Chapter 47 Hattie
HATTIE
One month later
“He-Heston Landry?”
“No way.”
I look up from my phone at the sound of two curious voices. The boys standing in front of us are young, no more than eleven or twelve years old. I smile when one of them bumps the other’s arm with his elbow several times.
Even before he answers, I see it the moment they realize who they’re looking at. Their expressions are both lit up with a mix of utter disbelief and excitement, which fills my chest with pride. It’s a special sight to see.
Next to me, Heston puts his hands in his pockets and straightens his shoulders. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. I can’t hear it over the low hum of the crowd in the stands nearby, but if I had to guess, his heart is racing a million beats per minute.
I think he was hoping no one would recognize him today if he kept his hat pulled down low enough and avoided all eye contact. We’ve been here all of fifteen minutes, and that ship has already sailed.
“I can’t believe it,” the younger boy whispers in awe. “We’ve seen you on old recordings of the world finals a million times, Mr. Landry!”
“I knew it was you right away.” The lankier one with a bent-up hat that’s one size too big grins brightly and bounces on the toes of his boots. “My cousin has a poster of you in his bedroom. He’s gonna be so pissed when he finds out you were here and he wasn’t.”
“Mom said not to say the word pissed.” The other boy shoves his shoulder.
His brother ignores him, stepping forward and squinting. “You look different. Like, old, or something.”
I’ve been carefully watching Heston out of the corner of my eye, hoping the interaction wasn’t making him feel defensive out of habit. Relief washes over me when I hear him chuckle at the boy’s observation.
“That’s because I am old,” Heston says with a shrug, voice only slightly tense.
Even though he didn’t explicitly admit it, I knew he was nervous about attending a rodeo today.
For the first time since he left this world behind, he’s making an appearance at a circuited event that’s anything but small or local.
I think he’s convinced himself that anyone who might recognize him here will only remember the less-than-stellar reputation he’d earned before his career ended abruptly.
“Can we take a picture with you?” The shorter of the two boys asks.
“Yeah, Mr. Landry. Please!”
I hold my hand out to the boy who’s holding a phone. “I’ll take it for you.”
“Thanks, lady,” he says, handing me the phone and rushing to Heston’s side.
The younger brother corrects his brother again. “Ma’am.”
Heston towers over the boys, so much so that I have to laugh at the stark size difference. He stands between them and places a hand on each of their shoulders.
I lift the phone, framing the two starstruck kids and their hero in the center of the screen.
When I lift my eyes over the phone after opening the camera app, a quiet reverence lands on my heart.
It almost causes tears to pool in my eyes.
The boys are leaning into Heston like he hung the moon.
He stands, easy and patient, as I take my time admiring how he looks with a kid on either side of him.
I smile, and he mirrors me with a subtle curve to his lips.
I’m not just looking at the man I fell in love with. I’m looking at a glimpse of the future and the life we’re going to build together.
Knowing kids have short attention spans, I shake off my wistful thoughts and quickly snap a few photos before handing the phone back.
“Dad!” The younger boy shouts after hugging Heston’s leg enthusiastically. “Over here!”
A guy about Heston’s age approaches, hands full with a drink carrier and a giant tray of nachos. The closer he gets, the slower his steps become and the more his eyes widen.
“Wow,” he says, shaking his head. He hands the drink carrier to his older son, removes his dove gray hat, and reaches toward Heston for a handshake. “I’m Tanner, and these are my boys, Joel and Wes. Pleasure to meet you. Just—wow.”
“Nice to meet you,” Heston replies.
“Can he sit with us, Dad?”
Tanner laughs, shaking his head and taking the drinks back. “Not this time, bud. They’ve got their own seats, I’m sure.”
Heston pulls a pass attached to a red lanyard from his back pocket. After he helped Granger at check-in earlier this week, he was given the pass for full access behind the chutes for both the bracketed rounds and the finals. He hands it to the boy with a stern look.
“Don’t bother the barrel racers too much.”
The kid is speechless and darts his eyes between his brother and dad. “Are you freaking kidding me right now?”
“Have fun, boys,” Heston says. He nods at Tanner and takes my hand to lead me toward the stands. “Y’all have a nice day.”
