To All the Cowboys I've Loved Before

by D. R. Graham

  I start laughing again because it really is a rank refried bean fart. Seriously decent.

  She swoops the sheet back over her head. “I’m going to sleep with the horses and sneak out in the morning. It was nice being your girlfriend while it lasted.”

  I spoon up behind her and drape my arm over her waist. “You’re going to have to come up with something better than epic room-clearing burrito gas to get rid of me, Della Koskov.”

  She pulls the sheet down to reveal her face. “Sorry for being gross.”

  “Be as gross as you want to be. I’m not going anywhere. But your new nickname might be Tootie.”

  She rolls over to face me and wraps her hands around mine with a big grin on her face. We stare at each other for a long time without speaking until eventually she says, “My sister told me about guys like you.”

  “Yeah, what did she say?”

  Della smiles and kisses the tip of my nose but doesn’t answer before she rests her head on the pillow and closes her eyes. I have a fairly good idea that whatever her sister told her, it was good, so I close my eyes too.

  A minute later, Della says, “It smells really bad in here. Maybe we should crack a window or something.”

  Now we’re both laughing again.

  Chapter 21

  Della

  Easton woke up before the rooster this morning. Literally. The rooster crowed after he was already gone. Insanity. He and some ranch hands are fixing a fence somewhere out on the range, or whatever it’s called, and it’s going to take all day, which is fine since I have my conference call with my classmates this afternoon anyway. He and I made plans to have a picnic dinner date and watch the sunset later, which I’m excited about. I’m more than a little worried, though, about what will happen if he has to stay here permanently instead of coming back to school.

  At eight o’clock, I get dressed and then sit cross-legged on the bed to call my sister. Brewster hops up next to me and rests his head on my leg, then looks up at me as if to ask, “Is this okay?” He’d be borderline cute, if it weren’t for the fact he’s a dog.

  “Hey,” I say to my sister when she picks up.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, half-distracted by something else she’s doing.

  “Why would you assume that? Can’t I call my sister just to say hi?”

  “We talked on Wednesday. I told you everything about Tabitha and Alex. You told me everything about school and the boys you’re shacking up with. My life isn’t exciting enough to talk more than once a week and have fresh material. So, you must have something new. What’s wrong?”

  “Okay, fine. I want to tell Easton I love him.” Brewster lifts his head and cocks it to the side as if he knows how momentous a statement like that can be, and he is intrigued. “Maybe you think it’s too early and I’m naïve because I haven’t dated before, but I know for a fact I love him. So much. Plus, I farted in front of him and he basically thought it was cute.”

  Yulia laughs. “I’ll use that in my speech at your wedding.”

  “Ha ha. Seriously. The problem is, even though we are totally compatible, he might have to drop out of school and move back home to help run the family ranch. I don’t know how the relationship would survive if we had to live that far apart. So, I’m freaking out about laying all my feelings out the on the line only to have my heart stomped on. What should I do?”

  She says something away from the phone to Tabitha, then says to me, “Wait for him to say it first.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “But what if he’s not sure I feel the same way, and he’s reluctant to say it because he doesn’t want to get rejected. And neither one of us ever says it, then we drift apart never knowing what could have been if only one of us had taken the risk to say it? If I just say it first, he’ll know for sure. No awkwardness.”

  “Awkwardness if he doesn’t say it back. Jesus Christ. Where did you get scissors?” Yulia drops the phone and runs to save Tabitha from a bloody mishap of some sort. When she returns to the phone, Tabitha is crying because she wants the scissors back and Yulia is swearing under her breath. “Where were we? Oh, yeah, right. The L word. Let him say it first. Just send lots of signals about how happy you are and how much you enjoy spending time with him, and maybe drop a few hints about the future. If he’s feeling it, he’ll say it. If he’s not, well, you probably have a problem on your hands.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “You’re going to get your heart broken.”

  “Ugh.” I flop back on the mattress of his bed and stare at the loft ceiling. Brewster takes that as a signal to stretch out and get comfortable next to me. “How long am I supposed to wait for him to say it before we can declare my heart officially broken?”

