12. Ramona
— ? —
Ramona
The vet checked June over yesterday and couldn’t find a reason for the jumpiness. She told me to keep an eye on her and call if anything changes.
Julius closes the truck door harder than he means to, then sits with his hand still on the handle. Through the windshield, I can see the counselor returning to her desk.
He starts the engine, but neither of us reaches for a seat belt.
“You sounded different when you told her.” I keep looking at the office window. “You just said you missed riding. You didn’t get angry or tell her she wouldn’t understand.”
“She asked me a question.” He rests both hands on the wheel. “I answered it.”
“I’ve been asking you questions, Julius.” I turn toward him. “For weeks.”
“I know you have.” He rubs his thumb over a worn spot in the leather.
“Then why did she get an answer before I did? Why did Dakota?”
“I think I blamed you for a choice I made.” He switches off the engine and looks at the keys in his hand before setting them down. “It was easier than admitting I wanted the life we built and still missed the other one.”
***
We don’t get far before I ask him to pull over.
He turns into the gravel entrance of an empty turnout and parks clear of the road. A stock trailer passes behind us while I unfasten my seat belt.
“When did you decide?” I shift toward him. “Before the house was finished, or afterward?”
“Before.” He loosens his own belt and lets it slide back. “I was tired of packing every time I got comfortable. The ranch needed me after Dad died, and I liked being there more than I expected.”
I watch him run his fingers along the wheel.
“I wanted to finish the house.” He glances at me. “You’d come over and talk about where we’d put things, and I’d leave again before we could do any of it.”
“The house could have waited.” I flatten my palm against my thigh.
“I didn’t want to wait.” He turns toward me. “I wanted to come home and know I could stay. Nobody forced me to want that.”
I look out at the traffic until I can speak.
“Then how did she end up feeling sorry for you?” I turn back. “What did you say that made Dakota think you were stuck with a life you didn’t choose?”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away.
“I talked about missing it.” He pulls at a loose thread on his jeans. “When she said it must be hard with you worrying, I let that stand.”
“You let her blame me.” I reach across and catch his shirt before he can answer too quickly. “I need you to understand that part.”
“I do.” He covers my hand gently. “I should have told her I chose to stop.”
“I held that buckle every time you rode.” My fingers tighten in his shirt. “I was terrified, and I still went. I didn’t stay home to punish you. I didn’t ask you to pick me instead.”
“I remember you being there.” He lowers his head until he can see my face.
“Then stop talking about my fear as if that’s all I gave you.” I let go of his shirt and wipe my cheeks. “I was proud of you, too.”
He sits back enough to give me room, but keeps his palm open between us.
“I should have told you I missed it before I started getting angry about it.” He looks at the wet marks on my sleeves. “You were asking what was wrong, and I kept telling you I was tired.”
“Were you unhappy with me?” I ask before I can decide not to.
His hand closes around mine.
“I was unhappy with myself.” He holds my gaze. “I had the ranch, the house, you. I thought wanting more made me ungrateful.”
“So you found someone who didn’t know you were supposed to be happy.” I look down at our hands.
“I didn’t go looking for her.” He stops when I lift my eyes. “But I kept talking once she listened. I know that.”
I wait while a truck passes, its tires loud against the road. Julius doesn’t use the interruption to change the subject.
“I don’t want to be grateful enough that I stop telling you the truth.” He turns my hand over in his. “I think that’s what I was doing.”
“You can want more without making me the reason you don’t have it.” I pull a tissue from the console and press it beneath my eyes.
He draws me closer only after I lean toward him. The console keeps me from getting comfortable, and I give a wet laugh when my elbow knocks his water bottle over.
“Of all the trucks you own, you had to bring the one with nowhere for me to sit.” I catch the bottle before it rolls beneath my feet.
“I can move the seat.” He reaches toward the controls.
“I meant beside you, idiot.” I put the bottle down and grip his shoulder.
He laughs quietly, then presses his mouth against my hair.
“I’d move the whole damn console if I could.” He holds me carefully while I cry into his shirt.
***
The calf in the recovery room refuses the bottle until Julius takes it.
I stand beside him with a clean towel over my arm, watching the little mouth finally close around the rubber nipple.
“You look pleased with yourself.” I lean against the rail while he adjusts his grip.
“I’ve been rejected by enough animals on this ranch.” He looks down at the calf. “I’m enjoying the success.”
“She’s hungry.” I step closer to check the bottle. “Don’t make it personal.”
The calf jerks her head, spilling milk down the front of his shirt, and Julius looks at me while I try to keep my face straight.
“You could help.” He holds the bottle steady.
“I’m supervising.” I take the towel from my shoulder and wipe his wrist before the milk runs into his watch.
His fingers brush mine. I leave my hand against his arm a little longer than I need to. He is still wearing the shirt I cried into. There’s milk down the front now, and dirt near the hem where the calf rubbed against him.
This is the man I want to talk to. Stay here with me.
“Do you want to compete again?” I ask while he’s watching the calf.
His hand stills briefly before he adjusts the bottle.
