“You’re not the first to call me an old man. Thing is, I don’t want to spend my life staring at a screen. What’s the point of sitting at home watching other people living their best lives? Or at least pretending to. From what I’ve seen, most of what’s online is exaggerated at the best and outright bullshit at the worst. No, thanks.”
Behind her big sunglasses, it’s impossible to read Zoe’s eyes. As I study her, a small line forms between her brows and she gives a tiny nod. “Are all cowboys wise like you?”
For a reason I don’t examine, her comment stings. When I speak, my tone is full of sarcasm. “Yeah, sure. All the time we spend riding the range gives us the chance for deep introspection and philosophizing about life.”
“That’s a real thing, isn’t it? The cowboy philosopher? I swear I heard about a book or podcast for applying the cowboy way of life to everyday living,” Mae says.
“Are you sure it wasn’t a decluttering manifesto?” Zoe asks.
“Cowboy way of life? You mean get up at the ass crack of dawn, work and sweat all day doing hard physical labor, deal with actual shit on a daily basis, get paid nothing, and end most days smelling like horses on a good day, or shit on the bad ones?” I chuckle.
“Stop. You’re ruining the glamorous image I have in my head.” Zoe holds up her hands. “Stop right now. I need the fantasy.”
This time it’s Mae who snorts and mutters under her breath, “Whatever gets you off.”
Interesting. Zoe has cowboy fantasies? I tuck that little bit of information away for later.
Chapter 14
Zoe
When Mae makes a comment about getting off on cowboys, I stomp on her foot beneath the picnic table. The woman doesn’t even squirm as I apply more and more pressure. Her pain tolerance is remarkable.
“Are you playing footsies with me?” Justin asks. The foot under mine lifts and wiggles around.
My cheeks heat as I duck my head to peer under the table. Sure enough, my foot rests on top of his boot, not Mae’s sneaker. Makes more sense. Still doesn’t change my urge to crawl under the bench and hide.
“What if I was?” I laugh off my embarrassment.
He lifts a dark eyebrow and stares at me. I’m not sure if it’s a challenge or he’s waiting for me to confess.
As we stare at each other, he switches the positions of our feet, placing the tip of his boot on the toes of my shoe, pressing down. Only his boot makes contact with my shoe, but a little spark zings around in my chest before traveling south.
“Okay, I’m still here,” Mae interrupts the staring contest.
My focus shifts to her and I mouth, “Sorry.”
“I’m not sure what’s going on below this table, but I swear I saw a bubble form around the two of you.” With her fingers, she sketches a heart in the air around our heads.
Justin laughs and swings his legs over the bench to get up. “We should probably get back on the road before Zoe challenges me to arm wrestle.”
It’s weird I mourn the contact with his boot.
We pile into the truck’s cab. Even more than before, I’m conscious of the small space. Focused on the proximity of him, his soap and sweet hay scent filling the small space, I zone out as we drive back to town. This part of the ride flies by and soon we’re passing the local airport.
“Where’s your condo?” Justin asks.
“Huh?” I blink away my daydreams of open fields and full skin contact.
“Address? Or I can drop you on a corner if you want to keep it a secret.” His voice softens with his offer.
“We know where you live, it’s only fair you know where I do, too.” I tell him the street and number.
I point out the condos on our left as he slows in front of the driveways. “We’re here.”
He nods. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” My hand grips the door handle, but I don’t open it. “We really appreciate the ride. We’d probably be still sitting in front of the hotel, starving.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice is soft and only for me.
Mae coughs to get our attention. Finally, I open the door and when she hops down, she gives me a confused look. I scramble out behind her.
“Thank you!” I give him a cheery wave.
From behind me, Mae says through her laughter, “You already said that.”
“Hey, we should go to Hick House together some time.” Justin gives me that slow, sexy grin.
“She’d love to,” Mae replies for me. I spin to give her a dirty look.
“Great.” Justin agrees. “Enter your number in my phone.”
He’s already passing me his phone before I can think of a reason to say no.
I’m beginning to feel like I have three fairy godmothers and none of them can agree on what’s best for me.
Mae’s all about living in the moment.
Mara wants me to be adventurous, but only focus on myself.
Sage is the voice of reason, or at least, caution. She also knows me the best.
A girl could do with less advice. Even well-meaning and from the heart advice from amazing, strong women like them.
My heart flutters around in my chest every time I think about Justin leaning against his truck yesterday. All long legs and muscle, with the sexiest confident grin on this face, he’s a pretty fine specimen of man. Objectively speaking.
It’s too bad cowboy fantasies aren’t going to pay my rent or help me figure out what I want to be when I grow up. Or even who I am now. Because somewhere in the last five years, I lost pieces of myself like missing socks. At first I didn’t notice, or just assumed they were still around and would show back up eventually.
I’ve finally accepted I need to do something for me. Reclaim Zoe. My reality is I have a month squatting and dog sitting before I need a plan for what comes next.
So far this means listening to a bunch of empowering podcasts and watching YouTube videos about self-care and bullet journaling. The journals with all the pretty stickers and cheerful motivation are tempting.
