes his way to Cooper Tell, who is manning the bar for his father tonight.
I keep my eye on Jody as he crosses the room.
He’s stopped by no fewer than five different people—two guys I recognize, and three women I don’t—on his way.
With half an eye still on Jody, I check out tonight’s turnout.
Pretty much everyone I expected to be at the tavern is here.
Old Man Alan is holding court at a high table in the corner opposite us, a couple of older men knocking whiskey glasses together to celebrate every story told.
Miss Celia is at a regular table with a group of women—the wives of Old Man Alan’s companions included—each with a knitting or crochet project in front of them.
Clay Murphy, an old calculus classmate of Jody’s and the tattoo artist responsible for most of my tattoos, as well as Brooks, Ev, and Jody’s, is holding a woman’s hand across a small two-person table.
An empty beer bottle is in front of him, an untouched glass of wine in front of her.
At one end of the curved bar, Ross Scully, the farrier, sits alone, eyes cast down at the wood and the untouched glass of whiskey cradled in one hand.
I’ve only met Ross a handful of times. He’s on our ranch regularly—the only farrier local to the Tri-towns—but I usually seem to miss him, for some reason.
He’s always seemed nice enough, if a little quiet.
I know he and Ev get along well. He must be in his forties, but I’ve never heard anyone talk about a wife or partner.
Come to think of it, I don’t often hear anyone say much about him at all.
Cooper slides a glass of water over to him and he accepts it with a single nod of thanks, tucking it beside the whiskey, and I tear my eyes away.
It takes Jody a full twenty minutes to return, hands full with four bottles.
He dishes out beer bottles to me and Everett, keeps one for himself, and slides a glass soda bottle across the sticky tabletop to Brooks.
Brooks drew the short straw as tonight’s designated driver.
Gone are the days when I was old enough to drive but not to drink—the days when I was roped into driving my big brother and his friends into town, and picking them up to drive them home afterward.
I do love it when the tables are turned. I’ve only been home two nights, but I’ve already managed to get Jody to buy me a drink and Brooks to drive me around. Some things just come naturally to me. You can insert a little hair flip or that nail-painting emoji here.
“So,” Jody begins. “You comin’ home for good once you’re done with school, Ash?”
“Geez.” I take a long swig of my beer. “Wanna buy me flowers first, Fisher? Take me to dinner, maybe?”
“That a yes?”
“Haven’t decided yet. The city is… a lot of things.”
“Smells like hot garbage, apparently.” Brooks takes a swig of his soda and then looks pointedly at my brother. I’m not quite sure what inside joke he’s referring to, but beneath his mustache, Everett’s lips twitch into a smirk.
“Sure, in the summer, maybe. But I can order just about any kind of food for delivery. I’m never more than a two-minute walk from fancy-ass coffee or a bodega, even out in the Bronx, and the bodegas in Manhattan have cats, which is awesome.”
“Awesome for you,” Jody grumbles. “Some of us are allergic.”
“Sucks to be you, Fisher.” I take another mouthful of my beer. “Met this beautiful tortie girl last week. And my favorite ginger boy—his name is Parker, and he has the chubbiest little belly and only half a tail.”
“Half a tail?” Not even Jody can fight the intrigue on this one. Apparently, the curiosity about the social hierarchy of street cats is something to which no one is immune. Not even the cowboy with the unfortunate feline allergy.
“Got into a fight with a fat gray tom, apparently.”
“Huh.”
“Do they really just roam free around the store?” Brooks asks incredulously.
“They keep the vermin away,” Everett answers. “Maybe we should get you a cat next time we go out in Austin. Maybe you’ll escape the claws of destruction and actually make it home.”
Jody snorts as he turns to me.
“Last three times—three times? Four times? I forget—anyways, last few times we gone out in Austin, Brooks never made it home before mornin’. Ended up on the walk of shame after a night with some girl with hair higher’n the heavens.”
“Leopards never change their spots,” I respond drily, lifting the bottle to my lips. It ain’t Jody’s fault. He doesn’t know that thinking about Brooks’s proclivity for casual sex and one-night stands is a surefire way to bring my mood down. He has no idea how much I used to want to be those girls.
“No shame about it,” Brooks responds with a cheerful grin. “I ain’t shameful. I had a good time. They had a good time. Everyone was consenting.”
“Ew.” I frown. It’s not that I don’t want to think about Brooks and a night of fun.
Actually, I think Brooks would be great fun.
Those thick forearms, covered in ink that peeks out from his rolled-up plaid shirt sleeves.
