6. Denton
DENTON
Iwake up still thinking about Sorrel Saxxon.
She’s all beauty and grit, wrapped up in something I can’t quite put my finger on.
It wasn’t just her long white hair or her sweet lips and piercing eyes.
I felt drawn to her, and not just because she turned me down.
Hell, I hadn’t been turned down by a woman in—I can’t even remember the last time if I’m being honest. While it stung a little, it also felt real.
It’s like it brought me back to reality.
Not to sound cocky, but it kind of comes with the lifestyle. Women practically throw themselves at me and my band members. It’s part of the package when you're living life on the road in the music industry.
The thing is, women throwing themselves at me never really interested me.
I, of course, appreciate beautiful women, but that’s not why I wanted to become a musician.
I struggled with my emotions when I was younger, and music became an outlet for me.
It made me feel alive, and it was the best way I could express myself.
I started getting serious about it in college.
After high school, I got accepted to Texas A I built it.
I’d post every show we played at on our social media platform.
It started with a few hundred views to a few thousand, and from there, it snowballed.
Bigger shows. Bigger crowds. Every weekend, another stage.
We hired our agent Jake to help us manage it all.
Then we got this gig from a buddy of mine at all these rodeos this summer.
I thought why the hell not? It’s probably the most fun I’ve had in a while performing, getting the best of both worlds.
People online are eating this shit up. They love rodeo and country music.
It fires me up before every show getting to go back behind the chutes and hangout with all the roughies like old times.
When I overheard Huck Kenzington talking about a barrel racer named Sorrel Saxxon, I didn't think much of it—other than he should keep his damn mouth shut and quit bragging about being with women. But then during the barrel racing, her picture was up there on the big screen. She had the most beautiful turquoise eyes I’d ever seen, and her smile—God her smile—it stretched so wide you could see most of her perfect top teeth.
It was a beautiful smile that really stood out.
Try as I might, I just can’t get Sorrel out of my mind.
My daydreaming is interrupted when I hear the door to the bus open. It’s Johnny, our lead guitarist, he’s humming a tune, a smile plastered to his scruffy face. “You up, Denton?”
“Yep, I’m right here,” I say over my shoulder, pouring myself a cup of coffee and trying to shake off the haze from the night before.
Johnny steps into the kitchenette, grinning like he already has a story to tell. “So?” he says. “How’d it go with that gal? You get lucky?”
I shake my head and take a long swig of coffee. It’s strong, hot, and exactly what I need.
“She was a nice girl. We just talked is all.”
“Lame,” he says, grabbing himself a mug. “I’m tellin’ you, man. You gotta get out there. You’re almost thirty. The older you get, the harder it is to find one that doesn't have kids, a divorce, or both.”
He’s not wrong, but those aren't deal-breakers for me.
“I ain't worried ’bout it. When the right one comes along, I’ll know. You don't need to worry about my dating life anyhow.” Between him and the gossip columns on the internet, everyone is way too concerned with my dating life.
“How was that casino? You boys walk away with some cash?”
He looks like a hot mess in a way only a true road dog can pull off. His hair is wild and tangled, like he’d slept in a hayfield, pearl-snap shirt half-open and wrinkled. He still has on his Wranglers from last night, faded and creased, boots scuffed and tucked in sloppy.
“Parker and I ran into a pack of buckle bunnies after the show. We figured we’d have more fortune with them than the casino,” he says with a devilish grin.
“Man, we tore it up. And by tore it up, I mean we tried to keep up without embarrassing ourselves.” He winks and takes a long pull from his coffee.
“Well, I’m glad you boys are enjoying yourselves. You deserve it. We’ve put in the work to get here, and I appreciate the hell outta y’all.”
Johnny raises his mug in a mock salute. “Yeah, well, you deserve to have some fun too, Denton. Can’t be all work and no play. Plus, how are you gonna get inspiration for new songs if you don't actually live it?”
He’s right. I haven’t let myself have much fun in a long time. I’ve been too focused on making it, but what was the point of it all if I wasn't happy? But damn it, I did deserve to enjoy it. I knew I was approaching burnout and I needed to make a change.