  “He’ll say it. Don’t worry. If things are going even half as good as you think they are, and Mom and Dad are right, he’s in for the long haul.”

  “What did Dad say?”

  “Oh my God, he wouldn’t shut up—in front of poor Alex, I might add—about how Easton’s a specimen of physical fitness, has a great business mind, is a true gentleman, understands the value of hard work, smiles at you like the earth revolves around you, blah blah blah, and so on and so on.”

  “Dad said all those things?”

  “Yes. He practically made Alex cry. So, I’m sure Easton will tell you he loves you. Just be patient.”

  “Okay. And thank you. And tell Alex I’m sorry. And tell Tabitha I love her.”

  As soon as I hang up with my sister I receive a text from Chuck: What’s my assignment for today?

  I type back: Don’t offend anyone.

  You need to be more specific. I want to learn something I can practice.

  I don’t know what to tell him so, instead of replying, I get up and tap my leg to summon Brewster. “Come on, boy. Let’s go get something to eat.” Brewster and I head downstairs and through the stables to make our way over to the main house as I think about what my response to Chuck should be. I didn’t realize he was going to expect specific lesson plans. I should probably do some research on how to teach someone empathy and integrity, if there is such a thing. In the meantime, I can only come up with one thing, but it should keep him busy for a while.

  Here’s a link to a series of articles. Read them. Memorize them. Put them into practice.

  I knock on the front door of the ranch house and Mr. Lewis answers. “Hey, good morning. Easton told me you got in last night. Did you sleep all right?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” I hug him, sort of awkwardly because his cast makes his arm angle out in an unnatural way. “Since you only have one arm to work with, can I interest you in some pancakes? My treat.”

  “Well, Easton has me on a strict cancer-fighting diet that doesn’t include carbohydrates unless they come from vegetables, but I’m sure it won’t hurt to sneak a couple pancakes in if you swear not to tell him. And I’m happy to have the company. Come on in.”

  He leads the way to the kitchen and my phone buzzes with a text from Chuck: The complete how-to of great sex? Seriously? I don’t need to learn that!

  Yes, you do! It’s about respect and caring about the other person. Read. Memorize. Practice. And don’t question my teaching methods or I won’t help you.

  His response is a GIF of an eye roll.

  Disrespectful. Try again.

  He sends another GIF of a person flipping feverishly through the pages of a giant textbook. I’m reading. But only so I can skip to the practicing part.

  Good. I’ll send your second assignment tomorrow.

  Mr. Lewis shows me where he keeps everything for making pancakes and I get to work. Brewster lies down on his blanket in the corner to watch. “Have you been getting headaches from the concussion?” I ask as I pour batter on the skillet.

  “Nah. The head’s fine. The cast is a pain in the ass, though.”

  The elbow cast does look awkward, but he’d likely be out riding if he didn’t have it, so it�
�s probably for the best. “Just think how good you’ll be at ballroom dancing after six to eight weeks of holding your arm out to the side like that.”

  “Good point.” He winks.

  When the first batch is done I stack three pancakes on a plate, along with a scoop of sliced strawberries, and place it on the table in front of Mr. Lewis. After a quick knock, the porch door opens behind me. Thinking it’s Easton, I spin around with a big grin on my face. But the joy disappears when Tracy walks in without waiting for an answer, acting like she lives here.

  “Oh, hey, Jack.” She sizes me up with her eyes and removes her boots at the door. “Sorry to interrupt. I didn’t know you had company.”

  Really? The car parked out front wasn’t a clue? My internal monologue sounds jealous. Why am I jealous that Easton’s former girlfriend is chummy with his dad and walks into the house with nothing more than a cursory knock? Gee, I wonder. At least Brewster doesn’t like her. He glanced up and then put his head back down on his blanket when he realized it was her.

  “Tracy, this is Easton’s girl, Della.”

