Page 59 of Rough Cowboy
I chuckle and leave the two bickering under the pergola.
I strut across the backyard, blanketed by a starry night. I stop at the crackling campfire and step over the log. Wheeler and Lena are making s’mores across the large fire pit with Libby. I haven’t been around much for the little squirts’ life. Neither has Sammy. But I also love the kid. I even have a soft spot for her. So I reckon Elsie and Sammy’s baby will steal a part of my head too.
I hand Elsie a cup of hot cocoa.
“Thanks.” The flames flicker a dance over her beautiful face.
Our shoulders brush when I sit beside her on the log. “The mayor did a great job of ordering whoever he did to clean out the pit and bring it back to life. Sammy and I spent a lot of nights at this pit.”
The sweet scent of burning wood mingles with the cool, crisp scent of the outdoors. It creates a unique aroma that is both comforting and refreshing.
“I bet you guys have great memories here.”
The crackling fire and gentle sound of nature engulf us.
“We do. When old man Walker closed it down, we’ve talked about opening it together ever since.”
She smiles sweetly at me. “I know. I’ve been around.”
“We learned everything here. Walker would bring in rodeo cowboys to train with us.” I sigh loudly. “Now Sammy wants me gone and out of his life. He’s so mad at me.” I glance up at Elsie. “Sorry, shit. I didn’t mean to be all sappy.”
She covers my hand. “Feelings aren’t sappy—or, so Lena tells me.”
I chuckle.
“If you want me to share my sappy feelings, you have to share yours. Deal?”
I nod.
Elsie stares into the fire. “Sammy has so much going on right now. He needs time to sort it all out. Give him time. He can’t live without you, and you can’t live without him. Just like I can’t live without Lena.”
“Hey, Uncle Silver, Aunt Elsie!” Libby skips around the campfire.
“Slow down,” Wheeler barks, and Libby immediately slows to a walk.
She bounces in front of is. “Can I show you how to cook marshmallows over the campfire and make s’mores?”
I pinch her tiny nose. “Well, Libby, I reckon we’d love learning from the master.”
Libby beams with pride. She hands each of us a wooden skewer and sets a bag of marshmallows on the ground. She insists on pushing the marshmallow’s middle onto the skewer’s pointed tip.
“Okay, first, you have to hold the marshmallow over the fire,” Libby instructs. “But not too close, or it’ll burn,” she warns, guiding my marshmallow away from the flame.
Elsie follows her lead. “Like this?”
Libby smiles. “Perfect, Aunt Elsie. And then you have to turn it around slowly, so it gets cooked evenly.”
I have a bit of trouble. My marshmallow catches fire and burns to a crisp—truthfully, I like roasted marshmallows.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Silver, it happens to everyone at first,” Libby reassures me. “Here, let me show you again.”
We spend the next hour roasting marshmallows and making s’mores under Libby’s expert guidance. As we sit around the campfire with sticky fingers and chocolate-smeared faces, I cannot help but relate to how much I’ve missed these moments with my family. For whatever reason, Sammy and I have always preferred to live out of our trailer than come home between rodeos. But now I realize everything we’ve missed.
When Wheeler and Lena decide to call it a night, Libby rushes to hug me.
“You’ll get it next time, Uncle Silver,” she whispers.
She hugs Elsie afterward. “Thanks for showing us how to make perfect s’mores, Libby.”
