Three
Eric found Rachel stomping back to the farmhouse, the sun casting neon pink over the pastures and glinting off her ponytail like gold thread.
“Hey.” He fell in step beside her, hands shoved in his pockets. After his outburst in the barn earlier that day, after all the silent heat swimming between them unbidden, he felt strangely shy trying to have a normal conversation. Well, normal considering.
“Hey, yourself.” Rachel paused, taking off her cap to wipe a tired hand over her brow.
Her dark eyes sparked in the sunset, and Eric wasn’t sure he’d noticed all her freckles before.
He swallowed against a dry throat, trying to drag his mind back to a question and not the thought of kissing every fleck on her cheek. “You change your mind already?”
Eric shook his head, hard, the mission at hand hauling him back from his lusty daydream. “Opposite, actually. I wanted to ask when we should practice.”
“Tonight,” Rachel nodded, fixing her cap back on with a sharp tug.
She thrust her arm at the barn in a point.
“Listen to what I’m saying, don’t mind what I’m doing.
We can meet in the barn after Gran’s 8’o’clock news goes off.
She falls asleep in her chair and wouldn’t hear the devil stealing her slippers.
” Rachel turned so her shoulders were square with the sprawling pastures in front of them, but kept her face to Eric.
She waved her hands like she was giving an enthusiastic lecture, but her voice remained serious and hushed.
“The show’s in five days, so best jump in and see how we do.
Give ourselves time to make it convincing.
” She pivoted again, squinting at Eric as if he’d asked an impossible question, putting both her hands on her hips.
“Get yourself registered as a bull in the meantime. Got it?”
“What are you doing?” Eric couldn’t swallow the half-laugh that escaped at her ridiculous display.
“You two getting along now?” Illeana called from the porch.
“Just giving this city slicker the rundown.” Rachel waved cheerily, arching her eyebrows at Eric as she stomped past him up the drive.
Back still turned, he dug out his phone, frustration zinging through him at the satellite icon where his service bars usually were. How was he supposed to look up the rodeo and get registered without drawing Illeana’s attention? He doubted he could just ask for the WIFI password.
Eric turned on his heel, hoping to catch Rachel before she got through the front door, but the cowgirl was already tugging off her boots and chatting animatedly with Illeana.
They both waved their hands in the air as if swatting invisible, persistent flies.
Something must’ve been funny, because Rachel threw her head back and laughed—a whole body magic that fixed Eric to the spot.
He couldn’t quite hear her, but he wished he could—wished he was the inspiration for the bright smile that cracked her face.
“Hurry up, slowpoke,” Illeana called, ushering Rachel inside. “I made chili—vegetarian, just for you.”
Eric dragged his hooves into gear, confusion building hesitancy in his approach. He followed Illeana’s retreating back into the familiar space, lit bright against the coming twilight.
Get yourself registered. There was such determination in Rachel’s face, such surety in her demand—he’d seen CEOs with less confidence. The best he figured for now was trusting she had some unspoken plan that he should follow.
Inside, Eric carefully guided his horns through the entry, settling back at the table where he’d stormed off mere hours ago.
To her credit, Illeana fussed around the kitchen as she usually did—as if there hadn’t been an argument about her end-of-life affairs and the wants of those she considered her closest kin.
She sloshed fragrant chili into a bowl, piling it with a heaping portion of shredded cheese, green onions, and sour cream.
Fresh-baked bread steamed from the middle of the table as Eric accepted his dinner with a grateful murmur.
Rachel, across from him, was already slurping happily at hers, but despite the show of being fascinated by her meal, he could feel her eyes digging into him.
Heat dragged over his hide at her attention, tickling across his body and sending a jolt to a part of him he’d much rather be ignored.
He cleared his throat, pretending the beans and veggies were the most interesting thing he’d seen in years.
“So, Gran, I figure it’s about time we call Roger.” Rachel broke the silence between loud spoonfuls, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder nonchalantly.
“Rachel Anderson, we’ve discussed this—”
Rolling her eyes, the farmgirl whipped her hat off, looping the back band around the post of her seat. “Can I finish my thought now, ma’am?” The address was anything but respectful.
“You know good and well I didn’t mean your damned cap.” Illeana crossed her arms over her chest, leaning a hip against the wooden counter.
“Maisy’s looking like she’s got an abscess and I worry if Darla doesn’t calve soon, my theory will be true.” Rachel continued as if she hadn’t heard her grandma.