The blank application for a month residency at Ashcroft Arts Ranch in Snowmass stares back at me from my laptop screen.
Since grad school I’ve had the fantasy of being accepted for a month at the ranch. Four weeks of nothing but making art, twenty-four hour access to kilns, and a studio of my own. A little pocket of heaven for an artist.
My fingers tap away at the keys as I enter my biographic information. When I get to the personal essay section, my fingers stop and hover over the keys. My artist statement hasn’t been updated since my MFA show. Hell, I’ve barely made anything new in over two years. Since moving here, I can count on one hand the times I’ve fired anything in a kiln. Sure I can blame focusing on my relationship with Neil and taking advantage of life in the mountains, but it’s a sad excuse for fear.
Fear of failing.
Fear of selling out.
Fear of sucking.
Mara’s question about wanting to be a massage therapist still rattles around in my head.
I don’t want to make mugs and bowls for the rest of my life either. There’s a difference between a potter and a ceramic artist. Not that the world at large cares.
There are a lot more uses for mugs and bowls than Japanese kintsugi inspired sculptures.
Receiving a fellowship at Ashcroft is a long shot for any artist. It’s crazy to even apply, but if I’m not in the arena at all, I’ll never have a chance to win.
I’m halfway to talking myself out of applying when I paste my statement and link to my MFA portfolio. I tell myself this is pointless as I enter my credit card information for the application fee. I’m clearly hopelessly delusional when I click submit.
Pretending I didn’t just waste seventy-five dollars, I slam my laptop closed and toss it to the other end of the sectional.
“Well, that didn’t just happen, so there’s no point in worrying about it now,” I tell Nell and Hunter, who are both asleep on their adjoining dog beds. Neither even t
witches an ear at my declaration. “That’s the right attitude. Nothing to see here. Nothing at all.”
My application is for next year, but I added a note in my cover letter about taking a shorter residency if they have a cancellation for this season. If I’m already local, maybe they’ll consider me above other candidates.
“Hopes. I have them.” I peel myself off the sectional. “Now to figure out where I’m going to live when your parents come back.”
Not only am I talking to the dogs, I’m doing it while they’re asleep.
My phone rests on the counter, charging. I pick it up to double-check my massage appointments later today and see several texts alerts.
The first is from Justin. I skip it to read Mara’s message.
*Giddy up! I made a reservation for us to take riding lessons on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at ten.*
Why ride a horse when I could ride a cowboy?
I text her back with a thumb’s up and a horse emoji.
My finger hovers over Justin’s name. I can’t even pretend I don’t know it’s him because the previous shows the first line, where he says it’s him.
*Hi, it’s Justin. Cowboy taxi service.*
I smile at his introduction. It’s possible I’d grin over him texting me the weather report.
*You, me, and some messy barbecue? I’m at the Snowmass rodeo tomorrow night and off on Thursday and Sunday. Let me know your schedule.*
He’s asking me out. I think.
If I’m going riding with Mara, I’m going to guess we’ll be sore, and probably bruised by Sunday night.
Thursday is the day after tomorrow. He’s not wasting any time in following up on his offer from yesterday. Asking me out with two days’ notice probably breaks some rule about dating, but I’ve had it with following rules.
I like a man who knows what he wants, but can I handle a hot cowboy?
Inside my head, I hear my friends’ voices. Because that’s normal.
Sage says take things slow.
Mae says shave my legs and maybe get a bikini wax.
Mara says you only live once.
I type my response, erase it, and retype a new one. Staring at it, I start to overthink.
Like the application, I hit enter before I can talk myself out of it.
*I’d love to see you on Thursday.*
Chapter 15
Justin
Wednesday night I scan the stands as we line up in formation during the National Anthem. Zoe never said she’d be here, but it doesn’t stop me from looking for her dark hair among the rodeo crowd.
When I ride out of the gate after the introductions, Gentry waits for me and takes the reins as I dismount. “You ready for tonight?”
“Always am.” I meet his eyes. “Prepared and focused.”
“Heard you skipped training for a hike.”
I ignore the edge of disappointment. “You know I wouldn’t cut out on training if I didn’t think I was ready.”
“Never hurts to practice. You think Beethoven blew off playing the piano?”
“God, I hope so. You know my goals with competition. Do well, don’t get hurt. I’ve never wanted to go on the national circuit. If I win, great. If I can walk away after a show, even better. Plus, I’m aging out. I’ll be thirty soon. An old man.”
Gentry glowers at me. “You could’ve been one of the greatest. Hall of Fame.”
I see the ambition in his eyes. “You know fame is a four letter f-word, right? When have I ever had any desire to be famous? You’ve been with me from the beginning. Summers only. That was my agreement.”
“Wasting talent is the worst,” he mutters, giving me a disapproving shake of his head. “I should’ve stood up to your grandmother and never let you accept her deal. Part time rodeo, part time number cruncher isn’t a full life.”
“I disagree. I get the best of both. Spending my life chained to a desk, making money for other people would be worse.”
Gentry pats my shoulder. “At least you came to your senses early about that.”
“I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” I hold out my hand to shake his. “Thank you.”
