CHAPTER FORTY-TWO COEN A YEAR LATER
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
COEN
A YEAR LATER
It’s so early, the sun isn’t up yet.
In the studio, off the west side of the ranch house, everything is quiet.
The pale wood floors glint. Sabrina picked out the rug, a woven mat rolled across the center of the room.
On the far side are all the instruments.
A keyboard, a steel guitar, and a few other things I’ve picked up on visits to the music store.
Closer to the door, with double windows looking out over the western field, is my desk.
I sink down and open my laptop.
I’ve been writing a lot more since finalizing the rest of my contracts and going on hiatus.
All the shit I wrote for them was good, especially Mason’s album, which spent a week at the top of the charts.
I tried to block everything out, but I ran across a Rolling Stone article a week after its release.
…it seems everything that passes through Coen Taylor’s studio turns to gold… He’s established himself as one of country and folk’s greatest writers since Hank Williams played on the shortwave…
Sabrina was so damn proud of that, she ordered the magazine, cut it out, and framed it.
That kind of embarrassed me, but it made her happy.
I let her hang it in the studio on the shelf in the far corner, where my awards sit.
I don’t look at those much, too busy looking ahead, but it’s nice to have someone reminding me I’m doing good.
In the quiet, I crack my knuckles.
My finger hover over the keyboard. Yesterday was a slow day. Today, I can feel the torrent of words waiting to come out.
They do, for the next half hour, until my phone beeps. Shaking my head, I resurface and get to my feet. There are barn chores, and as the assistant manager of Maxwell Ranch, I like to get things done before the manager lifts her head from her pillow. That means more selfish time for us.
I cross the lawn, hands in my pockets.
Everything is so damn peaceful here. I’m coming alive, one day at a time.
Sometimes, I barely recognize myself. I know, when Bill came back at the end of the summer, he did a double take.
I’ve been sleeping through the night, eating good food, and getting plenty of sun.
Some days, I feel like a very well cared for plant.
When Bill left again at the beginning of the summer, he told me to make sure I didn’t fall off the wagon. I don’t intend on it.
He’s thriving in Portland. I’m not sure what it is, but sometimes, I think Bill’s personality would have meshed better with living in the city.
He goes to spin class now and told Sabrina he’d just discovered something novel, which turned out to be a morning green smoothie.
He’d probably have gotten in a lot less trouble if he’d stayed in Portland with his family.
But then, I wouldn’t have the prettiest girl in the world and a ranch that might just have saved me.
Sometimes, I wonder if Bill will be back this winter.
I hope he is. It would upset Sabrina if he wasn’t, but I also see incredible improvement in his health up there.
It’s a tough choice to make. We’ll face it together when it comes.
I pull back the barn door, and the lights come on.
I think I’ll ride Gabe today. He’s already up and waiting with his head over the door.
He eats, and I get him brushed and saddled.
Then, I shift my weight and let his reins drop, allowing him to surge from the barn and up the hill.
It’s not my turn to ride the fenceline, but I think I’ll do the west pasture as a favor to Colin, who’s on the docket for it.
I let Gabe run as long as he wants.
Some mornings, I think about everything that happened since that day in the diner, when Jamie told me I’d hit rock bottom.
Other days, like today, I ride with my head empty.
I’ve examined my life a hundred times, sometimes a hundred times a day.
I’ve thought about the past until it was worn thin.
I wondered what my life could have been if I hadn’t opened Pandora’s Box and become who I am.
Now, I don’t ruminate anymore.
Now, I let go and just ride.
It’s getting hot when I finally put Gabe away and head inside.
It took a little longer than anticipated to do the fence check.
Sabrina is already up, making scrambled eggs in the kitchen.
I give her an up-down glance. She always looks so damn good in those jeans shorts that barely cover her ass.
Maybe she’ll have a few minutes for me after breakfast.
“Hey, baby,” I say, turning on the kitchen sink.
“Bathroom,” she says. “Don’t wash up in my sink.”
“Sorry.” I snap the water off and lean in to kiss her neck. God, she smells so fucking good.
“It’s fine. Now go on, get.”
I kiss her again, nipping her shoulder before disappearing to wash up. When I get back, I almost run directly into Serena. She’s still in her pajamas, brandishing her phone.
“Did Jamie tell you he was coming?” she says.
I consider my answer, based upon the crease between her brows. “Yes…no…yeah, he did.”
