Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Beau
There’s just something about the light here that lands different. The glow of the sunlight is unlike anything anywhere else in the whole damn world. I’ve driven this a thousand times: the wide, open road that snakes through Goodnight, and beyond it our family property, Coyote Creek Ranch.
But I’ve never driven it with someone before.
Not someone like Bailey, who’s been sitting beside me for the past six hours, quiet and thoughtful, but still with me, her legs folded or carefully tucked together, her hands clasped in her lap to stop from reaching out for me.
We talked most of the way—or she asked me questions, and I let her—for once treating this like an interview rather than a game of cat and mouse. A game where I give as good as I get.
Out here, even the air smells different.
I push down my window and smile as it hits me in the face, that mix of trees and tar, of birds and beasts, cows, wild bees, honey, milk, freedom.
I grin from ear to ear as I turn to find her already looking at me, and then beyond, to the scenery that’s passing us by in a blur.
I slow down unconsciously, giving her a chance to soak it in like I am, and watch as her eyes chase the tops of the trees, the darkening sky, then move back in front of us, to where the afternoon sun’s cutting like a golden blade over the road.
The old Haines house comes into view, high on the hill—my whole life, it’s always been that way.
Just the same little house in the distance, the rolling fields and spotted cows in the foreground, thatches of yellow flowers bursting against the vibrant grass.
The sound of late summer crickets is almost deafening, but at first I don’t hear it, because like the Haines house, that’s just one of those things that’s always been here, a part of this, and me.
I breathe in deep. Yeah, this is a part of me alright.
We drive past a school, and Bailey glances over. ‘Did you go here?’
‘Sure did.’ Around the corner, there’s a church and a library, and then the main street, so achingly familiar I feel it like a bull’s stepping right on my chest.
‘Slow down,’ she murmurs, leaning forward. ‘Actually, can you stop just a minute?’
I pull into a parking space outside Rhett’s, the general store. Bailey’s frowning as she looks through the front window, eyes devouring the scene. I try to see it as she might, without the rose-coloured glasses of a man who thinks he grew up in just about the best damn town in the world.
Goodnight is old and the buildings reflect that, with their Western-style facades and quirky names.
But over time, the town’s become a bit of a haven for people wanting to get out of the cities.
Covid started it, and all the lockdowns, then bit by bit word spread, meaning it’s not just the OGs who live here now, people like us who were basically born with the town.
There are hipster folk too, with their faux dirty overalls and fantastic coffee, plus there’s a small art gallery-come-boutique and a craft co-op.
They’ve started a summer fair in the main street, the kind of thing that calls people from far and wide, with a travelling theatre troupe and special food trucks.
Lights are strung from building to building, with flags proclaiming the date of the next town market—we just missed it.
But the street still bears the markings of having been all dressed up, nice and special.
I glance toward the town bar, the Silver Spur, and think I spy an arrangement of sunflowers in the window.
Almost makes me laugh, to think of the guys in there pulling that together.
‘Wow,’ Bailey says, drawing my gaze back to her face.
‘Wow?’
She glances at me, smiles tightly. ‘Somehow, it’s just exactly how I imagined it, and nothing like I thought it would be. It’s like something out of a movie,’ she says, reaching for her notebook and scribbling down a few indecipherable lines. ‘I love it.’
I don’t know why, but hearing her praise my town like that, so open and honest, makes my heart race.
I nod once, keeping my expression neutral.
‘Not much open now—just the Silver Spur, and Ruby’s down the far end.
’ I nod toward the diner that started serving Chinese food after Ruby’s second marriage to a guy she met overseas.
‘But we can stop, if you want to have a look around.’
‘I should get to my hotel, check in.’ There’s determination in her voice. It warns me she’s preparing for an argument.
It catches me off guard, despite our conversation. ‘I haven’t organised a hotel. We’ve got plenty of space on the ranch.’
She tightens almost imperceptibly. ‘That’s fine. I’ve booked a room.’
Something bristles inside of me. ‘Where?’
‘The Silver Spur,’ she murmurs, glancing around.
My hand tightens at my side. ‘Bailey, you can stay with us. I’m not gonna break our rules, especially not in my family home.’
