by Shey Stahl
While she’s now with my brother, it’s not weird at all. I mean, yeah, sometimes when you’re explaining it. Britany is a great girl and Reid, an equally great guy. They’re happy. I’m happy. And that means that Wyatt’s happy. That’s us, one big happy family. Mostly.
Despite it nearing midnight, she answers, her voice thick with sleep when she says, “Hello?”
It’s then I feel bad. I forgot the time difference and the fact that she was probably sleeping. “Hey, shit. Were you sleeping?”
She sighs. “Yes, jerk. Why are you calling this late?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to check on Wyatt. Did he get to sleep okay for you?”
I can hear the shifting of blankets and her getting up as she muffles the phone, saying, “It’s Grayer. Go back to sleep,” and then says to me, “Yeah. He went down pretty easy after asking where you were about a dozen times. He’s sleeping with that toy bull you gave him. Which, I’d like to add, he hit me with for taking away his cookie before dinner.”
I smile, thinking of my blond-haired blue-eyed boy. Even though he’s a bit of a handful at times, we wouldn’t trade the ornery little thing for anything. Being that I was twenty when Britany got pregnant, the last thing I wanted was to be a dad that young. He might not have been planned, or brought into the world with his parents happily married, but he’s loved by both of us and in a stable environment. He lives with both of us, equally. It’s not like we have a parenting plan. With the crazy schedule I have, and life pretty much on the road from January to October, Britany is by far the best mother in the world to him. She totes him around the PBR events and still manages to give him a normal upbringing. When I’m home in Texas, he’s with me. It just kind of works out and so far without too much of a snag.
We make small talk for a moment, not something I do well, when I tell her, “I should be back in a couple weeks. Just need to tie up a few loose ends around here.” She knows me though and senses my mood’s off even before I do.
“What’s wrong? You sound irritable.”
I am, but she doesn’t need to know why. She’d kill me if she knew what I did tonight. And not because we have something going. I’m free to do whatever the fuck I want with other women, but because she knows the trouble my brothers and I got into here and why it was such a hassle to come home. It wasn’t like my dad planned on dying though. Death happens, suddenly and sometimes unplanned, and you’re forced to adapt and figure shit out.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“Bullshit. I’m raising a little boy who doesn’t just look like you. He is you, and just like I know when he’s off, I know when you’re off and you’re definitely not yourself. What’s up?”
I’m irritated she’s bringing this up, but then again, I called her, so I guess I shouldn’t get mad at her for asking. “I said nothing.”
“Are you staying out of trouble? Are people giving you shit for being back?”
“I doubt they even know I’m back. I got the deed from Kade tonight.”
“And?”
I wait. Fuck. She’s gonna know.
“Grayer. . . .”
“It’s nothing.”
“Oh, my God. You met a girl, didn’t you?”
My heart pounds in my chest at the mere thought of Maesyn. But I laugh, trying to blow it off. “I should go.”
“Dude, you better be careful.”
“I am,” I lie, again.
A bull ride is over when either the bull rider is bucked off or the eight-second time requirement is met. When a bull rider is still in control of the ride when the eight-second buzzer sounds, he must dismount or get off the bull as safely as possible. To dismount, a bull rider most commonly reaches down with his free hand, jerks loose his riding hand from his bull rope and flings himself off as the bull is kicking so that the momentum of the kick will propel the rider as far away from the bull as possible. When possible, a rider waits until the bull is moving or spinning away from his riding hand, at which time the bull rider dismounts in the direction of his riding hand.
Example: A right-handed bull rider waits until the bull spins left, at which time he dismounts off the animal's right side.
My alarm goes off earlier than I’d like. It usually does. It literally feels like I lie down, and then bam, get your butt up. In reality, that’s probably exactly what happened.
The moment my eyes open and I stare at those bright red numbers haunting my interrupted sleep, I smile, thinking of Grayer. It’s a memory I want forever and I don’t know why. It was just one night, but there was something about him I can’t shake.
