10. Julius
— ? —
Julius
Dakota’s name appears on my phone while I’m standing outside the training pen. I turn the screen toward my leg before the hand beside me can see it, and the preview is short.
Dakota: Can we talk before you leave?
I put the phone away and check the gate.
“We’ll use this pen tomorrow.” I test the latch again, although it catches properly. “Have somebody walk through it before the horses come in.”
“Dakota wanted to go over that with you.” The hand takes the lead rope from the hook beside us. “She’s in the office.”
“She can leave her notes with you.” I pick up my jacket from the rail. “I’m meeting Ramona.”
He looks toward the office windows, then back at me.
“You want me to tell her you’re leaving?” He shifts the rope between his hands.
“I’ll tell her myself.” I stop before I reach the outside door.
You can’t keep making other people do this.
Through the office window, I see Dakota sitting with her notebook open. She looks up as I approach, then gets to her feet before I reach the doorway.
“I thought you’d gone.” She closes the notebook and holds it against her chest. “Have you got a minute?”
“I’m meeting Ramona.” I shift my jacket over my arm, but stay beside the door. “If it’s about tomorrow, the hands have everything they need.”
“It isn’t about the horses.” She looks past me into the passage before lowering her voice. “You’ve barely spoken to me all week. What did I do?”
I glance behind me, too. Nobody is nearby, but I turn back before she can move closer.
“I need to be honest with you.” I grip the jacket beneath my arm. “I shouldn’t have been talking to you about my marriage. That wasn’t fair to Ramona.”
Dakota lowers the notebook to the desk, keeping her fingers against its cover.
“I wasn’t asking you to choose between us.” She looks up at me. “I thought you needed someone to listen.”
“I did need to talk. I should have talked to my wife.” I stop myself from looking away. “Instead, I told you what was bothering me and went home without telling her. Then I let you think she was the reason I couldn’t.”
“She’s upset that we’re friends?” Dakota smooths the cover of the notebook.
“She’s upset because I’ve been leaving her out.” I take a breath before continuing. “I’ve given her reasons to be. I need to stop pretending these conversations are harmless just because we haven’t touched each other.”
Dakota’s hand goes still. For a moment, I hear boots passing at the far end of the barn, then the outside door closing.
“So what happens now?” She folds her arms, her voice quieter than before.
“We talk about the program.” I step back from the doorway. “I’m not going to discuss my marriage with you again.”
She starts to answer, but I lift my hand gently.
“I need to go. Ramona’s waiting.” I turn before I can soften what I’ve said.
At the truck, I take out my phone. Dakota’s messages sit beneath the one from my wife telling me where to park.
I could tell her now to use only my work number. Instead, I lock the screen and get behind the wheel.
She knows what I meant.
I start the engine and leave it at that.
***
Ramona is at the town arena when I arrive, directing two men carrying a folding table.
“Leave room for people to get through.” She points toward the aisle between the tables. “I don’t want anybody backing into a horse because they’re trying to eat cake.”
I park beside the trailers and watch her wave the men farther over.
The arena has the Wyatt name above every entrance. My trucks fill half the gravel lot, and our horses are waiting for the evening demonstration. Ramona wears my old shirt over her jeans, its sleeves rolled above her elbows, and she’s organizing the whole damn place with a serving spoon in her hand.
You could have been here helping instead of watching from the truck.
I grab the boxes from the back seat and carry them to the serving table.
“You’re here already.” She turns when I set them down.
“You told me when to come.” I look at the spoon, then at her face. “I wrote it down.”
“Should I be worried?” She takes a box from me and checks inside. “You’ve arrived when you said you would all week.”
“I’m hoping you’ll get used to it.” I reach past her to straighten the tablecloth caught beneath a box.
“I’ll try not to alert the local paper.” She glances at me, smiling before she turns away.
I catch her hand gently and draw her beside the trailer, out of the main aisle. She lets me, although she keeps hold of the spoon.
“If you’re about to ask me for a favor, remember I’m armed.” She rests it against my chest.
“I brought the napkins you forgot.” I put my hand around her waist. “I thought that might earn me a kiss.”
“You own the arena. You could have borrowed napkins.” She looks down at my hand, then back at me.
“You wanted the blue ones.” I lean closer. “I listened.”
Her mouth softens before she rises onto her toes. The kiss is brief, but her fingers stay against my shirt afterward.
“I’ve noticed.” She smooths the place where the spoon leaves a damp mark.
