Chapter 7 Tex
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tex
I step out onto the porch, tugging the sleeves of my suit jacket, the fabric stretching across my shoulders in a way that makes me wish I had gone for the next size up.
Dressing up never sits right on my body, but my father drilled the habit into us early. Funerals deserve respect. Weddings do too.
Anything that marks the beginning or end of someone’s life.
I hear the low rumble of the tractor out behind the barn and follow the path that leads to the pasture gate.
Billy is in the middle of the field with Jasper, both of them shirtless under the late morning sun. They haul bales of hay from the truck bed, tossing them like they weigh nothing.
Their skin glistens with sweat, muscles clenched tight with every movement. Dust swirls around their boots as the hay lands with dull thuds.
Billy’s jaw looks locked, eyes set forward like he’s daring the world to give him one more thing to handle today.
I climb the last fence rail and step into the field. The smell of hay mixes with the sharp bite of cut grass, settling uneasily in my chest.
“What’re you doing?” I call out.
Billy drops the bale mid-lift and looks right at me. His shoulders rise and fall once, slow enough that it seems like he is trying to temper something inside himself. “Working.”
“You’re supposed to be getting dressed.”
“I don’t do funerals.”
The response hits me harder than I expect. Heat surges up the back of my neck. “Are you kidding me?” I say, forcing the words out even though frustration pulses behind my ribs.
He plants his hands on his hips, sweat dripping down the side of his neck. His stare sharpens.
“I already said goodbye to the old man. I’m not going. Half the town’s going to be there, and I’m not doing a spectacle. I’ll take flowers out tomorrow.”
My tongue presses against the back of my teeth as I fight down the first dozen retorts that rise up. “Is this about the crowd or avoiding Sedona?”
Billy’s jaw clenches hard enough that the muscle twitches. A sound leaves him that is just short of a growl.
Jasper steps a foot away to give us space.
The house door opens behind me, and Seth walks out, wearing a too-tight charcoal suit. He holds a steaming mug in one hand and squints toward us like he’s already exhausted by whatever argument he walked into.
His curls are damp, probably from the world’s fastest shower. His shoulders look broader than the last time he wore that suit, which makes the jacket strain at the seams.
“I’m ready to go,” Seth says before taking a drink.
I exhale slowly and look at him. “You look nice.”
He glances down at himself and snorts. “I’m outgrowing this thing. Need to order a new one.”
Billy picks up another bale and tosses it into the back of the truck with a grunt, refusing to look at us. “You need to get going, or you’ll miss the service.”
I want to argue, but there’s no point. A fight never reaches him when he gets like this, all stone and stubbornness. I turn to Seth instead.
“Let’s get going.”
He grabs the truck keys from the porch hook, and we climb in, the leather seat creaking under us as the engine rumbles to life. We pull down the long dirt drive, passing the wooden gate that marks our ranch boundary.
The sign swings slightly on its chain as we go by, the name COPPER CREEK RANCH carved deep into the grain.
“I don’t understand how he’s skipping the funeral,” I say, wiping my palms on my slacks.
Seth keeps his eyes on the road. “You don’t understand because you never saw how broken he got after Sedona left.”
I look at my brother sideways, my heart pumping hot and strange against my ribs. “He never talks about it.”
“That’s because there isn’t much to say.
” Seth swallows, his throat bobbing. “She left overnight. No warning. No fight. Nothing but a letter and the engagement ring on the kitchen table. Billy couldn’t believe she was gone.
He walked around like someone pulled the ground out from under him. Six months of that.”
I rub a hand over my face, fingers digging into my scalp. “Do you know what happened?”
“To be honest,” he says, voice low, “I don’t think anyone knows.”
Wind rushes through the open window, carrying the smell of cedar and distant campfire smoke from the Fall Festival stands set up on Main Street. We drive past a cluster of parked food trucks and a few families hauling bags of kettle corn.
Seth breaks the silence. “How’s she doing? Has she changed?”
A tightness unfurls across my stomach. Images flash in my mind before I can push them out. Sedona in her old doorway. Sedona dropping to her knees for Boone, her hands deep in his fur.
Sedona’s breath hitching when I hugged her, the faint scent of citrus on her cheek. A flush that rose along her neck when Clara appeared on the stairs.
My body remembers all of it, whether I want it to or not.