Rolling over, I contemplate going back to sleep, but living on a ranch doesn’t lend well to sleeping in. I have chickens to feed, eggs to collect, cows to milk, and stables to clean.
When I’m finished with my chores, I take a shower because I smell like cow shit and I walked around barefoot in a field. I dry my hair, skip any makeup, and pick through the clothes on my floor. I manage to find a purple and baby blue halter dress that’s not too wrinkled, unlike everything else strung across my room. Instead of ironing out the creases in the fabric, I take my blow dryer to it for a few minutes. Works every time.
Just as I’m leaving my room, I reach for my necklace I never go anywhere without. It’s the same one I wore last night, and the same one I’ve worn every day since Grandpa Lee died.
I pad down the hall, bare feet against a creaking wood floor. Downstairs, in the kitchen, Dad’s staring at me, giving me that fatherly disapproving glower he’s so good at.
“Good Morning,” I say, trying to be chipper and friendly. Maybe then he won’t make a big deal out of me going to the river today. Doubtful, but it’s definitely worth a shot.
Just one morning I’d like to not get the look of “What went wrong with you?” Morgan doesn’t get it, but I bet it’s because she’s not out all night doing God knows what. And I know he heard me come home at 4:00 a.m. when I tripped coming up the stairs.
“I got a new guy coming over to help out this week,” Dad says, digging into his breakfast sitting before him. “I’d like you to be nice to him”—ah, yes, here comes the warning—“but, stay away from him.” The warning is distinct, meant to stand out over everything else he says to me. “He’s just payin’ off some debt Stanton Easton owed me. Fixin’ the barn and doing some work with Hammer. He’s arranging to have Mac shipped to Decatur.”
It makes me sad Mac’s leaving. He’s my favorite horse we have. I give Dad a nod, looking down at his breakfast. It’s biscuits and gravy, the same thing he has every morning. It’s repulsive to watch him eat that slop so I grab an apple and sit down, not because I want to talk to him, but because Haylee isn’t here yet and I’m actually hungry.
Morgan sits next to me, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders and smiling like she always is. “Hey, sissy. Sleep well?”
Leaning over, I kiss her freckled cheeks and twirl a strand of her hair around my finger. “I did, Morgy Moo. How’d you sleep?”
“Like a log.”
Morgan’s a morning person. Probably because she doesn’t have to get up at the ass crack of dawn for chores. I do. I bet if I woke her up at five in the morning to clean stables, she wouldn’t be so happy.
Morgan reaches for the oatmeal Mom scoops into a bowl for her complete with seven raisins and two scoops of brown sugar. Much like our dad, Morgan likes her breakfast to be the same every morning. As long as it’s not meat. She’s a vegetarian. Weirdest thing ever when your dad runs a cattle ranch. Which, by the way, is why Morgan Moo is a vegetarian and why I call her Morgy Moo. Long story short, Dad had raised a few cows and they were set to be slaughtered. Morgan found out, she was five at the time, made all the cows going away cards and then found out what really happens to them when they’re slaughtered. She lay down in front of them and refused to leave.
Have you ever lay down in front of a cow?
I don’t suggest it. One nearly sat on her, but in the end, Moo and Martin
—the cows being slaughtered that fall morning—were in our freezer a month later and Morgan swore off meat.
Dad winks at her, his tender side showing. I remember when he used to wink at me and treat me like I was his world. I don’t know when it happened, but something changed. Maybe it’s just the natural phasing into adulthood and me not wanting to choose the career he wants for me, or his general lack of disappointment in anything I do or say.
With tense rigid shoulders, Dad glances up at me and then to my dress. His eyes fall away, disappointed. See? He hates me. “Where were you last night?” His jaded hazel eyes never move from his plate.
I don’t respond, but then I notice his stare on me when Mom returns to the table with eggs and bacon on a plate. “I was at Kade’s house,” I finally answer, reaching for the bacon and setting my apple down on the white-washed barn board kitchen table my mom made last winter.
“Until three in the morning?”
