25. ashton #2
Jody’s quiet for a moment. That always worries me.
Of the three of them, Jody’s always been the quiet one.
Everett wears his heart on his sleeve, like me, and Brooks is gung-ho and ready for a fight or a party at any given moment.
Jody is surprisingly pragmatic, far smarter than anyone ever expects him to be, and if you don’t know him well, his calm demeanor often looks like stoicism.
But when he’s around his friends and his family, Jody is the life of the party, always with something to say.
“Nah. Mom’s got some thoughts. It’s all under control. Don’t worry your pretty face about the horse sitch, Ashey. You’ll get frown lines.”
“Don’t call me Ashey. And you leave my frown lines alone.”
“You got one right here…” Jody pokes a finger at my face and I swat him away.
“You want my help, Fisher?”
“Yes, please. I’m sorry, Ashey. I promise I won’t ever joke about your wrinkles—”
“Thin ice, Fisher.”
“I won’t joke about frown lines or call you Ashey, or—”
“Just take me to the horses, ‘kay?” I shove him lightly with my shoulder as we navigate the hallway of his parents’ home. He stumbles into the wall and I cackle, walking ahead.
“Is that Ashton? Oh, honey! Let me look at you.” Ms. Angie appears from a doorway beneath the staircase, peering over her orange-rimmed glasses.
With open arms, she closes the distance between us and gathers me into a hug, crushing the folder in my arms between our bodies.
“The city looks good on you, Ashton, but you’re glowing back on the ranch, pretty girl. ”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she—like the rest of this whole damn town—is hell-bent on convincing me to come back for good.
“Hi, Ms. Angie.” I press a kiss to her cheek. Along with Ms. Josie and my own mom, this woman practically raised me as her own. “Mom sent these for you.”
“Oh! Perfect, thank you.” She seems to know exactly what the folder contains, and I just nod. I didn’t ask Mom what the paperwork was, and I don’t ask now. It’s enough for me to know that it’s taken care of, and that the project seems to be—by all accounts—a success.
Much like my day spent breaking horses with Jody. We make great progress with a newly-acquired yearling, and by the time we call it a day, we’re both a little dusty and bedraggled, but the ache in my muscles is a delicious reminder of why I love working with horses. Jody walks me back to my truck.
“You been wearin’ that hat a lot more lately, huh. Makes you look like a real cowgirl.” Jody flicks the brim of my hat as we near the truck. I swipe his hand away and reach for his waist. He dodges me with a chuckle. He’s always been ticklish.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that,” I say carefully.
Mom noticed I’ve been wearing it more, too.
I’m not sure I want to admit that I’ve been wearing it more often since Brooks said it looked good on me.
I’m not sure I want to know what it means that this hat has been my first choice since then.
“Harriet always says I’m a big tough cowgirl, so I figured I might as well lean into it. ”
“She ain’t wrong.” We reach the truck and I open the door, ready to climb in. “Don’t suppose you’ve baked any more cookies lately…” Jody braces a hand on the roof.
“For you?” I ask. I bite my tongue between my teeth in a wicked smirk. “Not at all.”
And I haven’t really baked cookies. Not since the night Brooks came over the first time. I have, however, gone a little wild with cupcakes this week. “Got some little cupcakes, though. Sprinkles and everything. Wanna come over and grab some?”
“Is the pope Catholic?” he asks. I bite back a smirk. “I’ll follow you?”
“’Kay. Think I’ve got some spaghetti and meatballs leftovers if you wanna stay and hang out a while.”
“Ashton Tanner cooking for me? Hell fuckin’ yeah. Let me go change and I’ll follow you back.”
I climb into my truck, a smile on my face at Jody’s excitement.
“Y’ever notice all y’alls horses got food names?”
I pop up from where I’ve been digging a casserole dish from the cupboard beneath the counter. “What’s that?”
“Y’alls horses. You hungry when you name ‘em, or somethin’?”
I frown, and Jody continues, “You got Garlic. Gumbo. Macaroni. Mayo.”
“We got Juicy Lucifer, too,” I point out with a smirk. “Pretty sure you named him.”
“Juice,” Jody agrees, counting off on his fingers. “Y’all had Fruit Loop, too.”
“And Sushi Roll,” I say, remembering a horse we lost several years back. “Guess I never really thought of it, but yeah. You know we Tanners love our food.”
“Food and horses,” Jody says. “It’s the Texas way.
” He walks slowly along the edge of the counter that separates my living area from the kitchen.
There are drawers and open shelves on either side of the counter, and he opens each drawer on the living room side in turn, poking around its contents before closing it again.
I have plenty of plans to remodel this space a little.
I want to close off the kitchen some more for a little separation between living and eating spaces, especially considering how much work I do in the kitchen.
But for now, it’s an open plan space, which means Jody can poke around my house and I can watch him.
Reston was right. His brother really is an insufferable snoop.
“Huh,” he says. I turn to him, hands still inside the fridge, gathering salad vegetables. He’s holding a familiar piece of folded, worn tan leather with the letters BH burned into the lower right-hand corner. “Why’s Brooks’s wallet here?”
Shit.
Well, you see, it’s a funny story. Our best friend railed me so hard on the couch that I had the couch cushion creases imprinted on my face, and just when my ears stopped ringing, he carried me to the shower and did it again.
And then we were both so thoroughly fucked, in more ways than one, that neither of us noticed his wallet fall out of his jeans when he got dressed to leave.
I can’t say that. Instead, I do the one thing Jody accused me of being terrible at. I lie.
“Oh, he came over. Watched a movie, but he fell asleep on the couch and I didn’t have the heart to wake him.
Must’ve fallen out of his pocket, because I found it in the cushions after he went home.
” I turn back so I’m speaking into the fridge, my voice a little raised.
But this way, Jody can’t see my face, so at least he won’t see how red my cheeks are, and the panic I know for sure is showing in my eyes.
Or the tear that slips down my cheek when the weight of this secret starts to become too heavy.