Chapter 20 The Rodeo
The Rodeo
Maren
* * *
I pick Jackson up at noon on Saturday, and the sight of him waiting on his front porch does something to my pulse that I refuse to examine too closely.
He's wearing his good boots and a shirt I don't recognize, dark blue and fitted in a way that suggests he bought it recently.
For me, maybe. The thought pleases me more than it should.
"Nice truck," he says, climbing into the passenger seat with exaggerated caution. "Is this the one you threatened to run me over with?"
"Different truck." I put it in gear and head down the drive. "That one had better acceleration."
Jackson fastens his seat belt with exaggerated care, playing along with the joke. "Good to know."
The day is perfect: clear sky, warm sun, the kind of bright autumn weather that makes you forget winter is coming. I've got the windows down and country radio playing low, and Jackson seems content to ride shotgun without trying to fill every silence with conversation.
"I talked to your mother yesterday," I say after a few miles, glancing over to catch his reaction.
He turns toward me while I keep my eyes on the road. "Should I be worried?"
"She gave me the keys to the mountain lodge, in case I wanted to use it." I keep my voice casual, trying not to give away how much I want him to like the idea. "Said if we wanted to use it after the rodeo, it's available."
Jackson goes still in a way that tells me he understands exactly what I'm saying.
Jackson's hand stills on his knee. I like watching him work out what I'm offering. "What did you tell her?"
"I told her I'd think about it." I merge onto the highway, focusing on the road. "I'm still thinking."
"Okay." His voice is careful, controlled. "Whatever you decide is fine."
"I know it is." I look over at him, letting him see that I mean it. "That's not why I'm telling you. I'm telling you because I want you to know it's an option. If you'd like that too."
He tries for a joke, but the pleased smile gives him away. "No pressure then."
"None at all." I smile despite myself. "I thought we might enjoy having a night without the drive back to town."
"I can behave." He settles back into his seat, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the hope he's trying not to let show. "I'll be the picture of good behavior."
I turn up the radio, happy to leave him smiling over the possibility. "We'll see."
* * *
The county rodeo is packed with families, the smell of popcorn and livestock mixing in the afternoon air. Jackson guides me toward the VIP section with a hand on my lower back, nodding at people he knows and introducing me when introductions seem necessary.
The family box is ridiculous: plush seats, a private bar, a view of the arena that makes the regular stands look like punishment. I settle into one of the chairs and accept the lemonade Jackson hands me without comment.
"You know," I say, watching a group of kids chase each other near the fence line, "when I was little, my parents used to bring me to rodeos like this. We sat in the regular seats with everyone else. I thought that was the whole experience."
"Did you prefer it?" Jackson sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. "I can find us spots in the bleachers if you'd rather."
"Nice try." I bump his shoulder with mine. "I'm not giving up the free drinks."
Jackson glances from me to the private bar, pretending to reassess my motives. "Mercenary."
I settle deeper into the comfortable seat and refuse to look ashamed of it. "Practical."
The announcer's voice crackles over the speakers, calling the first event, barrel racing. We watch in comfortable silence as the riders take their turns, horses and humans moving together in patterns that look effortless and aren't.
"Okay, bet time." Jackson turns to face me with an expression of exaggerated seriousness. "Bull riding's coming up. Five dollars says I can guess the name of the first bull."
"Five dollars?" I raise an eyebrow. "High roller."
He pats his pocket for the money, taking his wager seriously. "I like to live dangerously."
"Fine." I pull out my wallet and slap a five on the armrest between us. "What's your guess?"
"Thunderbolt." He says it with complete confidence. "They're always named something dramatic. Thunderbolt, Lightning, Destroyer of Worlds."
I wait for him to improve on that guess, though I don't hold much hope for it. "Destroyer of Worlds is three words."
Jackson holds up a finger as though he's found a loophole. "Hyphenated."
I cover the five-dollar bill on the armrest before he can claim the argument has helped him. "That's not how hyphens work."
The announcer calls the bull riding event, and the first rider takes his position. The chute opens, and the bull explodes into the arena, massive, furious, absolutely magnificent in his determination to throw the human on his back.
The announcer's voice carries over the scrape of the opened chute. "Ladies and gentlemen, riding Marvin today is Luke Hart from Cody, Wyoming!"
