Thirty-nine
Cooper
Icouldn’t remember the last time Jesse and Tag were out here training horses. Every day, their orbits pushed a little further from the ranch and a little further from each other. So having them both in the same arena, talking and laughing like the best friends they were, felt like an occasion.
Even their wives and kids were present.
Bea and Hollie had had their phone cameras trained on Peter off and on the entire time he rode.
And, honestly, he did great. For a while, I just led Lady May around the ring with a lead rope.
Then I handed him the reins and explained how it worked.
Then I mounted Trickster so Peter could follow me.
I purposefully threw him a couple curve balls, cutting through the center of the ring or randomly changing direction, and he did well, keeping Lady May on Trickster’s heels.
Every time I looked back at him though, his brow was furrowed like he was concentrating hard.
Then we dismounted, removed their tack, walked the horses to Rudy for grooming, and grabbed two more—Rock-a-bye and Hell Bent. After we exercised them, we did it all over again with the final pairs of the day: Ginger and Harry Trotter, Windy Foot and JoJo.
Having Peter along did slow me down, but once he warmed up, we made good conversation and the afternoon flew by.
By the time we took Windy and JoJo back to Rudy, Tag and Jesse were finishing up with the broncs at the training chute and we all meandered across the arena, picking up pieces of tack while we sipped on water and discussed Harlan’s upcoming rodeo.
He frequently participated in calf roping and team roping, and had quite the reputation for the way he could throw.
“Keep practicin’, Harlan, and maybe one day you’ll be as good as Jess.” Tag goaded him.
Jesse shook his head with a laugh as he lifted a bottle of water to his mouth. “Now, now. That’s not very nice, Tag. Let him have his pride.”
Harlan feigned bewilderment. “Wait. Senior citizens can throw a rope? I didn’t realize.”
The shot at Jesse’s age made everyone laugh.
But he snorted as he swallowed a cheek full of water. “I could whip your ass with two feet in the grave.”
I gave a low whistle, chiming in. “That sounded like a challenge, Harlan.”
“It wasn’t.” Jesse’s hands flew up in surrender. “I’ve got nothing to prove.”
“Let it go, boys,” Tag said. “We all know Harlan’s ego is too fragile for this.” He smirked when Harlan bit, crowing with indignance.
“The only fragile thing y’all should be worryin’ over is Jesse’s arthritic knees.”
Jesse’s head fell back as he laughed over that one. At thirty-seven, he was in prime physical condition and could work circles around us. But he constantly got shit for being the oldest person on the ranch.
“Alright then,” Tag said, steering the conversation with a gleam in his eye. “Why don’t we grab the dummies and watch you show him up?”
Harlan grimaced. “Dummies might be Jesse’s speed, but I only use moving targets.”
Tag said, “Fine then. Someone go get See Ya.”
See Ya and Wouldn’t Wanna Be Ya were Meadowbrook’s steers.
We never used them and they were slow and lazy as hell.
Tag bought them at an auction recently and no one knew why.
Tag himself didn’t even know why. It was a senseless purchase because we stopped training roping horses a couple years back, so they had turned into lawn mowers, just chewing the pastures down and hogging space.
Not to mention, they’d be full-grown bulls in the blink of an eye.
I shook my head. “That won’t prove a thing. I could outrun See Ya.”
“Why don’t you be our target then?” Jesse said.
“I got a better idea.” I pointed between the two of them. “Harlan should be your target and vice versa.”
Tag laughed. “That—yes.”
“I’m game.” Harlan puffed his chest, enjoying the chance to razz his superior. “Jesse can’t run real fast these days, so it should be a piece of cake.”
Jesse shook a finger at Harlan, solidifying the old man image. “You’ll be flossing dirt out of your teeth, young man. I swear it.”
“Likewise, Mr. Holmes.”
Tag disappeared to grab the ropes from the barn, almost skipping with excitement.
Jesse said, “Peter, remember when I taught you and Jack? That was a good time.”
Peter smiled. “It was.”
“Can’t believe that was almost three years ago. Think you could still do it?”
Peter gave a half shrug. “I doubt I’d hit anything.”
“Don’t feel bad.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got twenty-twenty and can’t hit anything.”
Peter laughed. And I realized today was the first day I’d heard him give anything more than a polite whisper of a chuckle.
His true laugh was infectious and made his face crinkle.
Ever since we dismounted, he’d laughed along with our easy banter, his relief palpable.
After working side by side for days, I knew his tension and anxiety had to be wearing him down.
So I was happy he got a win today.
Although, I wasn’t sure why I cared.
Tag brought Rudy and two ropes back to the arena. He handed one to Jesse and waved toward the far side of the arena, “Alright. Harlan, you run first.”
“Why do I gotta run first?” Harlan whined.
“‘Cause I said so.” Tag dragged the toe of his boot through the dust, making a line. “On go, start right here and we’ll give you a two-mississippi head start.”
Harlan took off his cowboy hat and handed it to Rudy. “Fine.” Heaving up his belt, he stepped forward.
Tag turned to Jesse. “You gonna heel him?”
Jesse, already swinging the rope around and around near his waist, frowned. “Of course I’m gonna heel him. I don’t want to break his neck.”
Peter was listening to every word. He turned to me, his voice low. “Heel?”
“That means capturing his ankles instead of his head.”
“Oh, gotcha.”
“Alright, Harlan,” Tag said. “Ready?”
Harlan nodded, crouching into a run-really-fast position.
“Set…”
Jesse’s rope swung a little faster.
“Go.”
Tag counted out loud as Harlan tipped his head back, pumping his arms and running full speed like a lunatic. But as soon as that last pi left Tag’s lips, the rope left Jesse’s hand, skimming along the ground like a hover craft until it zipped tight over Harlan’s ankle.
