Page 9 of Not Our First Rodeo
I shove his shoulder. “Leave me alone, Cooper. I need to work.”
“Right, those horses won’t ride themselves.”
I fix him with an annoyed glare. “They literally won’t.”
“Why are you so grumpy?” he asks, tone losing some of its playfulness. When I chance a look in his direction, concern is in the fine lines of his face. To most, he’d still look carefree and unbothered, but I know him better than that, and he knows me much too well. He knows I’d be acting very differently if things hadn’t gone the way they went with Elsie this morning.
I let out a sigh and push my hands through my hair. It’s messy from my hands and Elsie’s, and I didn’t bother trying to fix it before heading for the ranch this morning.
“Elsie told me she wasn’t ready for me to come home yet.”
Cooper raises his brows, but I see the faint tick of his jaw that gives him away. “So, what, you’re just sleeping together now?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “No, last night was a mistake.”
“And who was the one to say that?” he asks, voice holding a hint of hardness that wasn’t there before.
I don’t want to tell him because I don’t want him to resent Elsie. No one else in our family does. They still love her like she’s their own. They’ve been like that since the day I brought her home when we were sixteen. And the first time I came home without her two months ago, they welcomed me with open arms and said they would do the same with Elsie when she was ready.
Everyone has been patient and understanding. Except Cooper. He loves Elsie like a sister, I know that, but he’s also been a little angry that no one seems to be putting me first in this situation. His words, not mine. He thinks someone needs to be looking out for me, and he’s taken that job upon himself.
I’m grateful, really, because I’ve needed the distractions he’s been offering, but I won’t allow him to speak badly about Elsie, no matter what she does to me.
He thinks he’s the only one protecting me, but IknowI’m the only one protecting her.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him, but, of course, that answers his question.
“How long are you going to let her treat you like this?” he asks.
I understand his anger. Truly, I do. But he doesn’t know the full story. He’s never lost everything that was important to him. He’s never grieved losing his life while simultaneously grieving the one growing inside of him.
He will never understand. I won’t either, really. But it’s not my job to understand her pain. It’s my job to support her through it in whatever way she needs. And if that means staying away, I’ll do it every single time.
“You need to learn to ask for what you want, Beau.” Cooper sighs, sounding frustrated. “Why is she the only one to get to process this the way she needs?”
His words pierce through me. They’re echoes of things I’ve asked myself when I’m alone and weak in my cramped double bed in the cabin on the ranch.
“Hey, kids,” our dad says, walking into the stables. “What’re you doing?” He’s got a cup of coffee in his hand, the steam from it billowing in the chilly air. It’ll be a brew strong enough to put hair on your chest, and yet I choke it down every morning, needing the warmth and caffeine it provides.
Cooper and I catch each other’s glance, wordlessly agreeing to drop the conversation about Elsie. I told my parents the basics of what happened when I asked them if I could move into one of the spare cabins on the property usually reserved for ranch hands or travelers looking for a rustic getaway. Neither of them asked questions, and for that, I was grateful. I’ve shared bits and pieces of the situation with Cooper, but I don’t want to talk about my failing marriage with my father.
We won’t say anything more about it now, but I know we’re not done with this conversation.
Dad looks between us, dark eyes no doubt reading everything on our faces, but he doesn’t press. I’ve always admired that quality about him. Clint Jennings is steady and as immovable as the mountains.
“I’m about to exercise the horses,” I say.
Cooper says, “I’m annoying Beau.”
Dad loudly sips his coffee. He’s drunk out of the same mug every day for as long as I can remember, and he only ever rinsesit out with water, hours after the last dregs have dried to the bottom. It’s disgusting. One time in high school, Cooper and I washed it as a prank, and he made us shovel horseshit for a week. The ranch hands were happy as clams. We were not.
“Sounds about right,” Dad says. He then fixes his gaze on Cooper. “You planning to do any actual work today?”
When Elsie and I moved to Utah, I found a job as a horse trainer, which I loved more than I ever expected to. When we moved back to Larkspur, I took it over at the ranch. Cooper, however, has worked as a ranch hand since he quit his career as a bull rider and moved back home when Ruby was born. None of us ever thought we’d see the day he was working on the ranch, but he’s settled into the role easily. He likes the variability of his days as a ranch hand, and neither of us has any desire to take over running the business portion of the ranch. It’s just as well, because the honorary member of our family, Morgan Riggs, a local who is a few years older than us and who has worked on the ranch since he was in his teens, is the perfect fit. He didn’t have any ranch experience to speak of when he came looking for a job at sixteen, but Dad knew he had a rough home life and decided to take him under his wing. He’s been around ever since.
Beside me, Cooper shrugs. “Might get around to it.”
Dad laughs into his coffee, the lines surrounding his eyes and mouth deepening. He’s spent his entire life in the sun, and he looks like it. Weathered and sun worn.