I turn to Jackson with my hand extended. "Pay up."
"Marvin?" He stares at the arena in disbelief. "They named that killing machine Marvin?"
I keep my hand out, enjoying this far more than a five-dollar win deserves. "Five dollars, please."
He hands over the bill with exaggerated reluctance, and I take it with satisfaction.
I smooth the five-dollar bill against my knee, displaying my winnings. "I'm keeping this forever. Framing it. Putting it on my wall with a little plaque that says 'The Day I Defeated Jackson Wilder.'"
Jackson puts his wallet away, still offended by the bull's name. "It was one bet."
I tuck the winnings into my pocket before he can propose another wager. "A bet you lost."
"Marvin." He shakes his head, still watching the bull try to murder the rider. "Honestly. What kind of name is Marvin for a bull?"
"A winning name." I lean over and kiss his cheek, quick and casual. "Better luck next time."
The rest of the afternoon unfolds easily.
We eat too much fair food, watch the events with genuine interest, and talk about nothing important.
Jackson tells me about a horse he's thinking of buying; I tell him about the Montana event and the menu I'm developing.
It feels normal in a way that nothing has felt normal in months.
When the sun starts to sink and the crowd begins to thin, I pull out my phone and text Delilah.
Taking you up on the lodge offer. Can you let the staff know?
Her response comes almost immediately. I'll call the caretaker now. He can have it warm by the time you arrive. Take the keys I gave you. Have fun, sweetheart.
Jackson watches me type without asking what I'm doing. I meet his eyes over the screen.
I put away the phone and turn toward him. "I thought about it. How today went."
Jackson waits beside my chair with his hand held out. "And?"
I look at his outstretched hand before I take it. "And I'd like that night at the lodge."
He closes his fingers around mine, pleased by where the afternoon is going. "I was hoping you'd say that."
I stand, keeping my hand in his. "Come on, then."
* * *
The drive takes an hour through mountain roads that wind upward through pine and aspen. Jackson asks if I'd like him to drive. I tell him I'm enjoying the road, and he settles back to point out the turnoff.
The lodge appears around a final curve, a beautiful building of stone and timber, smaller than I expected but perfectly placed against the mountain backdrop. Warm light glows from the windows, and smoke rises from the chimney.
Jackson points to the light over the porch as I slow the truck. "Looks like Mom reached the caretaker. He's got it ready for us."
I park near the entrance, grateful that we won't have to make conversation with anyone else tonight. "Good."
I take the lodge keys from my purse and get out. The door opens onto a living room that's all exposed beams and comfortable furniture, a fire crackling in the massive stone fireplace.
"This is beautiful," I say, walking slowly through the space. "I've never been here before."
"We used it for family retreats when I was a kid." Jackson follows me, keeping a respectful distance. "Gran loved it up here. Said the air was cleaner."
I breathe in the cool air from the open doorway before closing it behind us. "She was right."
I explore the kitchen, the bedroom with its view of the mountains, the bathroom with its absurdly large tub. Jackson carries my bag in from the truck while I explore, then meets me at the bedroom door.
"Jackson," I say finally, turning to face him in the bedroom doorway.
Jackson lowers my bag beside the bed and turns back toward me. "Yeah?"
I touch the overnight bag with the toe of my boot, letting him see I'd hoped we'd end up here. "I packed for tomorrow, too."
I watch the realization hit him, what that means, what I'm saying. His expression shifts from careful neutrality to something warmer, more hopeful.
His attention moves from the bag to my face, and his smile arrives slowly. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I close the distance between us and rest my hands on his chest. "I'm choosing this. I'm choosing you. Tonight."
He kisses me like I've given him something precious, and I let myself fall into it without reservation.
This is different from the apartment, less tentative, more certain.
He catches me laughing against his mouth and asks what's so funny.
I kiss him again instead of answering. For once I'm not trying to decide what the morning will mean.
The fire crackles. The room is warm against the cold outside. And I stop thinking about anything except the feel of him, the taste of him, the way he says my name like it's the only word that matters.
* * *
Morning comes soft and golden through the curtains. I wake up tangled in sheets that smell like cedar and Jackson, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my shoulder.
He tightens his arm around my waist when I start to stretch. "You're awake."
I keep my eyes closed and tuck myself closer to his warmth. "Barely."