Page 43 of Not Our First Rodeo
He waves her off. “You do look a little fatigued, but your eyes are bright. Teaching keeping you working hard?”
Elsie nods. “Very,” she says. “The girls have seemingly never-ending energy.”
James laughs, the sound booming through the cavernous home, the lines beside his eyes crinkling. “What I wouldn’t give for that.”
“You and me both,” Elsie responds, smiling softly at her father.
“Enough about work,” Diana says, much to no one’s surprise. Before Elsie’s injury and quitting dance, work was basically our only topic of conversation, but since then, Diana hasn’t been interested in talking about it. “Who wants a drink?”
Elsie’s eyes flash to mine, looking like a deer in the headlights. “I can make them.”
“I’ve got it,” I say, clearing my throat, then head for the bar off the living room. “What does everyone want?”
“Surprise me,” Elsie answers quickly, and I know she’s hoping I’ll cover for the fact that she’s not drinking.
“Whiskey, neat,” James says.
“My usual,” Diana says, meaning a martini with a twist.
I’ve learned almost nothing of value from these people over the years, but I have learned how to make a good drink. The bar is always stocked, and I usually use it as a chance to experiment, but tonight I want to keep my head clear. I make Diana’s and James’s drinks before pouring two club sodas for Elsie and me, garnishing them each with a lime wedge.
“So what’s been going on the past few months?” Diana asks. “We’ve hardly seen the two of you. I’m not even sure the last time we saw you, Beau.”
“Thanksgiving,” I reply, handing everyone their drinks. It was just a few days before Elsie asked me to leave. I’m not sure what excuse she made for me not being at Christmas.
“Right,” James says, nodding. “And then the two of you spent Christmas with your family.”
“I’m still not sure why you couldn’t even manage to come here for dinner,” Diana says.
She sounds annoyed, but I ignore it, turning to face Elsie. She’s not looking at me, keeping her eyes focused on her parents. My heart twists as I imagine her home alone on Christmas, not wanting to explain to her parents why I wasn’t there and feeling like she couldn’t come to the ranch.
“We were busy,” Elsie responds, not looking at me. “Plus, the two of you went to the New York house the day after Christmas and stayed for all of January.”
I clear my throat. “Right, sorry about that.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s fair.”
“It’s fine,” James says, dismissing Diana’s comment. “Don’t worry about it. We’re just glad you’re here now, aren’t we, Di?”
Elsie’s mom purses her lips. “Yes, of course. Anyway, what’s new?”
Beside me, Elsie tenses, her hand flexing on her glass.
I know she’s not ready to tell them about the pregnancy, so I say, “I’m training a new horse at the ranch. Her name is Sugar.”
Diana blinks, completely uninterested, and I have to work to hold back the laugh that bubbles in my throat.
“Is that so?” James asks. “How is it going?” The man has probably never been within twenty feet of a horse, but I appreciate that he always asks about my work and tries to seem interested. The same way I do when he drones on about bonds or whatever the hell he works on all day.
“She’s a bit skittish,” I say, feeling Elsie’s eyes on me. “She’s been hurt in the past. It’s a fine balance, knowing when to let her do her thing and when to push.”
“I’m sure,” James responds. “You’re a patient man, though. I’m sure, in time, she will trust you fully.”
This time, I finally do look at Elsie. Her eyes are narrowed ever so slightly, like she’s dissecting my words for hidden meaning and finding it there. “Yeah, I am,” I say. “I’m willing to wait on her to trust me.”
We’re done with dinner and dessert, and Elsie still hasn’t told her parents about the pregnancy. I catch her eye from across the table, and she holds it for a long moment before finally sighing, shoulders drooping.
Beneath the table, I tap my foot against hers, trying to silently ask if she wants to do this today or not. I’m this close to leaning across the table and grabbing her hand over the picked-over serving plate of roasted vegetables and squeezing it three times just so she doesn’t have to do this. I don’t fully understand her hesitation, but I want to wipe it away.
