“Your funeral. You want to end up old and miserable, who am I to get in your way?” He plops down in the other chair and props his booted feet up on the railing.
“I’m guessing you’re staying, so I’ll state it as succinctly as I fucking can. Blakely is too god damn young for the likes of me. I’m just a broken-down old bull rider whose next stop is running the ranch when Mom and Dad are ready to retire. It’s either that or buy my own patch of land to raise some bulls. Like I said, not too much I can offer a girl who’s got her whole life ahead of her.”
“Who’s to say she’s not okay with that?” My brother, he’s full of all kinds of questions today.
“What’s with the twenty questions?” I reply. It’s not like ranchers are loaded. Sure, I have money put aside from my rodeo days, even some more from doing the local circuits. That doesn’t mean I’m rolling in the green. Especially if I decided to start up my own ranch.
“Just seeing where your head’s at, because I have to say, if you don’t go after Blakely, someone else will. She’s a looker, has a good head on her shoulders. Hell, you know her. That girl is a go-getter, not to mention she’s making a name for herself on the barrels too.” He doesn’t have to talk Blake up. Fuck, if I weren’t such a dumb ole cowboy, I’d get off my ass and make her mine, well, more than I already have, at least. Instead of my fingers taking her, it’d be my mouth, my cock, and eventually, I’d give her what I did last night in the barn.
“It’s attached. That’s all you need to know.” I’m in a pair of jeans, losing the shirt as soon as I walked through the door, along with my boots. A beer in my hand and a small cooler filled with a few more, my only goal was to sit outside, watch listen to the whippoorwills, and not deal with anyone. Too bad Trace didn’t get that memo. I watch as he snags a beer out of the cooler and settles in for the long run.
“Might be. Might be you really are a dumb ole cowboy. I guess we’ll see what happens at the rodeo.” I take a gulp of my own beer, not stopping until it’s done, and the can collapses in my grip. I don’t bother responding to Trace though. What’s there to say? He’s not wrong in some ways, but in others he’s far off. One thing’s for sure, even if I can’t have her, neither will anybody else.
Eight
Blakely
“Are you sure you’re okay, honey?” Momma asks as she helps me get the horse trailer ready. It’s been a week since I last saw Knox, and I would be lying if I said how things went down weren’t taking its toll on me. I mean, I’m not ashamed of what we did, but for him to go completely silent, that hit me in the heart. The only saving grace was when Trace stopped by the other day to let me know just how miserable Knox has been all week. Apparently, even the bull didn’t want to deal with him and was steering away from him. Though, when he tried to go into further detail, I stopped him. If Knox wants to instill this silent war, I don’t want to know anything about him in any way, shape, or form.
“I’m just getting in the zone. It’d be nice to see Trigger win a ribbon.” I’m just thankful the tenderness between my legs has gone away. That doesn’t mean an ache still isn’t there, permanently.
“I think you said money wrong. We all know you’re saving all your pennies even though Daddy said he’d help you get your feet on the ground.” She’s not wrong. My dream is to open a camp of sorts to rehabilitate horses that come from abused or injured backgrounds. But I absolutely refuse to let my parents or anyone else for that matter help me financially.
“I know that, but you guys have worked your whole lives to get to where you want to be. I’m not taking away from that.” I load up the rest of the tack I’ll need for Trigger.
“That boy of Mary’s, Knox, is as stubborn as the day is long, and don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t come back into the house after running after him,” she tells me when I come out of the trailer.
“Well, that ship has sailed, so don’t let Mrs. McCray start planning a wedding. That boy, as you call him, is a runner.” Momma has known about my feelings towards Knox since I saw stars in my eyes one day at his rodeo. I was sixteen years old when he was in town at our local rodeo, and I learned what that desire was finally about. He came back home, and the minute I turned eighteen, I was hell bent and whiskey bound to chase after him.