I nod, again, even though it was more like four.
Saving me for the moment, Morgan gags at the sight of the bacon on the table. She eyes me when I reach for a piece. “Just so you know, you’re eating Pat. He liked me to read Charlotte’s Web to him and give him marshmallows.”
Ignoring Morgan, Dad looks at me, his rough demeanor never cracking. I will say this about my dad. He’s the hardest working man I know and he provides for his family. Always has. Anything we ever needed, we had. But when it comes to being compassionate or subtle, he’s not. At all.
“Who was there? Was that Peterson boy there?”
That Peterson boy? He has a hell of a lot more to worry about than that Peterson boy.
It’s like this every time I go out. He’s constantly wanting to know who I’m with and what I’m doing. He’s a parent. I get that. And the father of a daughter at that. I should be happy he cares enough to question me. Haylee’s mom, Annie, never asks since her dad died and I know deep down that bothers her.
“Answer me, Maesyn,” Dad says, his voice stern, paying no mind to Mom.
“No, he wasn’t there,” I answer, chewing my third piece of bacon. Yeah, I know I’m lying but he’d have a heart attack if he knew I’d been messing around with Joel. He doesn’t trust Joel and he shouldn’t. No one should.
Dad keeps talking and I have no idea what he’s saying, except for the end which goes something like, “When I give you a curfew, I expect you to follow it.”
“Leave her alone, Archer.” Mom runs her hands down my back as she pours me a glass of milk. Her hand twists gently in my long blonde locks and then leans down to kiss the top of my head gently. “Remember to wear sunscreen at the river.”
I smile up at her and nod. “I will.”
I can tell my dad wants to yell, ask my mom why she’s letting me get away with everything I do, but he’d never question her in front of us.
Morgan perks up, her bright blue eyes beaming with kid-like excitement. The kind of excitement I can’t ever remember experiencing before in my life. “You’re going to the river today? Can I come!”
I stare at her for the briefest of moments, wondering why I don’t have that anymore. When do you lose it? When does life become too much and things like going to the river don’t mean much other than getting away from your parents for an afternoon?
“Sure can,” I tell her, winking. Some girls don’t like their kid sisters hanging around, but I don’t mind Morgan. She’s never been annoying and I can’t remember a time when we’ve ever fought. Probably because there’s a ten-year age difference between us, but she’s honestly the sweetest kid you’d ever meet. Until you slaughter her pet cows. Then you better be ready for Mad Morgy Moo.
Twenty minutes later, I’m on the porch with Morgan waiting for Haylee to pick me up when I remember that I left my phone upstairs. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Morgan, patting her pigtails. “I forgot my phone.”
“Okay. I’ll wait here for you.”
When I’m up there, searching on the floor where I drop everything else I own, I hear a truck coming down our long gravel driveway and immediately I recognize who that truck belongs to. I remember the rumble from last night when he left. The truck has a very distinct throaty sound, a product of the big block under the hood.
Holy shit! Is it really him? No way. It can’t be. Why would he be here? And then I remember Dad telling me he had someone coming over.
My shaking hands frantically grab my blinds for a better look. Sure enough, it’s that black Ford from last night. My summer just got a whole hell of a lot better!
I watch the dust cloud as he comes down the driveway. It takes a minute, but then he emerges from the truck and I know it’s him for sure. I’d recognize that sharp scruffy jawline from anywhere.
Grayer Easton.
Holy.
Shit.
The sight of him walking up the driveway sends a familiar spark through my veins, a reminder in the pit of my stomach of what I did to him and what he did for me.
He’s wearing that cowboy hat, the one that kept shadowing his eyes last night and a dark gray T-shirt that meets a worn pair of jeans. I didn’t notice before but with one look at him in the daylight, it’s obvious he’s a hard-working man. There’s probably dirt on those calloused hands that’ll never come off.
And the thought excites me more than it should.