“I want to try.” He looks up at me. “I don’t know how good I’d be now.”
“Are you worried about getting hurt?” I set the towel over the rail.
“That’s part of it.” He watches the calf’s ears move as she drinks. “I’m also worried I’ll get on and find out I can’t do what I remember.”
I nod, waiting while he works through the answer.
“People still bring up rides I made years ago.” He keeps his eyes on the calf instead of me. “Sometimes I think it might be easier to leave them remembering that.”
“You don’t have to be as good as you were to be allowed to enjoy it.” I crouch beside him, keeping my boots clear of the calf.
He looks at me, and lowers the bottle as she pauses.
“I wish I could make myself believe that.” He says it to the calf’s ear.
“Then you can practice believing it.” I touch his knee. “You don’t need a crowd watching while you figure it out.”
“Would you want to come?” He asks carefully, his eyes staying on mine.
“I’d want you to ask me.” I let my hand rest where it is. “I’ll still worry. I can’t promise I won’t.”
“I’m not asking you to stop caring whether I get hurt.” He reaches for the towel and wipes his hand before covering mine.
“You acted as if caring made me difficult.” I look at his fingers over my wedding ring.
“I was wrong. You can be scared. I still need to tell you.”
The calf pushes at the bottle, making him turn back to her. I hold the towel beneath it while he helps her find it again, and we stay there until she finishes.
When he stands, I wipe a streak of milk from his throat. He catches my wrist before I can lower my hand.
“You’re going to get it on yourself.” He looks down at my clean shirt.
“I’ve survived worse.” I step between his boots, keeping my hand against his neck.
He kisses me slowly. I close my eyes and let him hold my waist, but when he starts to draw me closer, I press my palm against his chest.
“We still need to make the rule clear.” I stay near enough that he can’t mistake it for rejection.
“No more surprises.” He rests his forehead against mine.
“If you start training, I hear it from you.” I smooth my thumb along his jaw. “If you get scared or change your mind, you tell me that, too.”
“I will.” He kisses my palm, then meets my eyes again. “Even if I don’t have it figured out.”
I nod and let him kiss me again, and this time, I don’t move my hand away from his shirt.
***
Julius finds me beside the old training pen with June’s bridle across my knees.
He stands on the other side of the fence with his phone in his hand. I stop working the leather when he doesn’t immediately come through the gate.
“What happened?” I put the cloth beside me.
“I got an invitation.” He opens the gate and sits on the bench beside mine. “I wanted you to read it before I answered.”
I take the phone. The Western Classic wants him in an exhibition with former champions. I recognize the arena and the charity named beneath the invitation. The message says they’ve held a place for him, and I look up before I finish.
“They want you next month.” I keep the phone between us. “Have they asked before?”
“A few times.” He rests his hands on his knees. “I kept saying I couldn’t.”
“Did I know about any of those?”
He looks at the screen.
“I don’t think I showed you.” He turns back to me. “I should have.”
I put June’s bridle safely on the bench so I can give him my full attention.
“What do you want to say this time?” I hand him the phone.
He reads the invitation again. His thumb moves over the edge of the case, and I watch him look toward the empty pen.
“I want to say yes.” He exhales before meeting my eyes. “But I’m going to tell them I’m not ready.”
“Because of us?” I sit straighter.
“Because I haven’t trained for it.” He turns the screen toward me again. “Getting there is easy. It’s the years I haven’t ridden that I can’t buy back.”
I look down at the invitation.
“You don’t owe them proof.” I touch his wrist. “Or me.”
“I know.” He smiles a little. “I’m still working on the part where I believe you.”
“You can practice that, too.” I move my hand into his.
He holds it while he reads the message once more. Then he opens a reply.
“Will you stay while I answer?” He glances at me. “I’d rather do it before I start talking myself into going.”
I lean against his shoulder as he types. He thanks them for asking. He tells them he wants to train properly before considering a return. He asks them to keep him in mind another time, and before sending it, he turns the screen so I can read.
“You don’t need my permission.” I look up at him.
“I know.” He brushes his thumb over my knuckles. “I want you to know what I said.”
I kiss his cheek, and he presses send.
For a while, we stay on the bench while June grazes beyond the fence. Julius holds my hand without checking his phone when it vibrates.
“You can look.” I lift my head from his shoulder. “We’re already talking about it.”
He opens the reply, and I feel his hand tighten before I read the screen.
Western Classic: We understand, Julius, but we’re sorry to lose you. Dakota said you were eager to ride and asked us to keep that place open. Would another date work better?
I sit up slowly, and Julius turns toward me with the phone still between us.
“I didn’t ask her to do that.” He looks directly at me. “I haven’t spoken to her about entering this.”
I read the message again, then look at his face.
He takes the phone back and types while I watch. He turns the screen toward me before he sends it.
Dakota, you don’t contact organizers for me or commit me to anything. That isn’t your job.
“That’s what I should have said the first time she spoke for me.” He sends it while I’m still reading.
For once, he showed me before I had to ask. Dakota has already told somebody else what he wants.