Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Beau
Generally, I’d drive straight through. It’s ten hours of decent road, which I tend to eat up in my truck.
I like to drive, always have. There’s something about being out on these old roads, just you, the asphalt, never-ending fields and sky, chasing down the horizon, that makes me feel whole.
Add in some music, a window down to catch the sun-warmed breeze, and I’m a happy man.
But having Bailey beside me, way more of her slender legs on display in a casual cotton dress than I can handle, is making me feel either like I’ve won the lottery or waltzed right into hell.
It causes a physical ache not to reach out and touch her, one I’ve been fighting ever since we drove out of town and the buildings gradually got smaller, cheaper, then gave way to highway and fields, dotted with sunflowers, weeds and clumps of long grass, the odd tree standing like a lone soldier on the horizon.
Usually I’d have been on the road at sunrise to take in a full day’s drive, but Bailey had some emails to catch up on, so I had breakfast in the hotel with Jett Alvarez, who still seems to think it’s some great joke that I’m being subjected to this article.
Little does he know I’ve quickly turned lemons into lemonade.
Something flashes through me as I imagine what would have happened if he’d set Bailey up to interview one of the younger guys, like I’d suggested.
No, not just suggested, but pushed him hard for, because back then the thought of spending three weeks with some nosy journalist had seemed like a fate worse than death.
A grin cracks my face as I prop my elbow against the open window and briefly glance out my side of the car, to the pops of yellow against the blisteringly blue sky. Warmth bathes my skin, anticipation heats my blood, and in this moment, I’m pretty damned happy.
Especially when Bailey reaches over and changes the song. Not because I didn’t like what was playing, but because I like her feeling comfortable enough around me, in my truck, to do whatever the hell she wants.
I look across at her, a buzz of something shifting inside me when I think about what she’s been through.
She’s a strong, decent person who doesn’t have a dishonest bone in her body.
The thought of her being caught up in an affair is pure shit.
Even worse is knowing that she still tortures herself over it, like it was her fault that some jackass lied to her, made her into the other woman.
She’s looking straight ahead, fingers tapping against one knee, her gaze shifting quickly as it chases the scenery.
The notepad she’d pulled out at the start of the trip sits in the console between us.
I’m starting to realise that she uses it like a shield—a way to remind us both that she’s here in a work capacity as well.
Good thing too, because there are times when I feel myself opening up to her, saying things I never would to a reporter, and need to hold back, or at least make sure she knows I’m not sharing it with her for the article.
The article. I stifle a groan. What the hell is she going to write about me, anyways?
‘So, Washington, huh?’ I say, mainly because I want to say something to her. To hear her speak.
She glances at me, nods.
‘Why?’
She looks straight ahead, but not before I glimpse the hint of a frown between her eyes. ‘I love politics.’
I laugh.
‘What? What’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s just … who loves politics?’
‘It’s important,’ she huffs. ‘It bleeds into every aspect of our lives. School, the justice system, road maintenance, the environment. And good reporting is an important part of that.’ She huffs again. ‘It’s better than sports, anyway.’
‘What’s wrong with sports?’
‘Nothing, if it’s your thing.’ She reaches for her notepad, but only so she can fidget with the spiral at the top. ‘I guess after what happened to me … I just … find it hard to be around.’
I consider that, but still draw a blank. ‘Why?’
‘Just people like you—living your dreams, doing what you love. Following your passion. When I had to sideline mine.’
That lands even harder than her admission about Kirk. The thought of Bailey carrying that grief around with her—when I should have known she’d feel that way. I should have known, because I’ve felt it too.
‘Yeah,’ I say sympathetically. ‘After my accident, when I was on the ranch again, I could hardly bear to watch rodeos. To hear anyone even talk about it. It was too hard. A reminder of what I wanted to be doing—should have been doing—but wasn’t.’
‘Exactly.’ Her tone is triumphant. ‘I can’t even go to the ballet now.
It’s like this big, fat ache, right here.
’ She presses her hands to her chest. I reach out and take one of them, lifting it to my lips before quickly dropping it again.
It feels too right, but also too intimate.
Too meaningful, for what we’ve said this is.
I put both hands on the wheel and hold on tight.
‘But it was always one of my favourite things. Not just the dancing, but the watching. The music, the storytelling, it was something that lived inside of me, until one day it didn’t.’