She scowls harder. “Okay, well nobody told me.”
“He’s just coming for a visit. I wanted him to listen to some shit I’ve been kicking around in the studio.”
She gives me a faintly sour look, jaw working.
Then, she turns on her heel and goes into the kitchen, but I saw that micro-expression, the tiny, tiny smile at the corner of her mouth.
After Jamie’s visit—during which they hooked up at least three times, because Sabrina and I could hear the bed slamming into the wall—he left and went back to the city.
I flew to Nashville, taking Sabrina with me for one of those visits, so we could complete our contracts, but it’s been a year since he set foot in Wyoming.
I can’t figure out where they stand. Serena seems pissed. Jamie is acting like it’s all casual, all good.
It doesn’t seem all that casual, but what do I know?
“How’d your writing go?” Sabrina asks when I sink down at the breakfast bar.
“Good. It’s still strange to not have a deadline for something.”
“Good strange?”
I nod, taking the plate she hands me. “Yeah, it’s some of my best work.”
“Pulitzer Prize, here he comes,” she says.
I shake my head, turning my attention to the breakfast wrap in front of me.
Serena starts in on something to do with the wranglers.
All the washing machines in the bunkhouse are broken.
I offer to go and take a look at them this afternoon.
Sabrina says no, I have to pick up Jamie from the airport. I get up, putting my dish in the sink.
“Serena will get him,” I say.
She puts her dish in the sink too, head jerking up. “What?”
“Yeah, didn’t you just offer?”
She’s speechless for a second and then leaves the kitchen without saying another word. I know she’s dying to go, or she’s dying not to. Either way, they both want it.
“Don’t bait her,” Sabrina says, pulling open the dishwasher. “Or do. I don’t know what she wants.”
There’s an exasperated tinge to her voice. I take her by the shoulders, brushing back her hair.
“You good?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. I just want everyone to be happy and fine all the time, but I know that’s not reality.”
“Everyone is fine.”
She takes a deep breath and releases it. “I know. You’re right.”
Bending in, I kiss her slowly. “Let’s get this cleaned up and go upstairs real quick.”
Her face flushes a delicate pink. “Oh?”
I turn her around, smacking her ass. “Actually, come on. We can clean up after.”
The sun is up. The windows are open in our room, curtains fluttering.
We shower, and it’s hard to not just lift her up and fuck her into the wall.
But I stick to kissing every soapy, perfect inch of her body before getting on my knees and making sure she gets hers.
There’s nothing quite as intoxicating as pushing my face between her warm thighs, delving my tongue in as the familiar taste of her pussy hits my senses.
God, she is so fucking perfect.
The balance in my life. The why, the who, the home I needed.
We make it to the bed, and it’s the best half hour of my life, like it is every time.
We’re both panting and in need of another shower when it’s all over.
I sit up against the pillow, and she sighs, resting her head on my thigh through the blankets.
Her damp hair slips through my fingers. It smells faintly of her shampoo, sweet and perfect, just like her.
“Are you happy?” she whispers.
“Baby,” I say, “you got no fucking idea.”
She laughs, closing her eyes. I don’t move a muscle because I know her well enough to know she’s about to take a power nap.
The ranch work can wait for a few minutes.
I won’t stir from this bed until she sits up, grumpy, and asks why I let her fall asleep.
These are the tiny moments I can’t let go, the ones that bring healing to the parts of me I ignored and pushed away for so long.
Whatever the future looks like, I will always have these moments with her. Wherever we go, we’ll always have the summer we met. The summer I asked a girl I barely knew to drive across the country with me because, deep down, a tiny part of me wondered if she could fix me.
Turns out, that girl was mine.
I touch her hand, lifting it and weaving my fingers through hers.
I’ve been talking to her sister a little bit about what kind of ring Sabrina might want.
I want to give her another year of getting used to our complicated lives meshing together.
Then, I’m asking her to be Mrs. Taylor. I think that would look pretty damn good on both of us.
I’ve got time. We both do.
After years of moving so fast, the entire world blurred around me, the only thing I want is time.
At her side, in her bed. On the porch, watching the sun come up with the Maligators laying in the dust at our feet.
The world doesn’t move fast. I’m not at the center of it, watching everything swirl while I stand still.
I am alive, in control, and a whole human, with everything at my fingertips.
Things will never be normal. That’s alright.
But goddamn, are they good.
THE END