“Calves come when they come.” Illeana returned to the chili pot, spooning herself a more modest portion—barely more than a cup, Eric noticed.
“And if she never calves? And I’m right?” Rachel brandished her spoon for emphasis. “We can’t have a cannibal in our pasture, Gran.”
Eric choked on his chili, the spice snorting painfully up his throat and into his snout. “What?” He sputtered.
“You’ve gotta see her, Eric. I’ll show you after dinner. She’s the biggest cow I’ve ever seen—there’s no way she’s just pregnant. She definitely swallowed another cow whole.” Rachel gestured wide with her arms as if she were bulging out on either side. “Like looking a boulder in the eyes.”
“I’d love to see her after dinner, if just to remind some well-meaning cowgirls that a pregnant lady deserves respect.” He chuckled, wiping at the tears in his eyes from the snorted chili.
We can meet in the barn. There it was—the unspoken plan he’d hoped she’d have. Now, even if Illeana did wake and find them out after dark, they’d have a clear excuse.
“You leave that poor girl alone.” Illeana took a half-hearted bite of her dinner, setting the spoon down almost immediately. “And don’t bother Roger. He’ll be busy with that godforsaken rodeo anyway. You’ll be lucky to get through.”
“All the same,” Rachel shrugged. “I’d like to get on his books before half the town is knocking his door in. The number’s still by the phone? On the list?”
“Like I’d move it.” Illeana leaned back in her seat, squinting at Rachel. “You working too hard out there? You know the directory’s been in the same place since you were born.”
The cowgirl shrugged again, slurping louder now at her chili.
“Am I not allowed to double check? You been making other unpredictable changes, how am I supposed to know where they stop and start?” A sharpness crept into her voice, straightening her shoulders.
Simultaneously, Eric winced at a sudden pain in his shin—an unmistakable kick from under the table.
“Now, you listen here missy—”
“May I use the phone?” Eric asked, wiping politely at the corners of his mouth with a paper towel. “Some holdings to check on.” Illeana waved him away, fury twisting her normally crinkled features into something dangerous.
“You want to start this here? In front of company?” she continued, jabbing the air in Rachel’s direction as if an invisible button could fire her volleys.
Eric slipped from the room, leaving them to argue. Though it was clear Rachel picked the fight on purpose to give him cover, the tension was real and it gripped his shoulders in a vise.
Sure enough, tacked to the floral wallpaper next to the yellowed plastic corded phone in the hall was a neatly handwritten list of names and numbers. Eric scanned it quickly, landing on Roger, and wasted no time in dialing.
“Do you know what time it is?” A deep voice with a strong twang answered on the third ring.
“I’m sorry to disturb you sir, but I’m hoping to speak with Roger.” Eric turned his back to the kitchen, doing his best to block the escalating fight between the Anderson women.
“You got him. Make it quick.”
“I’d like to register for the rodeo—”
“Rider numbers are already assigned, you’re too late.” He could sense the impending click from the other side, so he decided to go for shock and awe.
“But you haven’t registered any minotaurs.”
“What’d you say?” Roger’s voice was barely a breath.
“I don’t want to register as a rider, sir.
I’d like to register as a bull. I promise a show like none this town has ever seen.
” Eric held his breath, knees wiggling, stomach flipping.
That chili was threatening to burn more than his nose at this point.
He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt.
“I’ve been trying to break into the monster show market,” Roger said. Eric imagined him running a hand through a grizzled beard, maybe a hand-rolled cigarette hanging off his bottom lip.
“Must be hard around these parts,” Eric nudged.
“Competition’s fierce for hiring, and most don’t want to be made to look too wild or dangerous. Integration problems and all.”
“What else are these big old horns for if not striking terror into the heart of man?” Eric winced at how ridiculous he sounded. May his ancestors forgive the decades he was setting them back.
A hearty chuckle sounded through the line, ending with a thick, wet cough that confirmed Eric’s cigarette theory.
“Alright, son. Tell you what. Come on by tomorrow morning. We’ll be getting the stands up, and I’ll take a look at ya, see what you can do.
” Eric nodded enthusiastically, stopping when he realized he needed to speak his agreement through the phone.
Roger gave him directions to the site, and they agreed on a time for the next day before he hung up.
Eric heaved a measured sigh, ears perking at the sudden silence coming from the kitchen. That was one problem solved; now on to the others.