She shakes her head though, insistent. ‘It’s too much.’
My lips compress. ‘I thought you wanted to interview my family?’
‘I do. But I can do that over coffee sometime. I don’t have to impose on them for the next three nights.’
It makes sense. If she was just a normal journalist, doing a normal job, I might still have offered her a room at our place—I’m a Donovan, after all, and we’re nothing if not hospitable—but the fact we can’t keep our hands off each other is exactly why we need this space.
Why she’s mighty smart to put it between us.
Yet every fibre in my body wants to fight it, even as I say: ‘If that’s what you want.’
She expels a soft breath of relief, but her eyes latch on mine. ‘It is.’ I hear the ambivalence in her voice though, and know she’s fighting herself, too.
‘I’ll walk you in.’
‘Really, that’s not—’
I reach out, press a finger to her lips. ‘Randy Reynolds—who runs the place—is a buddy of mine. I’d like to see him. Come on, Bay Jay, don’t overthink everything.’
She nods slowly, giving in. I drop my hand even when I don’t want to. Even when I want to keep it pressed to her beautiful, soft lips.
I cut the engine and step out, rounding to her side of the truck and opening her door before she has a chance.
Bailey blinks up at me in surprise—it doesn’t matter how many times I do that, her reaction’s always the same, like she’s never been treated with this kind of courtesy before.
Makes me kind of mad at the life she’s lived and the men she’s known.
I wait till she’s out, close the door, then, careful not to touch her in keeping with our rules, step to the rear of the truck and grab her bag, glancing across at her, waiting for her to join me. She’s staring down the street though, an expression on her face that makes my heart thunder.
‘If you think this is something, just wait until you see the ranch.’
She smiles kind of shyly, then moves my way. ‘I’m looking forward to that.’
‘Just remember, take whatever my jackasses of brothers say with a grain of salt.’
She winks. ‘I’m a reporter. It’s my job to sort the wheat from the chaff.’
‘It’s pretty much just chaff with them.’
‘Are they all home at the moment?’
‘Nash’ll come home tomorrow night—I’m barbecuing. He never misses that.’
She turns her smile on me and my heart thunders some more; Bailey has one of those smiles that lights up her whole face—if not the world. ‘You’re cooking?’
‘And you’d better be there.’
Her smile drops; the lights go out. ‘No.’
‘It’s just a barbecue.’
‘It’s just … too much. They’ll see right through us.’
I compress my lips. She’s probably right, but that doesn’t change the fact I’m going to cajole like heck to get her to my place. ‘How ‘bout we talk about it tomorrow?’
She makes a cynical noise but lets it drop.
I stalk toward the saloon doors and pull them open, gesturing with my head for her to precede me.
The noise immediately hits me when I follow her in, despite the fact it’s a Monday night.
That’s the Silver Spur for you—always busy.
Busiest of all on a Friday, but at this time of evening it’s packed with locals.
It takes me a second to shake myself back into being Beau Donovan, bull rider, not just Beau.
Beau the way Bailey knows me, the way I am with her, when it’s like we’re just two people, shooting the breeze, talking shit.
‘Hey, hey, hey!’ Randy’s booming voice calls across the packed room. ‘Look who just walked in, y’all. If it ain’t bull fightin’ royalty.’
I don’t hate a fuss being made. If I did, I wouldn’t do what I do.
But I’m not ready for it now. More’s the point, I’m not ready for it in front of Bailey, who’s taken a few steps away from me, like she’s fucking terrified of getting caught up in my spotlight.
I lift one hand in recognition, smile casually, then take off my hat in acknowledgement of the applause as I start cutting through the people.
I get back pats, loud greetings, handshakes.
I look around a couple of times to make sure Bailey’s with me, to find her following in my wake.
At the bar, I scowl exaggeratedly at Randy. ‘Was that fuckin’ necessary?’
Polishing the top of a glass, he laughs. ‘Hell, it sure felt like it. Don’t act like you don’t love it either. I know you too well, bro.’
I clamp my lips together, acknowledging that’s God’s own truth. At least, it used to be. Or used to feel true. Something’s changed this year. As I’ve gotten older, maybe even wiser, I’m less into the benefits that come with being a rider at the top of his game.