Page 60 of Lone Wolf in Lights
The old truck that came into view was familiar. It rumbled toward him, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake, the sound growing louder as it approached. Eli wiped his hands on his jeans, the fabric stained with oil and sawdust.
He watched, rooted to the spot, as the vehicle rolled to a stop and the engine cut off. A brief silence fell, one that seemed to hold its breath, before the door creaked open. Eli’s gaze followed the figure emerging from the truck.
Clay’s boots crunched over the gravel as he ambled toward the house. “Hey, Eli,” Clay called out, his voice raspy like gravel tumbling in a tin can. “Got a minute?”
Eli turned off the sander, its whirring protest ceasing abruptly as sawdust settled onto the snow-covered ground. “Hey,” Eli acknowledged, with a nod. “How ’bout we crack open a cold one?” Clay always loved his beer.
“Thought you’d never ask.” Clay chuckled.
Clay followed Eli up the porch steps, and Eli retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge, quickly returning outside. With a flick of his wrist, Eli popped the caps off, the sound crisp and satisfying.
Clay took a long pull from the bottle before he said, “Remember that summer in Stone Creek? The whole circuit thought you were gonna be the next big thing.”
“Feels like another lifetime,” Eli replied. He took a swig, the bitter tang of hops lingering on his tongue.
“Sure does.” Clay took a seat, the wood of the chair creaking under his weight. “But you rode like hellfire.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Eli mused softly, leaning against the post.
“Every damn time.” Clay nodded, his gaze fixed on Eli. After a pause, he asked, “You ever think about getting back in the saddle? Back to the rodeo?”
Eli felt the question like a jolt, his heart thudding against his chest. There was a part of him, wild and untamed, that hungered for the roar of the crowd, the adrenaline surge of eight perilous seconds atop a beast made of muscle and fury. But there was another part, scarred and tender, that wouldn’t leave Timber Falls again.
“I’m not interested in anything that takes me out of Timber Falls again,” he admitted.
“I get that.” Clay’s words were simple, but they held a depth of understanding. He took another long gulp of his beer. Then he shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “Ya know, Eli,” he began, “I’ve been doing some thinking about my own sunset years.”
Eli arched an eyebrow, a silent invitation for Clay to continue.
“I reckon I’m ready to hang up my spurs for good. The wife wants to travel.” Clay’s gaze was steady, almost piercing, as he studied Eli’s reaction.
Eli felt a surge of respect for the man before him, knowing full well the courage it took to step away from the life that had defined you. But it was the next words out of Clay’s mouth that truly caught him off guard.
“I’ve been pondering over who could take the reins of teaching the young bull riders coming up. You ever thought about passing on your knowledge, Eli? Teaching bull riding at my ranch?”
Surprise jolted through Eli, sizzling down his spine and igniting something deep within him—a spark of possibility. He searched Clay’s face, seeking any sign he was pulling his leg, but found none.
“Teaching, huh?” The idea rolled around in his mind.
“Yeah,” Clay said, nodding slowly. “You’ve got a gift. And it ain’t just staying on a bull. It’s understanding them, reading them. Kids could learn a lot from you.”
Eli let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, feeling the weight of the decision already bearing down on him. “Appreciate the offer, Clay,” Eli finally said, his voice gruff with emotion. “Means a lot, really. I’ve never considered myself much of a teacher, but...” He trailed off, unsure of how to articulate the thoughts and feelings swirling inside him.
“Take your time. No pressure.” Clay’s eyes twinkled with a mix of mischief and wisdom. “Just think it over and get back to me when you’ve decided.”
“Thank you,” Eli said, tipping his bottle in a salute. “I will.”
Clay polished off his beer in three big gulps and belched, like he always did. He handed Eli the empty bottle and the corners of Clay’s mouth twitched upward. “There’s honor in shaping the future. Not just in living your own past.”
Eli nodded, the truth of Clay’s words seeping into him.
“Think on it.” Clay waved, heading for his truck, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on him.
It was a big decision, but then again, so was every ride he’d ever taken. And this one was tempting...
Nineteen
The next morning, Willow pressed a stamp onto a freshly inked Christmas card. They were fitting in crafts every minute they could now, hoping to restore some of what they’d lost. Empowerment Elves had returned to the bar—minus Amie—their hands just as busy, weaving ribbons and cutting paper to create new Christmas cards. The scrape of scissors against construction paper, the soft thump of rubber stamps and the murmurs of concentration soothed that worry in Willow’s chest that they wouldn’t bring enough to the shelter.