He ate it—face first.
A series of ohhhs peppered our raucous laughter as Harlan pulled himself off the earth, cussing like a sailor. Tag’s laugh squeaked and Jesse braced his hands on his knees. Rudy reenacted the way Harlan hopped into the air which made everyone laugh all over again.
Part of me felt bad, enjoying the show when Peter couldn’t see what was going on. I considered narrating for him, but that seemed…weird. Like something a woman should do. So I didn’t say anything. But I did glance in his direction, satisfied to see him at least smiling.
Then it was Jesse’s turn to run. And he didn’t get much further than Harlan.
Groaning as we all laughed, he stood up and brushed the dirt off the front of his plaid shirt. “Man, I didn’t feel old before, but I do now.” His first steps limped as he rubbed his hip.
“Alright. Who’s next?” Tag was having way too much fun with this. “How ‘bout you, Rudy?”
Rudy held up his hands. “I’m good.”
Tag’s eyes flicked to me. “Coop?”
“I’ll run if Peter does.”
Peter’s brown eyes widened.
“We’ll run together,” I told him. “Tag and Rudy can throw.”
His uncertainty was replaced by a smile. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Tag rapped the line on the dirt with his boot and we both stepped up to it. Waving the rope around, he said, “It’s been a minute since I’ve done this, Peter. So you might escape.”
Rudy smirked and I knew I was done for. It wasn’t in Rudy’s nature to toot his own horn, but he looked far too pleased with himself, and he hadn’t even thrown the thing.
“What’s our strategy?” Peter asked.
“It’s called run as fast as humanly possible.”
Peter laughed. “Just straight?”
“Yep. A straight line.”
Peter waved his hand out in front of him, indicating the open space ahead of us. “Is there anything out—”
“No,” I said, quickly explaining. “There’s nothing but dirt between here and the fence and you probably got two hundred feet or so before you gotta worry about stopping. You won’t even get that far.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
Jesse called, “Ready?”
I said, “Ready.”
“Set…
We crouched.
“Go.”
Peter took off like a bolt of lightning, his impressive speed momentarily throwing my focus and momentum. But, despite his good run, Tag still got him on the Mis in the third second. And Rudy took me down at sip.
“Here.” Hollie shoved a bag of ice in my face. “Take this.”
Putting down my fork, I reached over my shoulder and took it from her. “Thanks.”
She placed her hands on my shoulders. “You guys are nuts.”
I winced as I pressed it against my face.
When Rudy roped my ankles, my chin took the brunt of the fall and bled pretty heavy for a while.
Thankfully the bleeding had stopped, but it would hurt for a couple days.
“Worth it,” I said. And I meant that. Ignoring our chores, we roped until the start of dinner—eventually bringing out See Ya and prodding him into action with treats.
Due to the new rodeo status, we were all work and no play these days, so cutting up as a group was fun.
Cody was salty that he’d missed the entertainment.
Personally, I was glad he did. His constant jeering and instigation wore on me.
I wasn’t sure if Tag had purposefully kept Cody’s circle of duties from overlapping with Peter’s much, but the fact the two of them had had little contact since the day we threw hay bales came as a relief.
It seemed like he was always running trail rides or errands or doing something that kept him away from the rest of us.
Part of me wondered if Harlan had said something to Tag about Cody stirring the pot with Peter.
Because creating a schedule that would circumnavigate conflict sounded like something Tag would do.
When I thought about all the shit we had put him through at some point or another, I had to admit that Tag was a fantastic boss. Maybe the best.
But something in me worried Tag wouldn’t be here one day—that he would get bored with working the ranch and move on in life, and I’d be left in the dust. My counselors at the rehab center would call that “a narrative I fed myself in an attempt to normalize the pain of abandonment.” But I didn’t feel like I was trying to normalize anything.
My gut truly felt something on the horizon.
Maybe I had a sixth sense for these things—a premonition for the winds of change.
Because, on days like today, when Tag seemed happy and whole and free…I couldn’t help but think someone was coming to cut his tether. That he’d suddenly sprout wings and take to the sky, leaving his little brother behind. And I just honestly hoped I’d be gone before that day rolled around.
What about Hollie? What if she left eventually?
I pressed the ice bag against the split, focusing on the sting in my chin.
Nope. Not gonna happen.
No one was allowed to move on until I did. I’d go first.
“So, does anyone here actually ride at the rodeo?” Peter asked.
Tag answered. “Harlan’s the only one who’s done much of that.”
Harlan swiped a napkin over his lips. “Yep. If ya like the adrenaline rush of ropin’, bareback bronc ridin’ is something else.”
“Do you compete?” Peter asked.
“Just at local stuff. One-off rodeos for the fun of it.”
“That’s cool.”
“I meet great folks and win some belt buckles.”
“Can anyone do it?” Peter asked again, and I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering what was going on in his head. Was he asking because he wanted to try it?
Harlan rattled off about local places that anyone could sign up for, and Peter nodded, soaking it all in. The conversation flitted to the rodeo Harlan was slotted to compete in about an hour away. And somehow we ended up talking about funnel cake of all things.
As relaxed as the evening was, a sliver of my soul felt frantic, desperate to cling to every second.
My spirit mourned like I was losing something that could never be brought back.
Like every drip of happiness and peace I got to experience drained the tank.
And once it ran dry, my time would be up.
I’d be thrown to the demons that nipped at my heels.
Honestly, it was pretty dumb, worrying myself over something that wasn’t even happening.
I could almost hear my counselor in my head.
“Cooper, you’re catastrophizing.”
Whatever. It was impossible not to.
It was a good day. And good days scared the shit out of me.