10. Beau
Beau
“Oh, look who showed up for breakfast,” Jake said with a thin-lipped grin.
I looked over my shoulder so quickly it almost gave me whiplash. We had a lot more people joining us for breakfast this morning, but I spotted Clark and River right away. I smiled so big I almost split my face in half.
I dropped my dopey grin when I realized that River was standing like a deer who’d just heard a branch snap. Jake, for some reason, was still talking to me.
“Pathetic,” Jake said, shaking his head.
I dragged my eyes from the father-son duo and gave my good friend a baleful glare.
“Grumpy bastard,” I muttered under my breath.
I ignored his response and his judgy eyes and waved them over with a careful gesture.
“How’re y’all doin’ this morning?” I asked, gentle in my tone.
River, dressed head to toe in black, collar flipped up—I assumed to hide his hickeys—shoved his hands into his pockets. He lifted a shoulder. The universal affect of the unconcerned.
I didn’t buy it.
Clark watched this micro-exchange between us with a look I couldn’t quite read. Fragile hope, maybe.
“Better, I think,” Clark said. “We’re gonna stay for a few more days and see where we’re at then.”
River gave the smallest nod humanly possible, but Clark saw it. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out and grab that tiny yes and preserve it as something precious.
“Sounds like a plan.” I smiled, but not too big. Like, maybe too much enthusiasm would break this sugar-glass moment. “Y’all ready for some group work on the horses?”
“Yay,” River said, his voice flat.
Snark is good, I thought. Maybe enough for some light ribbing, so I took a chance.
“If you’re nice to me, I’ll pair you with Miguel.”
He glowered at me but couldn’t quite hide the fractional quirk of his mouth. “Whatever.”
Clark sent me a grateful look. He hadn’t shaved, and I could tell they’d had a rough night. I couldn’t wait to get him alone and ask him about it.
Because of my concern.
For River.
“First, breakfast.”
I was pleasantly surprised when River piled his plate high with scrambled eggs, home fries, and crispy bacon. He also poured himself a large mug of black coffee. Did he do that just to keep up with his punk aesthetic? Did he take it black when he wore lip gloss and pink shorts?
Silly questions.
Clark, armed with his coffee breakfast, was watching his son like a hawk. He shook his head. “It’s like he can’t accept any sweetness anymore.”
I was standing behind him at his shoulder and dipped low to speak into his ear. “You wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t agreed to give this place another chance. That’s big. I don’t think you need to stress over things like cream and sugar.”
Clark leaned against me, the move undetectable to anybody looking, but I felt it. The press of his body, the heat. The tremble of uncertainty. I wanted to grab his hip. Or slide my arm across his chest. Help him feel grounded. Instead, I patted his arm.
“It’s gonna be okay.”
“Do you really think so?” he asked, sending me a sideways glance.
“Showing up is half the battle. And he showed up.”
I pointed to the trays of food, and Clark shook his head. “Not a big breakfast person anymore.”
Anymore. Huh.
A lot of folks didn’t eat breakfast, but after all the activities, as well as processing every conceivable emotion, Clark should’ve been ravenous. Was he naturally this trim, or was he not eating?
I was starting to wonder if it was the latter.
I contemplated whether it would be over the line to insist that he eat at least a spoonful of the eggs. Before I could open my big mouth, however, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
My chest tightened. God, I’d do anything to make this better. For both of them.
Clark worked his jaw, biting at his inner lip like he was trying to control his emotional display. I put myself between him and the breakfast crowd.
“You okay?”
He snuck one of the napkins from the sideboard, carefully dabbing at his eyes with a noisy swallow.
“When he’s okay, I’ll be okay.”
Fair enough.
Just as we turned to join River, Miguel walked in.
Today, he wore his hair in a loose pile on top of his head and was decked out in a Snow Creek Ranch T-shirt, worn-in Wranglers, and work boots.
Most people here stop at that, but Miguel liked to accessorize.
The beaded feather earrings and silver belt buckle made me smile, and he’d gone with burnished silver nail polish this morning.
Miguel was wiry like Clark, but he was a food-first bottomless pit.
Swerving to check on River before getting into line told me he cared.
Clark and I paused as Miguel stood by the table and smiled down at River.
We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but River nodded.
