Ten #2
By Saturday, it felt like I had trudged through mountains of deep, sticky mud. My limbs resisted every movement, the heat wore me down, and my appetite was shot.
Nothing had gone the way I planned.
After my trail ride with Cooper on Thursday, I threw the rest of my plans to the wind.
Despite Bea and Hollie’s protests about me needing to rest, I did little else but help them in the bed and breakfast and play with my nieces, returning to the fifth wheel multiple times a day to implore Peter to spend time with me.
He refused.
When he did emerge on Saturday evening, it was to eat dinner and attend a small open mic event at a restaurant in Kerrville.
Bea had finally gotten back into the swing of recording from her home studio.
And in the last year, she’d produced a single.
To my shame, I’d been so wrapped up in my own world, I hadn’t even taken the time to hop on Spotify and listen to it.
This would be her first live audience since the last tour she took with her friend Adrienne all those years ago.
Even though I was thankful to Bea for coercing Peter out of the fifth wheel for her big night, a large part of my heart bled with jealousy.
Why had Peter listened to her, yet not me?
Somehow, I had morphed into the villain, constantly playing the bad guy in Peter’s life.
My pleadings for his wellbeing fell on deaf ears—a nagging for him to tune out.
I climbed the slope toward the big house, arm-in-arm with Peter, whose cane brushed the grass a couple steps ahead.
We made our way to the front of the wraparound porch and eased into the swing to wait for the rest of the Meadowbrook crew.
Save Jesse and Cade, who were still on the road, everyone planned on attending the open mic.
Tag, Bea, and Wren made it to the porch next.
Wren sat on Tag’s hip and Bea’s long-loved guitar, Glory, was nestled in a case on her back with a leather strap.
Bea wore cowgirl boots, flare jeans, and a red tucked-in button-up shirt.
A long, thick braid draped over her shoulder.
Her aesthetic evolved over the years. From indie-folk musician to country girl.
Tag looked great, too. The tan button-down tucked into his dust-free jeans made him look broad and lean simultaneously. His hatless curls were still damp from a shower and little Wren wore a yellow cotton dress and her signature scowl.
“Bea, you look beautiful,” I said. “Are you ready?”
She eased onto the wicker bench with Tag. “Very! I thought I would be nervous, but I’m not at all.”
We chatted for a little bit as Cooper, Harlan, Cody, and Rudy made their way to the porch. Everyone was buffed clean, showcasing Meadowbrook’s finer side. I thought it was sweet that even the cowboys respected the occasion and showed up to support Bea.
We were just waiting on Hollie and the girls.
As Rudy sat across from Peter to make conversation, I sensed someone’s eyes on me.
Glancing up, I found Cody staring from the porch steps—his lips parted, eyes hooded.
A bolt of heat lifted to my cheeks as we made eye contact and then he looked away.
Cody was young and buff and blond. Some might consider him handsome, but I didn’t.
And I didn’t like the way his presence had suddenly surged to the center of my awareness.
I tried to put him out of my mind.
As Hollie and the girls emerged, we all stood and made our way to the vehicles. But Tag’s phone blared like a siren.
He fished it from his pocket then quickly sat back down.
Bea frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s—it’s Frank.” His voice was strangely breathless.
Bea gasped. “Frank?”
The cowboys and Hollie stopped mid-journey and looked back. Hollie’s mouth opened with shock. The cowboys wore mixed expressions—eyebrows raised with cautiously excited smiles.
Frank was someone important, clearly.
Bea sank back into her seat, too, then shook Tag’s forearm. “Answer it!”
Tag stared at his phone screen, not moving. “He’s not supposed to call until November.”
Bea laughed, shaking him a little harder. “It’s going to go to voicemail.”
Tag swiped the phone screen, his hands trembling.
Harlan yell-whispered, “Put him on speaker!”
Tag nodded as he tapped the speaker-phone. “Meadowbrook Ranch. Tag speakin’.”
The boisterous voice on the other end answered. “Tag, it’s Frank. Thanks for taking my call. How are things over at Meadowbrook?”
“Uh, good, sir. Goin’ just fine.”
“And how are you liking the pro circuit?”
Tag loosened a little, a small smile moving his lips. “We’ve had a fun time. We’ve met some great folks and had some good runs.”
“And don’t I know it—you surely have. You know, the Alliance just had a committee meeting this afternoon and we were all talking about American Pie. Man, that is a rank horse.” He gave a raspy laugh. “Jimmy Grubble had every video you’ve submitted of her playing on the projector.”
Bea pressed her lips together and rubbed Tag’s back to encourage him. A soft whisper traveled over the cowboys. Hollie lifted a hand to cover her lips. Based on their reactions, I guessed Jimmy Grubble’s obsession with American Pie was a good sign. Was this the call Tag had been waiting for?
Frank took a deep breath and continued, “Well, I know I said to expect a call in November, but we just had our quarterly this afternoon.” He chuckled softly. “You sittin’ down, son?”
Bea pressed a fist to her mouth, releasing a hollow breath.
“Yes, sir.” Tag, shaking uncontrollably now, propped his elbows on his knees, depositing his phone face-up on the table. Bea snatched Wren away as her chubby, drooly hands reached for it.
Frank said, “In the twenty-five years I’ve been in various leadership roles for the Alliance, I could list on one hand the amount of times there has been a unanimous decision about anything.
There’s always some hang up somewhere. Someone wanting to slow the process down with this objection or that concern, and it’s annoying.
But, Tag, when I say every single member of the committee has been watching Meadowbrook, I mean it.
As soon as your name went up for the vote… ”
Tag’s hand slipped into his hair, gripping it.
Bea covered her face with her fingers, frozen as she waited.
I realized I was biting my bottom lip, hardly breathing.
“You’re the fastest yes we’ve ever given.” I heard the smile in his voice. “Is Meadowbrook ready for a pro paycheck?”
Tag let his head drop downward as a ripple of hushed exclamations flowed over the porch. A choked cry lifted from Bea’s lips and she squeezed her eyes shut, leaning against Tag’s shoulder. Warmth pooled in my chest and heat prickled behind my eyes.
Finally, Tag responded, his voice tight with emotion. “Yes sir, we are.”
“Good. You’re the most anticipated roughstock contractor of the new season and we can’t wait to see you climb the ranks. We know you will.”
A few silent tears leaked onto Bea’s smiling cheeks.
Tag’s fingers wound through hers, pulling her free hand into his lap. He blinked a few times, emotion clouding his eyes.
Frank kept on. “I’m betting it won’t be too terribly long before we see you in Vegas. What do you think about that?”
Tag could scarcely press the words out. “It—would be an honor.”
“Good, good. Well, you’ll get your official membership card in the mail in a few weeks. When you do, you can just shred your probationary one.”
“Will do.”
“My one request is that you not announce it publicly just yet. You’ll have a couple folks who do our media releases reach out for an interview and we’ll include it on the website with our official statement.
Usually, when we add contractors, journalists will want to get your story.
Keeping it hush until we make the announcement just ensures the Alliance gets to do the honors of breaking the news. ”
Frank prattled about the media and a few other things Tag needed to do. But when they disconnected the call, everyone—myself included—burst into cheers.