He eyes me before gripping my hand in his gnarled, thick fingers. “Enough of this deep, soul searching talk. You better get yourself ready for the bronco ride.”
Resting my hand on his shoulder, I chuckle at how quickly he cut off the conversation. Any mention of the life that could’ve been if I continued on a different path, and the man shuts it down. Sure, I gave up five years of riding full time for college. Twenty-three is late to join the circuit and I’ve come to terms with it.
I wonder how Gentry handles any real emotion. He’s somewhere between my dad and grandfather’s ages. They’re men from a different generation. Men who could travel through life using silence, distance, whiskey, drugs—whatever they could to keep any emotion at bay.
No wonder some men feel nostalgic for the good old days. Cowboys. Westerns. Simpler times.
Never mind the violence, desperation, loneliness, alcoholism, poverty, and disease of the American West. The small pox. The genocide.
Good thing Gentry isn’t a mind reader. If he knew where my thoughts had just wandered, he’d never speak to me again. Better off being the strong, silent type.
The evening ends with another win and more points toward the season’s overall score. I accept the applause with a tip of my hat.
“Does winning ever get boring?” Dusty asks as we ride out of the arena.
“Never.”
“Ever thought about giving the rest of us a shot at the number one spot?”
“I do. Every night we climb on our horses I think maybe it’s the rodeo when one of you is going to show up and challenge me.” I trot past him. “Maybe this weekend.”
Over my laughter I can hear Dusty shouting, “You’re a fucking arrogant asshole, Garrison.”
Tossing him a look behind my shoulder, I reply, “Watch your language. This is a family show.”
Once I have Cisco loaded in the trailer I realize none of the guys invited me out for drinks tonight.
Either I am an asshole, who no one wants to include, or they’ve finally picked up on the clue I’m not interested in cheap booze and random boobs.
Probably both are true.
Inside my truck’s cab, I pull out my phone and check for messages.
When I see Zoe’s name, my grin is bigger than the one I had when I won tonight. Let the rest of the guys spend the night getting shit-faced with the hopes of unmemorable sex.
I have a date with a funny, smart, and undeniably beautiful woman tomorrow night. A little rusty at dating, to be sure, I’m looking forward to spending the evening with her.
By Thursday afternoon, I’m antsy. Not nervous, more impatient.
A few more hours and I’ll be picking up Zoe for our date.
To pass the time and keep out of everyone’s space, I’m practicing roping with the calf dummy behind the horse barn. Gentry would tell me to set the damn thing up properly and practice with Cisco.
The thing is, Cisco doesn’t need the extra work. Truth, neither do I.
Better than pacing around my cabin or annoying Tammy in the kitchen.
The dummy I’m using has a realistic calf head, which is creepier than fuck with its sad expression. My goal is always to beat my best time and win, not hurt the calf or Cisco.
Coil the rope, toss, and visualize it looping around the head.
Repeat.
The rope thunks on the metal time after time in a satisfying rhythm.
“Something troubling you?” Jeb strolls over and loosens the rope from the dummy.
“No.” I grin at him in thanks.
“Are you sure? Tammy sent me out here.” He scratches his chin with nails that need a cleaning and a trim.
“Tell her to mind her own business.”
“She said you only use the dummy when you’re upset about something. None of my business, but I don’t want to get on her bad
side. I’d probably die if I had to cook my own food.”
“Starve, maybe. I bet you’d probably figure out how to drive yourself to the store and forage for food. Eventually.” My rope loops around the dummy’s head again.
Jeb tosses it back to me. “Suit yourself.”
I expect him to walk away, but he leans against the fence, resting one boot on the lowest rung.
“Need something?” Looping the rope, I stare at him.
“Just watching.”
I lift my eyebrows. “Did I ask for an audience?”
“Jesus, Justin. With the size of your ego, I’d figured you’d like an audience telling you how good you are.”
“I already know. Don’t you have work to do?” Nothing about me standing behind the barn says I want company.
“Nah, finished up my chores.”
“And decided to hang around the kitchen?” A few pieces click into place and I chuckle. Tammy’s staff is mostly younger women.
“The door was open and I heard laughter.”
“You realize Tammy sent you to find me to get you out of her hair, right?” The woman knows how to manipulate people to get the results she needs.
Realization brightens his eyes. “Well, damn.”
“Better smarten up around here, or you’ll be doing all of Tammy’s chores before you know it.” Sweet, dumb Jeb.
Because I can, I swing the rope and encircle his shoulders with it. A gentle tug tightens the loop.
“Hey!” He wiggles around, trying to free himself.
Probably makes me an asshole, but I laugh at his struggle.
“What’d you do that for?”
“Wondered if I could. Turns out I can.”
“You’re a smug bastard.” He loosens the rope enough it drops to the ground.
“And I’m your boss.”
Grumbling, Jeb steps away from the fence. “I’ll leave you to your bad mood.”
His words make me chuckle. My mood hasn’t been this good in months, maybe years. Guess I need to work on expressing my sunny disposition. I could start wearing unicorn T-shirts and get a smiley face button for my jean jacket.
Wild for You Page 10
