13. South Boundary #3
Not the almost smile. Not the careful managed version she deploys when something has caught her off guard. The real one. Wide, undefended, aimed directly at me across a dusty arena in front of the entire town of Silver Ridge.
It hits me harder than the feed bag explosion.
Considerably harder.
Second place turns out to be a big deal in Silver Ridge.
I discover this when I come out of the arena gate and am immediately absorbed into a situation I didn't see coming.
Pearl Bishop reaches me first, which is impressive given that she is seventy-eight years old and was sitting in the middle of the stands, and she takes my arm with her small firm hand and announces to nobody in particular that she knew it all along.
Jolene is right behind her with a plate of something from the concession stand that she presses into my free hand with the satisfied expression of a woman whose prediction has been validated.
Harvey Miller nods at me from six feet away with the particular nod he reserves for things that have earned his quiet respect.
Earl Bishop says, "Not bad, Money Bags. Feed bag was rough."
"The seam was compromised," I say.
"Seams are always compromised," Earl says. "That's ranch life."
I accept this.
Wyatt Boone claps me on the shoulder hard enough to confirm he was a former rodeo cowboy and tells me the cattle sorting was the cleanest second run he's seen in three years of this event. I file that away with the particular satisfaction of a man collecting evidence against his own self-doubt.
Maisie hits me somewhere around the midsection at full speed.
That seems to be her preferred method of expressing strong emotion, she wraps both arms around me and says into my shirt, "I knew it.
I knew it. I knew it." Her five dollar bet is apparently secure and she is thrilled about both things equally.
Remy appears with the foam finger still in hand and tells me the feed bag explosion was the funniest thing he's seen at this rodeo in four years and that he means that as a genuine compliment. Silas stands beside him and says nothing, which from Silas in this context means everything.
Weston finds me in the middle of it.
He moves through the gathering with his easy confidence, first place ribbon on his shirt, hand extended. I shake it. His grip is firm, his smile is genuine enough, his eyes are doing something slightly more complicated than his smile.
"Good run," he says. "That cattle sort was solid."
"Thanks," I say. "Good competition."
He holds the handshake a beat longer than necessary. "You've settled in faster than I expected," he says. Low enough that it's directed at me specifically. "I'll give you that."
"Silver Mesa will do that to you," I say.
He looks past me briefly toward where Laney is standing with June, then back at me. Something moves across his face that he puts away quickly. "Yeah," he says. "I imagine it will."
He moves on.
I watch him go and feel nothing competitive anymore. Just settled. The way you feel when something has been decided without anyone making a formal announcement about it.
Laney appears at my elbow.
The crowd has shifted toward the concession area and the stage where the live music is starting up, the particular afternoon energy of a community event finding its next gear. It's just us for a moment in the small quiet space the crowd has left behind.
She looks at me.
I look at her.
She has feed dust on her sleeve from where she grabbed my arm at the rail.
She hasn't noticed or hasn't cared. Both options are equally her.
"Second place," she says.
"Weston beat me by eleven seconds."
"Weston has been doing this his whole life."
"I know."
She's quiet for a moment. Looks at the arena where the cattle are being moved back out. Looks at her boots. Looks at me.
"I was proud of you out there," she says. You looked pretty sexy too. Plain, direct, no qualification around it. Not the accidental version from the round pen weeks ago. A deliberate, conscious, chosen statement delivered to my face in the afternoon sun.
Something moves through me, slow, warm, certain.
"Yeah?" I say quietly.
"Don't make it weird," she says.
"I'm not making it weird."
"You're doing the face."
"What face."
"The face you make when something means more to you than you want to show." She pulls her hat down slightly. "I've learned your faces."
I look at her in the afternoon light, feed dust on her sleeve, hat pulled down, the whole of Silver Ridge moving around us.
"Laney," I say.
"Mm."
"I'm going to kiss you in front of this entire town in about ten seconds if you don't give me a reason not to."
She looks at me for a long moment.
Doesn't give me a reason.
I close the distance between us, right there in the Silver Ridge Arena on a Saturday afternoon with Jolene watching from the concession stand.
Pearl Bishop is saying something to Harvey Miller.
Remy makes a noise somewhere behind us that carries over the opening notes of the live band.
She kisses me back with both hands on my shirt, and the particular certainty of someone who has stopped looking for reasons not to.
The band plays.
The crowd moves.
Maisie says somewhere nearby, with enormous satisfaction,
"I knew it!"