I grip the armrest. “She seems fine. She’s here with her friend Clara. She looks like she’s coping.”
Seth nods slowly. “I don’t think Billy’s coping.”
“I know.” My voice tightens. “He’s the one who found Dr. Archer. He had to call the ambulance. Then he had to talk to half the town about it. I still can’t believe the old man’s gone.”
I stare out the window. The pastures blur. I try to push the image of Billy’s face from my mind, the way his eyes tightened the moment I mentioned Sedona earlier this morning.
Seth shifts in his seat. “How’s Joey doing?”
A grin cracks across my face. “He’s good. He’s competing in bull riding down near Austin. Big rodeo. He took second place last weekend. Nearly got thrown in the semis, but he held on. Crowds love him.”
“Damn,” Seth murmurs. “I need to call him.”
“You always say that.” I laugh. “Then you forget. Shitty excuse.”
He holds one hand up. “I know. I’ll try harder.”
The church comes into view at the end of the street. Cars fill the lot, their bumpers lined up in crooked rows. People gather along the steps, dressed in black and dark browns, talking in hushed tones.
The bell tower looms above us, its cross glinting against the pale sky. A cluster of mums sits beside the entrance, orange petals bright against the stone wall.
“We’re here,” I say.
Seth pulls in and parks. We step out and adjust our jackets. I spot a family I grew up with, then a few ranch hands from the neighboring property. Faces blur together with grief and sympathy.
All of them came for Dr. Archer.
Inside, the church carries a thick air of reverence. Not the stiff kind. The kind that settles between people as they gather under something bigger than themselves.
The pews fill fast. Seth nudges me toward the back row where there’s enough space for us without crowding anyone.
The service begins with low organ notes. Voices blend softly. My throat tightens in a way I haven’t felt since my father’s funeral sixteen years ago.
I was sixteen then. Seth was sitting next to me, so shocked by the whole thing. Billy sat between us and gripped our hands so hard his knuckles turned white.
The memory rises sharp enough that I blink against it.
I look toward the front rows. I find Sedona sitting beside Clara, their knees touching. And next to Sedona is a man I have never seen before.
Blond hair neatly combed. Crisp shirt. His arm is stretched along the back of the pew, his other hand closing around hers, his thumb grazing her palm in a way that feels intimate.
My jaw tightens without permission. Something unpleasant knots deep in my stomach. Jealousy pulses under my ribs.
I tell myself to look away, but my eyes keep drifting back to them, back to her, back to the way she leans slightly into him when her breath stumbles.
The pastor speaks about loss and second chances, about living the kind of life someone would want carried on. People murmur their amens, their palms pressed together.
My hands curl into fists on my thighs. I try to listen, but my focus keeps slipping.
Then Sedona stands.
Her dress falls in soft folds to her knees, her hair pinned at the back of her head with loose strands framing her face. She takes her place at the front, gripping the lectern with both hands.
Her voice starts strong, but fear stutters through it. She speaks about a father who was flawed but loved her the only way he knew how. A man who saved strays, who broke fences so the deer wouldn’t get trapped.
She describes nights spent listening to old records, his hum drifting through their small living room like a balm.
Her voice cracks. Just a breath. Just a small tremble in her chest. She looks toward the back, and her eyes land on someone behind me.
I turn.
Billy stands at the end of the aisle, dressed in a black dress shirt tucked into black jeans, boots still dusted from the field.
His hair is damp, like he showered in a rush, and his expression holds something raw. He shifts forward and joins us in the back row, sliding into the space beside me.
I place a hand over his and squeeze. His skin feels warm. He doesn’t look at me. He just nods once, barely noticeable.
“Thank you for coming,” I murmur.
He doesn’t respond. His eyes stay fixed on Sedona, his jaw tight with something he will never say out loud.
The service continues with prayers and songs. People sniffle into tissues. Some hold each other’s shoulders.
When the final amen rolls through the room, we rise with everyone else. The procession forms, moving toward the cemetery behind the church.
The three of us walk together. Seth on my left, Billy on my right.
The sky above is pale with thin clouds drifting like stretched cotton. Red and orange leaves scatter across the ground with each step we take.
At the gravesite, Sedona stands at the head of the casket while the pastor speaks. Her shoulders curl inward. Clara wraps an arm around her.
The blond man steps closer and she leans into both of them. The sight tightens something in my chest.