I slam my cup down, coffee spilling onto the counter. “Ya know, you’re fucking right, Johnny,” I say, straightening up. I have an idea—it’s probably a bad idea—but still a grin tugs at my lips. “I think it’s about time I start having a little fun. And I know exactly how to do it.”
Johnny raises a brow, eyes lighting up. “Oh yeah, Dent? Well, what the hell! You know I’m always down for a good time. What’ve you got in mind?”
Last night I tossed and turned in my bunk.
I couldn't get Sorrel off my mind. I tried to distract myself by scrolling on my phone, but I ended up on the internet typing into Google “Saxxon Ranch”.
Sorrel didn't tell me much about it, but my curiosity got the best of me.
The screen loaded, and I clicked on the website for the ranch.
The first picture was of a breathtaking mountain range, rivers running through a valley, and little pink flowers in bloom.
Montana sure is beautiful. I was about to click on the drop-down to where it said “photos” but something caught my eye—guest ranch. My finger hovered. Click.
“That gal I hung out with last night. Her family owns a ranch.”
“Okay and…?”
I’m not sure why I feel embarrassed to tell him this.
“Well, after she said no to giving me her number—”
“Wait, what? She said no? Something must be wrong with this girl.”
I shake my head. “Anyways, I looked up the ranch and it turns out they’ve got a guesthouse for rent.
I figured you, me, and the boys could head up there, get a little R&R.
Says it comes with three home-cooked meals a day, actual ranch life experience, and there’s a little town nearby with a bar that looks like a proper hole in the wall.
Thought we might raise some hell, clear our heads for a bit. ”
He tilts his head back and lets out a loud laugh. “I get it. You dig the chase. Well, fuck yeah, I’m in! Book it! I’ll round up the guys and we’ll hit the road.”
“Seriously?”
“Hell yeah, this is gonna be awesome! I can’t wait to see her face when we show up.”
Johnny disappears out the door, already fired up before I can give him all the details. We have one more show tonight a few towns over, so we won’t be able to go to the ranch until tomorrow.
I grab my phone off the counter. Pulling the ranch website back up, I click on the phone number listed at the bottom of the page. My stomach feels queasy—partly from the alcohol last night, caffeine this morning, and no food. And I’m not sure who will be on the other line.
Ring, ring, ring.
“This is Clint. What can I do for ya?” a deep and raspy male voice says.
“Yeah, uh, I wanted to inquire about renting out your guesthouse. Is it available?”
“Yeah, it’s available,” Clint says in a short, clipped tone.
“Okay…we could get there as soon as tomorrow morning. Can we get it for a week?”
“Yep, that’ll work. See you tomorrow.”
Click.
“Hello, are you there?” I ask into the phone. Well, all righty then. I guess it’s as simple as that.
A nervous twist hits low in my stomach. The thought of seeing Sorrel again with that long blonde hair, and that fire behind her eyes. It damn near knocks the breath out of me. Yeah...I have it bad already.
The rest of the band comes barreling into the trailer along with Johnny. Where the hell did they all sleep last night? The only one who rolls out of their bunk is Grady, our bass player.
Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he asks, “What’s going on?”
“We’re going to a dude ranch, yeehaw!” Johnny says, jumping up and down, twirling an invisible rope in the air.
“I rented us a guesthouse on a ranch for a week. It's about time we had a vacation—now if you'd rather go home, I understand. Next concert is in two weeks, so it’s up to y’all.”
“We’re in!” they all announce at once, except for Grady.
We all look at him.
He groans. “Uh, fine, I’m in.”
Johnny grabs him by the shoulders and gives him a pat on the back. “All right, that’s the spirit, buddy!”
We pack up and get everything squared away. One more show and I can finally relax. I long to be on the back of a horse, with the warmth of the sun across my back and, hopefully, a pretty cowgirl to look at.
We have almost a two-hour drive to Billings for tonight’s show. The Saxxon Ranch is just south of Billings in the Pryor Mountains.
I sit up front next to Ray. He drives the bus for us and helps set up and take down the set at every concert.
We did everything ourselves before, but we hired him this summer and it’s been a hell of a lot easier.
We damn sure appreciate him. I type in the address from the website for Saxxon Ranch.
About three hours from tonight's venue, it reads. With stops, it will probably be about four, so we’ll get a couple hours of sleep after the show and make it there by morning.