Fourteen
FOURTEEN
Tag
T he sun was long gone.
As the hour edged past 10:30 p.m., the crowd got rowdier. Not every rodeo was a drunken party, but some were. And this one was getting a little out of hand. Used to be my scene, but not anymore. Anytime I’d ever picked up a bottle, it was because I was looking for something. And a lot of drinks later, I still hadn’t found it. So I gave up trying. Working myself into the ground was equally numbing but easier on the wallet.
I walked through the corrals one more time. The horses were fine. They were ready for their big day tomorrow. The sheep were fed. Everything that needed doing was done. There was nothing to keep me from going back to Bea.
Nothing except my own self.
I should’ve checked on her hours ago. Dread twisted deep in my gut as I wondered what she’d done with herself all day.
At one point in my life, I did care for her. But our friendship really boiled down to one thing—an outlet. We both needed a place to be real and found that amid anonymity and postage stamps. Everything I shared wasn’t ever supposed to come look me in the face .
And now that it had, my insides clawed for stability. I’d fought a panicky tightening in my chest all day long. Yes, our letters saw me through some of the darkest days of my life. But I shared too freely and leaned too heavily on a girl who never should’ve met me.
I forced myself to walk out of the arena corrals and into the night. The last events ended fifteen minutes ago, and the crowd slowly dispersed to the parking lots. Bugs darted around the bright field lights, frying themselves. And music still thumped over the speakers as concessions worked through the last line of customers. Had Bea eaten today?
Why didn’t I at least leave her with a Meadowbrook credit card so she could take care of herself? Or a phone charger for that matter. I should’ve given her the semi keys. What if she got sick? Tired? What if she needed help, and I was nowhere to be found?
Loud laughter jerked my attention toward the ticket booth area. A man pushed another and beer sloshed out of his cup, slapping onto the ground. The folks around them were carrying on, stumbling toward cars I hoped they wouldn’t be driving.
I allowed my eyes to linger on portions of the crowd. What was she wearing? I racked my brain until I remembered. All white. Tank top and short skirt. Hair tied up high. Too sexy a get-up for all the crazies swarming this place. What if someone hurt her?
Keeping my head down and working usually kept anxiety at bay. But now, every fear cropped up, fierce and hot, demanding my attention. My brain jumped to the worst case scenario—every single time. I would get thoughts in my head that made my footsteps falter with their vividity. That made me feel insane for thinking them in the first place.
Now, without the horses to keep me occupied, my brain was under assault. The uninvited ideas escalated my blood pressure and sent my anxiety into a tailspin. I sucked in a tight breath.
Why did I leave her all day?
Frantic to find her, I hurried to the bleachers. They were clearing out, but groups of bodies still hindered a clear view. Squinting, my gaze followed every bench to its end and dropped to the next one.
I walked the bleachers twice. I circled the arena. The vendors were packing up, so she couldn’t be browsing or shopping. I checked around the bathhouse twice. Asked a woman to check the ladies’ room for her. Even ran through the corral again—maybe she was looking for me and we missed each other. I was on the verge of calling the cops when I decided to check the bleachers one more time.
Finally, I saw something three-quarters of the way up a stand. Some skin—I could only assume it was a knee—stuck out over the top of a bench. I had to hold myself back from running.
I slipped into the row beneath, making my way to the center.
It was Bea.
Relief washed over me. The twenty-five terrible scenarios I imagined were just that—imagined. I allowed myself a deep inhale and exhale.
I sat down and gently poked her knee, careful not to startle her. I whispered, “Bea.”
Her big brown eyes popped open as she sat up. The hat she wore slipped to the side and she caught it, losing her balance in the process. I grabbed her elbow to steady her and she winced. Which was when I saw them.
Burns.
Blistered red covered her skin. From shoulder to elbow she had an angry sunburn.
The way my stomach plunged in agony made me remember the days I would jump from the hayloft as a kid. Except this was pure dread, no thrill.
She swiped drool off her cheek with the back of her hand. “Oh, hey.”
My eyes followed along the edge of her profile. Burns covered her neck, cheeks, ears. Even her soft thighs were pink and splotchy. I felt sick. Of all the things I’d considered, lack of shade wasn’t one of them. I’d spent most of my day going in and out of the stables. Where did she have to go? The bathhouse? A few random vendor tents, overcrowded with people?
I gave a lame, “Hey.”
She twisted, letting her feet hang in the air below her. She propped her arms across the bench I was sitting on, took a deep breath, and answered, “I guess the festivities are over.”
“Yeah. You hungry?”
“Starving.”
The hate I harbored for that word ran as hot as the blood in my veins.