Miguel then squeezed the back of River’s neck and made his way to the breakfast line.
River flushed as he watched Miguel walk off.
Clark turned to me, his eyes bright. I winked, and we made our way over to the table. As if by unspoken agreement, he and I did not mention their exchange, and instead, silently went about enjoying our chosen breakfasts.
Miguel joined us a few moments later and still beat all of us to the bottom of his plate.
“I need seconds,” he declared, standing. “You want anything?” he asked River.
River fingered the handle on his untouched mug of coffee. “Maybe some of those little creamers?”
Miguel winked. “You got it.”
Clark reached over and squeezed my leg. I know it was just because he was excited to see River come back to life a little, but it sent a thrill deep into my core for him to put his hands on me. In any capacity.
Pathetic.
Miguel returned not a minute later, a big pile of food on his plate and a fresh mug of coffee.
He set the coffee down in front of River, then tossed out a mix of tiny buckets of creamer and packets of sugar in front of him as well.
River hadn’t asked for the sugar, yet when he fixed his coffee, he added two packets.
I thought Clark was going to vibrate out of his skin.
It seemed like such a small thing, but if I’d watched my own son choke down black coffee for six months, seeing him reach for something he enjoyed instead would probably feel like a Super Bowl victory.
Or a Rugby World Cup final, since he was a fan.
Pathetic squared.
A few minutes later, the blonde twins, Connor and Cynthia, left their family’s table and joined us. Both enjoyed the horses, and they brought River into the conversation.
“How much horse-riding experience have you had?” Cynthia asked, leaning forward.
“Beau taught me how not to fall off a horse a couple days ago.” River shrugged, sending a crooked smile in my direction. “That’s about the extent of things.”
That made me unreasonably proud. Not just for the grin, which felt like a miracle. But for the way Clark squeezed my thigh.
We finished breakfast and headed to the main barn with the teenagers.
The family from cabin six was already there: two dads and a fourteen-year-old girl named Stevie.
One dad looked like a ranch hand. The other looked like a business exec and shared Stevie’s pretty amber eyes.
Stevie was already comfortable with the horses, so I wondered if I should invite her to help with today’s demonstration.
I spent a few minutes explaining that the things we were going to do today were meant to prepare us for the overnight trail ride next Wednesday. As much as I tried to focus on the day’s schedule, I couldn’t help but wonder if Clark and River would still be here for the trail ride.
I hoped so.
During my intro, I’d said Miguel was my right-hand man, that he would be helping us with the trail ride.
That’s not the first time I’d said that, but something about today made him stand up a little taller.
For all his showiness with the hair and the earrings and the nails, he didn’t have the best family life and occasionally struggled with self-acceptance.
Watching him bloom over the last year had been incredibly satisfying. And as much shit as I’d given him last night for marking up River’s neck like a hungry piranha, that was actually the first time I’ve ever seen him show interest in someone.
Jake worked his magic, finding the horses that matched the riders’ personalities. All Snow Creek’s horses were well-trained and gentle, and even though we didn’t make a big deal of it, the first event of the day was walking them from the barn to the larger riding area.
Of course, they were walking alongside trusted adults, but showing these teens that they could manage over a thousand pounds of horse was always a special moment. So many felt like they had no control over their world, and this walk always showed them how much power they actually had.
River trailed after Miguel as he carried the mounting block over. I had to admit, they were a cute couple in an opposites-attract sorta way. Like a raven and a peacock.
The kids and dads hung out along the fence while we set up barrels and low jumps. Stevie’s corporate dad gestured me over.
“She’s shy about saying so,” he whispered in his soft Texas accent, “but she’s a gold medal barrel racer and works at a dude ranch near our place. She’d be tickled pink if you asked her to help.”
Called it. She’d walked Shorty, one of our feistier geldings, over without a hint of trouble.
“You sure she won’t be bored?” I asked, wondering to myself why they’d even come all the way out here if they’ve got access to a dude ranch back home.
Her dad shook his head. “She’s been begging me to come here for an age. Been looking forward to today and, of course, the trail ride.” He groaned, gesturing to himself with an eye roll. “She thinks it’s hilarious that Mr. Three-Thousand-Count Bedsheets here is gonna be sleeping in a tent.”