I glance over my shoulder as the boys disappear into the crowd behind us. Their excitement is still spilling over as their dad tries, and fails, to rein them in.
Heston’s grip on my hand is firm and steady. I squeeze back, not wanting to let go of him or the moment I just witnessed anytime soon.
When we finally climb the steps and reach our seats in the arena, the rest of our crew is already spread out in the row.
Tripp leans back with his arm draped over Mesa’s shoulder as he tosses popcorn in the air and catches it in his mouth.
Warren leans forward to accept a bottle of water from Gage, then promptly hands it to Savannah, who kisses him on the cheek.
Blythe tips her gaze up to me with a warm smile.
“They just wrapped up the bareback riding,” she says. “You’re just in time.”
I take the seat next to her while Heston drops down to the one on the other side of me.
Interacting with people around the stands might make him nervous, but when it comes to the events, he’s disturbingly calm.
I smooth a hand over his thigh. He covers it with his own while keeping his eyes trained on the far end of the arena.
“It’s hot as balls in here,” Tripp says, rubbing a hand down his abdomen.
Gage huffs. “Please keep your shirt on.”
Laughter ripples through the group, and I soak in the sound. Things on the ranch have been going well since the bunkhouse burned down, but the mood has still been a little somber. It’s nice to see the guys lightening up again.
Finding normalcy again may not happen in the near future, but looking forward anyway has been the best thing for all of us.
Tripp and Mesa are gearing up for summer camps at the cottage. The garden there is happy to have had more rain this year, and the new greenhouse they put up is lined with new working tables, waiting to be covered in soil by a messy group of eager kids learning how to grow their own tomatoes.
Blythe started her last year of residency, and I know Gage has been itching to break ground on a new bunkhouse. It’s all he and Granger talk about after insurance finally accepted the inspection report from the night of the incident.
Warren recently received a small-business award, and Westridge is throwing a big party in his honor in a few weeks.
He’s got the whole dang town wrapped around his finger, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he were elected mayor someday.
Savannah has seemed more relaxed lately.
I’m happy to see her that way because her position at the law firm can be grueling at times.
I think she prefers everything outside of work to feel as soft, sweet, and slow as possible.
A shot of adrenaline makes me shiver when loud music cuts in through the speakers. The announcer gives the audience an exhilarating rundown of the next event—steer wrestling.
I lean forward to look down the row at our friends. They were all in desperate need of a weekend away from the ranch, but more than anything, they were adamant about wanting to show their support for Heston and Granger.
We don’t owe each other our time, unconditional loyalty, and pieces of ourselves. But that’s the best part, I think. We show up because we want to. The permanent stitch between us is rare, and I don’t take it for granted that not a single one of us will ever have to stand alone.
The lights in the indoor arena are cut off, leaving only a laser show to illuminate the space. Glancing to the side, I can still make out the strong features in Heston’s profile. Unlike the bundle of nerves racing beneath the surface of my skin, he seems content.
He missed this. There’s something about seeing him in his element that’s mesmerizing, and I can’t look away from him as he scans the rodeo grounds. The way his hat, sharp and black, sits perfectly on his head makes it nearly impossible not to bite the corner of my lip.
The jumbotron flashes with the headshot and stats of the first athlete. The overhead lights come back on, and I do my best not to cover my eyes each time a new bull digger backs his horse in the box.
After the eighth run, it’s finally Granger’s turn. During the first few rounds, Heston stuck close to the chutes. Now that the kid has made the short go with a chance to win the event, I think Heston wanted to push him out of the nest and see how he operates without being talked through it.
Our spot in the stands is still close enough to see how intensely he’s focusing on his horse and the steer in the chute next to them. Dr. Mike is dancing on the spot with her ears pinned forward, dying to take off the second she gets her cue.
I hold my breath and squeeze Heston’s thigh with a painful grip as Granger locks eyes with the pusher. He leans forward, clenches his jaw, and the crowd falls silent.
His nod is so sharp and quick that I’d have missed it if I’d blinked. The chute gate flies open, and Granger and his horse burst out of the box. I only exhale once they’re out clean without breaking the barrier.
The cheers start ringing through the stands when the kid slides off the saddle less than three seconds into the run. Dr. Mike breaks expertly to the left, and I only give myself a moment to admire her power and flashy speed.