I pulled a steadying breath into tight lungs. “Concessions close in about ten minutes. Let’s get you some food.”
She nodded, bracing against the bench to pull herself out. I should’ve offered a hand, but I didn’t. Wasn’t too keen on touching her. Grabbing her elbow a second ago was more than enough for me. Luckily, she managed to get upright just fine on her own.
Standing, she adjusted the hat on her head, smoothed her white tank top, and gave her skirt a light tug. The hat was new, navy blue with Coors Rodeo printed across the front. It looked terrible on her, and I didn’t like the way it hid her face.
Silently, we headed to concessions and took our place at the back of the line. I knew what they served at places like this—honestly hated every bit of it—but I scanned the menu like I’d never seen one before, the words and prices bouncing off my distracted mind. Hearing a loud exhale, I glanced down at her. Her mouth clasped over her hand as she yawned.
My insides spiraled.
I left her. Roasting, starving, probably thirsty, exhausted. The most basic of needs unmet.
Damn you, Taggart. Damn you.
The shaggy-haired teenager behind the counter was agitated by the never-ending line at closing. By the time we got to him, he was fully rolling his eyes as Bea rattled off her order. He lolled his head toward me. “And for you sir?”
“Uh.”
The kid sighed as he waited. I couldn’t form a coherent thought.
“Whatever she got. Uh, no lemonade though, just water.”
He tapped a few buttons then robbed me.
A few minutes later, we settled at an outdoor picnic table with an umbrella. She sat across from me, quietly looking down at her plate of nachos with jalape?os. She popped a pepper into her mouth, chewed it with a soft mmm.
After a few more bites, she looked up at me. Her soft voice jerked my gaze up from my own plate.
“The nachos are hitting the spot. Thanks for dinner.”
Thanks.
Thanks?
I huffed in disbelief. She stopped mid-chew and our gazes connected for the first time since that morning. I, least of all, deserved appreciation.
She picked up another chip, scooping a big glob of hot cheese up. “So, what have you been up to today? You must’ve been busy.”
Reading folks’ tone and body language wasn’t a skill I was confident in. Only took one or two wrong conclusions to make me doubt I had the ability. I mentally braced myself for whatever was coming. “I took care of the animals. Mutton bustin’ was in the smaller arena over there.” I nodded to the left, dunking a chip to keep up appearances.
“Mutton bustin’?” She copied my accent.
“Kids rodeo. That’s what the sheep are for.”
“Oh. Sheep buck?”
“Nah. Just run around in jerky circles. Perfect for the little kids.”
“That’s fun.”
I nodded, suddenly wishing I had invited her to watch. She probably would’ve liked it better than the boring team events happening in the big arena all day.
“What’s on the schedule for tomorrow?”
“Saddle and bareback broncs. I’ll have horses in and out of the chutes all day.”
“Yay. That’ll be exciting to watch.”
I took a bite. If it was possible to be so distracted my tastebuds didn’t work…I was there. Cheese might as well have been glue. I forced the dinner down my throat only because I knew I’d need the calories come morning.
“What do you do while your horses are busy?”
“I stand at the chute, tighten the flank straps, talk to the cowboys. Make sure my horses don’t get hurt.”
“Flank strap.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Is that the thing that pinches their balls and makes them go crazy?”
A piece of chip lodged in my esophagus. I cleared my throat then took a long swig of water. My voice was scratchy when I found it again. “Where’d you hear that?”
The end of her tongue darted to the corner of her mouth, catching a bit of cheese. “The guys behind me in the bleachers today. One of them hypothesized that the animals jump and kick due to the pain.”
Uneducated idiots. I quelled a smile.
She read me, arching a single eyebrow. “They were wrong?”
“My best horse is a female.”
A laugh pushed out of her, and she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “No balls to squeeze then, huh?”
“Yep.”
“So what makes them buck?”
I shrugged. “Trainin’.”
She nodded, allowing my one word answer to be enough. We fell back into uncomfortable silence, polished off our nachos, and headed for the semi.
Walking through the dark parking lot, my skin prickled. Being in close quarters with her in the semi wasn’t my idea of relaxing. Getting comfortable enough to sleep in there with Jesse and Cade three feet away was hard enough—would I sleep at all with Bea so close?
Despite her relaxed demeanor, she put me on edge. In our letters, I shared freely about my fears and insecurities. About my family, about Cooper, my Mom, and Gran. What did she remember? It was easy to keep strangers at a safe distance. I never gave up an inch of ground, never dropped my defenses, and never turned my back on a threat. Playing defense was my preferred way.
But she possessed a map to the gaps in my armor. One that I myself drew up for her, line by line, page by page, year after year.
And it scared the shit out of me.