  “Yeah, we met once before.” She nods a slightly dismissive greeting and sits down at the table. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Uh huh.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m making it more awkward than it needs to be. They dated ages ago. He doesn’t have feelings for her. Why is she here? Maybe she’s been here every day. Why do I care? “Pancakes?”

  “Oh, no thanks. I already ate.”

  I nod and continue making more pancakes than we need, partly because there’s leftover batter and partly because I don’t want to sit at the table next to her.

  “What brings you by?” Mr. Lewis asks, which, to my relief, probably means she doesn’t drop by unannounced every day.

  “Mike dug deeper into the background of the commodities company and found out they used to be registered under a different name.” She slides over a stack of papers for Mr. Lewis to read through. “The original company has lawsuits pending against it in several states. I thought you guys might be interested.”

  After scanning the documents, Mr. Lewis says, “Easton has been handling all the conversations with the lawyer. You should probably talk to him about it.”

  “Is he around?”

  “They’re working on the fence past the north ridge. Won’t be back ‘til dinner. You can come back then if you want.”

  Wait. What? No. He and I have plans for a picnic under the stars. I don’t want her to come back later. Or ever for that matter. “Or you can drive out to the north ridge now,” I blurt out. “I’m sure he’ll want the update sooner rather than later.” Stop talking, Della. You sound like an idiot. Why would he care when she told him? Why are you encouraging a beautiful woman to head out and meet your boyfriend in an isolated location?

  Mr. Lewis shakes his head and finishes swallowing a mouthful of pancakes before he responds, “There isn’t road access out that way, but you two could take some horses. It’s only about a thirty-minute ride each way if you cut across the river.”

  She raises her eyebrows at him as if she’s not overly keen about the idea.

  He bobs his head as if the more he thinks about it the more he believes it’s a good idea. “Della wanted me to teach her how to ride today anyway. It will be better if she’s out there with someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  Tracy’s smile is definitely forced. “Sure.” She looks across the kitchen at me. “You up for it?”

  Um. I can’t even swallow properly right now let alone ride a horse into the wilderness with Easton’s former lover. But I don’t want to seem like a wuss. Or petty. Or unfriendly. And I do want to learn how to ride a horse. Mr. Lewis isn’t supposed to ride anyway. “Sure.” Swallowing is still not functioning, so I have to choke out the next part, “I need to be back by one o’clock for a conference call.”

  “No problem.” Tracy stands and frowns at my flip flops. “What size are your feet?”

  “Seven.”

  “I’ve got another pair of boots in the truck. I’ll get them and meet you in the barn.”

  I quickly wolf down a stack of pancakes, and as I clean the kitchen, Mr. Lewis disappears down the hall. He returns with a cream-coloured cowboy hat that has a beautiful turquoise beaded band around it. The feathers arranged on the front give it almost a tiara look. “This belonged to Easton’s mom. She would have given it to you if she were here.”

  “Wow. It’s so gorgeous.” I admire it briefly but then extend my arm to return it to him. “I can’t accept it.”

  “She would have been offended if you didn’t accept it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” He places it on my head like he’s crowning a princess.

  I’m completely honored. “Thank you.”

  He nods, then walks over to shout out the door at Tracy. “Take a rifle with you.”

  Oh my goodness, what have I gotten myself into?

  Mr. Lewis turns around and notices my horrified expression. “There’s nothing to worry about. Tracy’s a great shot.”

  Not helping.

  He wraps his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. “Plus, you don’t have enough meat on your bones to interest a bear.”

  “I’m not worried about bears,” I mumble as I follow him outside.

  Tracy’s spare pair of boots are turquoise blue and match the beads on Easton’s mom’s hat. Mr. Lewis talks me through all the steps of saddling a white horse named Hemingway. He ends up helping more than he probably should with one arm because the saddle is ridiculously heavy and I can’t manage it myself. Tracy tacks a speckled horse named Hobelia—she’s completely proficient and self-sufficient.

  “Have you ridden before?” Mr. Lewis asks me.

  “On a pony at the fair when I was seven.”