Stepping closer to the window—tempted to put my face to the glass—I want nothing more than those calloused dirt-stained hands on me in any way I can have them. Everything about Grayer screams to me, makes me want him in ways I shouldn’t. Just like I couldn’t figure out where my child-like excitement had disappeared to, I wonder too, what it is about Grayer that has me into him.
With his head bent forward, he approaches my dad standing near the porch. When he gets closer to him, his head comes up and reaches out to shake Dad’s hand while removing his hat with the other one.
Ah, what a freaking gentleman. I think I like him even more.
He’s polite. I knew that from last night, but that undeniable country boy charm makes me want him. He’s the kind of country that stops you in your tracks and has you hanging on his every word. The kind you know his mama taught him how to treat a lady. It’s an illusion though because I know underneath the allure, he’s still that same roughened bad boy I hear stories about around town. My cousin Sara is the same age as him and I remember her telling me about the parties he and Reid, his older brother used to have at Kade’s place. I’m talking like half-naked and dancing on the bed of a truck with just a cowboy hat and boots on while screaming at the moon to stop blinding him. Word is there are pictures floating around, but I’ve yet to see them. Anyway, I got side-tracked by his image, though I do intend to search for those pictures because the lighting in his truck was low last night and a good visual of the goods never hurts.
From my place at my window, I see Haylee’s truck coming down the driveway next, same dust cloud following her. She parks next to Grayer’s truck wearing nothing but her bikini, barefoot, and hair up in knotted braids. Never glancing at Grayer or my dad, at least not noticeably, she passes by Morgan, the screen door slamming behind her.
I watch Grayer to see if he looks at Haylee, given she’s practically naked, but he doesn’t. His attention is on my dad as they talk.
“Are you ready and do you know him?” Haylee asks, coming into my room.
I sigh, nervousness rooting inside my chest. “We met him last night. Or at least I did. He was that guy who stuck up for me with Joel.”
“Oh.” She taps her finger to her chin. “Him. Yeah, I remember.”
She doesn’t. Not really.
I’m still staring out my window, watching them talk, unable to turn away. My eyes don’t want to let the sight of him go.
“Kade told me about him. You know he’s a champion bull rider, right?” Haylee rests her chin on my shoulder and looks out the window with me.
“I know he’s a bull rider, but I didn’t know he’s a champion bull rider.”
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Haylee’s quiet for a moment, looking out my window with me. “That’s who you got in the truck with, right?”
“Yep,” I admit, still watching. Dad and Grayer walk toward the barn, our vision cut off when they disappear inside the stables.
With her hands on my shoulders, Haylee turns me around. “So what happened? Tell me everything.”
I smile, reaching for my bag at the end of my bed and my cell phone. “Good girls never tell.”
She bursts out laughing in a fit of giggles, holding her bare skinny side as though the thought’s funny to her. “Yeah, like we know one of those. Girl, even the devil shakes his head at us.”
Downstairs, I hear Dad come inside and that sexy drawl Grayer has. He talks slow as he’s introduced to my mom, a thick southern accent that rattles deep in my chest. My breath catches as if the sound is something I’ve been waiting for.
Haylee and I practically run right into him when we come around the corner. It takes him all of a half second for the grin to appear when he looks at me, remembering who I am.
He’s even better looking in the daylight with the early morning sun filtering in through the open front door. That jawline, the scruff, the distinct curve of his lips. He’s so pretty.
Dad ruins my delicious daydream of me leading Grayer up to my bedroom by saying, “This is my daughter, Maesyn, and her friend Haylee.” He gestures to Morgan, standing in front of Grayer holding a bucket of toys in one hand and a towel in the other. “And that’s Morgan, our youngest.”
Grayer only looks at me, his brow scrunched as if he’s trying to decide what he’s going to say when he realizes Archer is my dad. More importantly, that I’m the rancher’s daughter.
Lifting my head, I meet piercing blue eyes that make me tingle all over. I reach out and offer my hand. “Nice to meet you. . . .” I wait for him to offer his name, though I already know it and hoping he acts like we’ve never met in front of my dad.