The air between us seems heavy with that confession, with her sadness, and then she’s moving, lifting the notepad up and opening it to a blank page.
‘Okay, cowboy. Talk to me about the championship.’
Frustration bites at me. She’s shutting me out, but I let her, because I can see she’s torn up by sadness and I hate that. I assume a lightly teasing expression, keep my tone nice and casual. ‘Well, it’s this prize you get at the end of the season, if you win the most points, get to the finals …’
She laughs. ‘No. You and the championship. What will it mean to you to win?’
I blanch. ‘Hell, no.’
‘What?’
‘I’m not talking about that.’
‘Why not? You must have thought about it?’
‘Everyone thinks about it, at the start of the season. Sponsors think about it the whole way through. But going event to event, all that’s on my mind is the bull I’m riding that day.
The rope. My balance. The timer and the score for that round.
Nothing more. If I get in my head about the championship, I risk losing my focus. ’
‘Is that how all bull riders work?’
‘I can’t speak for all riders,’ I say with a shrug.
‘But in your experience?’
‘Yeah, there’re certain things we just don’t say. I reckon some are probably more motivated by the prize than others.’
‘So the fact you’re a contender for the championship isn’t something we should discuss?’
I flip a grin at her. ‘Nope.’
‘Okay. Let’s talk hypothetically then. If you were to come into a large sum of money and success professionally, what would you do?’
‘Clever, but you know, that’s still pretty thinly veiled.’
She reaches over and flicks my knee. ‘Answer the question.’
‘Only ’cause you asked so nicely,’ I respond, as we shoot past a sign for our first scheduled break. We’ve been on the road four hours, and there’s another thirty or so minutes till we reach the gas station and diner. I offered Bailey a stop sooner, but she’s been happy just riding beside me.
‘Money—I invest most of what I win.’
She glances at me, obviously surprised. ‘You do?’
‘I didn’t used to, but having come back on the circuit, seen what’s happening on the ranch, I know I’ve got a limited amount of time to make hay from this. I gotta make it work for me, long term. So I invest more than half of what I earn, and put the rest into the ranch.’
‘Can’t the ranch cover itself?’
A feeling of pride rushes through me. ‘It can now, thanks to Beth.’
Bailey’s gaze is on me, but I don’t glance at her.
‘When she came along, we were up the creek without a paddle, hence the whole social media thing. She got us sponsors who dug us out of trouble at first, then got Cole investing in more stock, better systems. This year, it’ll run a tidy profit on its own, and it’s all down to their hard work.’
‘Impressive.’
‘That’s them. They’re a great team.’
‘So what do you do back on the ranch?’
‘Whatever’s needed.’
‘Will you live there when you retire?’
I grip the steering wheel even tighter. Retirement isn’t something I like to think about.
‘Most likely.’
‘On the same property?’
I nod once.
‘All together, in the same house?’
‘Nah, Cole and Beth moved out to the guest house last year. It was this old staff cottage on the property that sustained a whack of damage during a storm, when a tree came down on it. Beth fell in love with the place, so they’ve been doing it up.
At the moment, when I go back, I just stay in my old room.
The house is big, Cassidy and Nash are away a lot, Austin’ll be deployed again soon—’
‘That’s right, you said he was in the service.’
‘A Marine,’ I say proudly, though not without a corresponding twinge of something like concern, because Austin’s taken on a lot, and I can see the way his time overseas has changed him, each deployment costing him personally. He doesn’t talk about it, which shows how much it’s affected him.
‘When I move back for good, I’ll build something for myself. I’ve got just the place picked out.’
‘Describe it to me,’ she suggests.
‘It’s a spot in the bend of the creek. Huge old trees give it shade and privacy.
There’s a clearing, though I’ll need to fix it up a bit better, move some of the stumps.
I want my cabin right there, so I can hear the water at night, the wildlife, so I can sit and fish when I feel like it, smoke and barbecue—’
‘You smoke?’
‘Nah, not unless it’s a special occasion and there’s a big fat Cuban on offer. I mean smoke meat, fish.’
She arches a brow.
‘I love to barbecue. When you’re back home, I’ll show you.’
She’s quiet and I get why. It all sounds like too much. Like I’m offering more than we’ve agreed.
‘We can think of it as your farewell party,’ I add. ‘You’ll be off to Washington after the Phoenix event, right?’