The chunky gold and silver rings he wears on those long fingers.
That tongue sneaking out to wet his lips as he smirks…
Oh, yeah. He’d be great fun.
“Don’t look like you ain’t never done a walk of shame, devil.
” Brooks turns to me, and Everett glares, fingers tightening into fists on the tabletop.
Jody knocks one of them with his own and Everett calms ever so slightly.
They both know Brooks means nothing by it, but all three men are far too overprotective of me for their own good.
They’re green-flag good guys. They always have been.
Except for the day Brooks earned the nickname that matches mine. That day, they were the antagonists.
“Hey kiddo, can you head out and check the sixth paddock? I think there’s a gate open, Big John just called. He’s way past it now.”
I sigh heavily. It’s not that I really want to be doing my homework, but if I don’t get it done, Mom won’t let me go to Tristan Bartlett’s party tonight.
In the background of my brother’s phone call, I can hear Brooks and Jody, his best friends, whooping and cheering about something, and a horse whinnying.
“Evvvv,” I whine down the phone. “Why can’t you guys do it? You’re already out there!”
“We’re busy. We have actual ranch work to do, Ash.
” He talks like he’s not just four years older than me, like he and his dumb best friends don’t have homework of their own to be doing.
But at sixteen, my big brother and his friends are spending more and more time working on the ranch for real, while I’m still stuck with a handful of weekly chores and seventh grade math homework.
I toss my pen down on my desk and push myself up to my feet.
I don’t bother with boots, choosing instead to shove my feet into the sneakers at the end of my bed, and I hustle down the stairs and out of the back door.
The seventh pasture—home to paddock six—is the one closest to the main house, but it’s still a good walk, so I grab a set of ATV keys from the mud room wall and head straight for the barn where all the vehicles are kept.
On this ranch, you’re driving ‘em soon as your feet can reach the pedals.
It’s only a short drive to the paddock. When I get there, there’s a gate open, but no cattle to be found.
I can see them all four paddocks over, happily munching on grass without a care.
I grumble as I hop out of the ATV and drag the gate closed.
I’m not a small girl. I’m kinda scrawny, but strong; I’m already as tall as my mom, and I’m pretty sure I’m still growing.
But these gates are heavy as hell. The air feels somehow stagnant and alive with crackling energy at the same time; both still and disturbed as I plod with heavy footsteps back to the ATV.
As soon as I drop down into the seat, a loud horn sounds, followed immediately by cacophonous laughter and the annoyed braying of disturbed cattle.
It takes me a second to figure it out. I reach under my thighs, patting around the seat until I find it.
When I went to close the gate, one of those horrible boys must’ve snuck out and tucked a noisemaker under the thin seat cushion.
I pocket it and swing my head around, brow furrowed in fury.
They’re at the fence line, right behind me.
Everett is filming on his cell phone as Brooks and Jody laugh so hard they’re doubled over, tears streaming down all three of their faces.
“You got somethin’ goin’ on there, little devil?” Brooks asks. He’s practically gasping for breath through laughter.
“Stop calling me devil!” I yell. He started using the nickname months ago, and I’ve always hated it. Everett and Jody gave up on it after the fifth time I threatened to string them up by their balls, but Brooks still hasn’t got the message.
“That sound that came outta your ass definitely sounded like the devil.” Brooks looks mighty pleased with himself as Jody slaps him repeatedly on the arm, guffawing and gasping for air.
“Yeah? Well, you’re a—you’re a DEMON!” I yell, pressing my foot as hard as I can on the gas pedal and spinning the wheels, kicking up plenty of dirt as I tear away in the direction of home. I don’t even have to look back to know that some of that dirt landed right on my brother and his friends.
I hope they swallow it.
“You’ll never know, will you?” I say, snapping back to the present.
I don’t know where that memory came from.
The day I vowed never to fall for a boy, because they were awful.
And Brooks and Jody were obviously the most awful of all.
My anti-men stance lasted all of seven days, because after that, I went to the movie theater in Farrow with some girls from my math class and I fell head over heels in love with the cute boy who was manning the popcorn stand.
Obviously, I never saw him again, and a week after that, Brooks and Jody were once again atop the list of my favorite people.
Brooks steeples his fingers together, the dark tattoos on his knuckles blending into one black swirl in the bar’s dim lighting.
He grins at me with that same shit-eating grin he’s had since we were kids—the one that leaves my knees weak—and the tip of his tongue peeks out to run across his plump lips. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Oh, yeah. He’d be great fun.