  He crouches over and holds his hand out. “Give me your ankle. And hop. There you go. Up and over.”

  Okay I’m on the horse. Not sure how I did that, but I’m definitely a good five feet off the ground and have no idea how to steer this thing. Mr. Lewis adjusts my stirrups to the correct length and then shows me how to hold the reins properly. Tracy leans forward on the horn of her saddle in boredom as she waits for my tutorial to be over.

  “Okay. Just take it easy. Hemingway will take good care of you. He likes the water, so you won’t have any trouble crossing the river. Hobelia might shy, though,” he says to Tracy.

  She nods, not concerned in the least. And then we’re off. Slowly. More of a mosey than a walk, as if the horses really don’t want to go. Maybe they’re picking up on Tracy’s and my reluctant attitudes. Brewster follows us until Mr. Lewis whistles to call him back.

  For the first ten minutes or so I concentrate on holding the reins properly and pointing my toes up and out in the stirrup. Hemingway is doing all the work and following the trail without my help, though, so I relax and glance over at Tracy. “So, what do you do for a living? Are you a rancher?” I ask.

  “Midwife,” she says matter-of-factly and with no elaboration as if she’s filling out a government form.

  I should probably just accept that she doesn’t want to make small talk with me, but my nervous chatter is kicking in. “That’s a great career out here, so far from a hospital. How many babies have you delivered?”

  “On my own, only one. I assisted quite a few while I was still training but only got certified last fall. My first solo birth was last month.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  This is painful. I don’t know which is worse, stilted conversation or uncomfortable silence. We ride for another five minutes—she’s pretending to be enthralled by the scenery, I’m feverishly editing every discussion topic that comes to mind, searching for one that isn’t too odd to discuss with the ex—and the empty air time is especially awkward now since we are travelling so slowly. The horses are probably rolling their eyes at each other and commenting in horse language about how you can cut the
tension with a knife.

  “Easton mentioned that you are half-Mexican and half-Norwegian. Were you born in California?”

  “Yeah.” She glances at me and then surrenders to the fact that we are stuck out here together and making polite conversation is better than ignoring each other. “What about you? I can’t place your accent.”

  “Born in Russia. Grew up in Canada. I moved here to study engineering at Stanford.”

  “So, you’ll be moving back to Canada after you graduate?”

  The question ignites my face. I can’t help it. The underlying insinuation that Easton and I will only be together temporarily makes me feel embarrassed. Who knows what the future might hold? If things work out with us, I could apply for residency in the United States. Or we could get married. Or, maybe things won’t work out. I don’t know. Why does she care? Is she wondering if she’ll have an opening to navigate her way back into his life? I’m taking too long to answer the question. Afraid that she’s going to feel smug for putting me on the spot, I impulsively form a completely unsubstantiated statement in my mind and vomit it out, “All of the best jobs for the field I’m training in are located in California, so I’m planning to stay and build my career here.”

  She doesn’t react, maybe because the random spewing of falsehoods doesn’t require a response, or because we’ve reached the river and Hobelia starts to prance sideways. Tracy nudges him with her right leg to straighten him up. He rears his head back as if she’s asking him to step into lava. Hemingway ignores the drama and wades into the water without me even asking him to. I glance back over my shoulder as Tracy coaxes Hobelia with gentle words to the edge of the river. As soon as the water touches his legs, he rears up and Tracy has to heel him harder to let him know who’s boss. He protests with head flips every step of the way, but she is a confident rider and he has no choice but to obediently follow her commands. Once he’s made it through the deepest part of the crossing, which isn’t even up to his belly, he races past Hemingway and me and leaps up onto the far shore as if a crocodile is about to snap at his butt. I must admit that the gracefulness of Tracy’s horsemanship is impressive. Strong. Calm. Brave. It’s painfully obvious why Easton fell for her. I mean, come on, I’m practically crushing on her. She looks over her shoulder to see if I’m following and notices that I’m gawking at her with way too much admiration to be considered normal.