I did some quick mental calculations, risk vs. reward, and could see where she’d be helpful. “Do you think she’d wanna show off after the activities? Do a coupla barrel runs?”
Her dad laughed. “She’d love it.”
I asked her to help me with the kids and let Miguel take over with the teens.
Stevie was excellent with the young ones, and when one of them balked at getting up on the horse, she steadied him, zero judgment.
By the end of the morning, all of her charges were confidently riding their horses around the paddock.
Miguel, too, had worked his magic with the teens.
He and Stevie helped every rider to wind their way—slowly—around the barrels, managing their horses’ direction, grinning at their accomplishments.
I’d worried Miguel would be too distracted by River, but he did a good job balancing instruction with almost-subtle flirting.
I’d have called him out on it, but I could tell that, despite the positive signs at breakfast, River was still getting into his head. I couldn’t tell if that fed into his physical state or vice versa, but Clark had to run and get his walking stick about halfway through the instruction.
River was uneven, at best. Fraught silences, followed by playful banter, followed by reddened eyes that he tried to hide from the rest of us. Miguel had a knack, though, for bringing him around.
Clark was riding every rise and dip of his son’s emotions. He stood off to the side, away from the other parents, hand to his chest when River surreptitiously brushed away tears. Allowed himself to breathe easy when River chatted with the other teens.
I approached from the side and patted his back. “River’s doing a great job.”
Clark jumped at my touch, then settled into it with a sheepish smile. “I … You think so?”
“I do.”
“Even though it feels like I’m on the world’s shittiest carnival ride?”
“Even though.” His shoulders tightened again, so I asked, “How did it go after I left y’all in your cabin?”
Clark chewed his upper lip for a moment. “I was able to get his grief group counselor on a call.” He looked off to the side. “I wanted to call his therapist, but he likes Carla better.”
“You did a good job, honoring his wishes.”
“You think?” He looked up, eyes glassy with unshed tears.
I wanted to pull him into my arms so badly that I had to step back.
“Well, if Carla’s leading a grief group, I’m sure she has some kind of counseling in her background.”
He hugged himself, rubbing his arms like he could barely register the warm temperature. “Yeah, she’s a retired social worker and has a degree in child psychology, so…”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you still seem pretty shaken up.”
He nodded, turning away again. Wiped at his eyes. “He … uh. He was in and out of consciousness during the three hours and seventeen minutes he was trapped in the car. But he remembers a lot more than he ever let on. The pain, especially. Didn’t want to tell me about that.”
“Because he knows how empathetic you are.”
“I guess.” Clark raked his hand through his hair. “He spent that entire time with his mom’s dead body. Trying to convince himself that she was just unconscious. And … I can’t hold that pain for him. I’m supposed to just, you know, let him feel it and…”
His words trailed off, and he stared hard at the horizon.
I rubbed his back, grateful that he let me.
“I can’t imagine anything worse for a dad like you than to not be able to snap your fingers and make it better for your son.”
“Monica always said I was too much of a softy,” he said, talking to the foothills.
Miguel whispered something in River’s ear, and he threw his head back, laughing. That finally broke Clark’s trance.
“Miguel’s a good kid,” Clark said, half statement. Half question.
“He is. Dad abandoned him young, mom did her best but was in and out of jail for drugs and other stuff. Was recommended to us by a friend of a friend.”
“He got lucky with this place.”
I shook my head. “Pretty sure we’re the lucky ones.”
I stayed by Clark’s side as I oversaw things. Some of the kids would probably never get on a horse again, but Cynthia, the girl twin, may have just discovered a new hobby.
At the end of our activity time, the teens decided to have an impromptu barrel race. Stevie sent me a mischievous look, letting everyone go before her. I was the starter and designated timekeeper. River had a respectable time, but Miguel was by far the fastest.
Then Stevie sat atop Shorty at the makeshift starting line. She’d been riding him all day, but I was sure he had nothing on her competition horse at home. Which was to say I was not at all prepared for what I saw when I blew the whistle.
She whipped around the barrels in seconds, then did it again, beating Miguel’s single circuit by two solid seconds.
Everyone, including River, cheered when she crossed the finish line. Clark hugged my side like his son had just won an Olympic gold medal. I pulled him close and held him for a few seconds too long.
Yep. I had it bad.