“The napkins?” I look down at her hand.
“You coming to find me.” She keeps her eyes on my chest. “Leaving your phone alone. Asking about June without checking the screen halfway through.”
I lift her chin with my fingertips.
“I’m sorry that had to become impressive.”
She presses her lips together, then nudges my stomach with the spoon.
“You can keep doing it.” She steps back, but grabs my hand before I can lower it. “I like having you around.”
“I like being here.” I pull her close enough to kiss her cheek.
A man carrying a stack of chairs stops behind us.
“Do you want these by the fence?” He looks firmly at the chairs while Ramona turns.
“Beside the other row, please.” She points with the spoon, then looks back at me. “You can help him. Show me what those arms are for.”
“I thought I was doing that.” I don’t look away until she laughs, and then I take the chairs.
***
By the time people start arriving, Ramona has flour on her sleeve and a smudge of sauce near her wrist.
I find her at the outdoor grill beside the arena kitchen, checking trays while a hand carries food toward the tables.
“Tell me where you need me.” I stop close enough that she leans her shoulder against my arm.
“Watch the bread while I get the next tray.” She hands me an oven mitt. “Watch it with your eyes. Standing beside it isn’t enough.”
“You’re very specific about supervision.” I take the mitt.
Ramona bends to check beneath the table, and her shirt pulls across her hips. I watch the fabric tighten over her jeans, then lift enough to show a strip of skin above her waistband. When she straightens and pushes her hair off her neck, I’m still looking.
“The bread, Julius.” She points past my shoulder, catching my eye before I turn.
I get the tray off the heat with the mitt, a beat later than I should, and set it on the rack while she comes beside me.
“Shit. I thought we had longer.” I nudge the rolls off the hot metal before it can do any damage.
“You might have noticed if you’d been watching it.” She takes the mitt from me, her mouth starting to curve. “What were you doing over there?”
“You bent over.” I look at her instead of trying to defend the bread.
“I needed another tray.” She slides the rolls onto it, then glances over her shoulder. “Am I going to have to announce that every time?”
“A warning would be appreciated.” I put my hand against her lower back, feeling her lean into it while she works.
She reaches across the table again, slower this time, and looks back to see whether I notice. I slide my fingers just beneath her shirt before she can straighten.
“Now you’re doing it on purpose.” I keep my voice low enough that only she hears.
“I wanted to make sure.” She puts down the last piece of bread and turns beneath my hand. “You’ve been very busy lately.”
I stop smiling. Her fingers settle against my wrist, holding my hand where it is.
“I still want you, Ramona.” I draw her closer, waiting until she meets my eyes. “You don’t have to test that.”
“I like getting to see it.” She smooths the front of my shirt, then leaves her palm against my chest.
I brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She tips her face up, and I kiss her slowly enough that her fingers curl into my shirt before I’m ready to let go.
Someone moves behind us with a tray. I shift out of the way without taking my hand from her waist, and she catches my collar when I start to lift my head.
“You can finish.” She smiles close to my mouth.
I kiss her again. This time, her other hand slides around my neck, and I have to remind myself we’re standing beside a serving table with half the ranch nearby.
When we separate, she stays against me.
“I missed you looking at me like that.” She slips a finger beneath my cuff, keeping her eyes on mine. “I know you’re busy, but I missed it.”
“I wasn’t thinking about work just now.” I pull her closer and kiss her forehead. “Or the bread, apparently.”
She laughs against my shirt, and I leave my arm around her until somebody whistles behind us.
“Get back to work, Wyatt!” One of the hands grins from beside the serving table.
“I’m trying to.” I look over Ramona’s head. “She won’t let me.”
“Oh, bullshit.” She laughs and pushes at my chest, but catches my shirt before I can move away. “You started this.”
“I’m happy to keep going.” I lean toward her again, earning another whistle.
She kisses me quickly, then reaches for the tray.
“You can carry this before they get any louder.” She hands it to me and brushes a crumb off my shirt.
I take the tray while she gathers the napkins. The caterers I paid for are standing by the kitchen doors with nothing to do, and she walks past them without a glance, same as every year. As we walk back, her shoulder bumps mine, and she stays close enough to do it again.
***
Ramona leaves me stacking boxes while she helps get the horses into the trailers. I carry the last stack toward the truck, stopping to pick up a paper cup before it blows beneath somebody’s tires. My phone vibrates as I drop it into the bin.
Dakota: I miss talking to you.