I’m still staring at the closed alley gate following the last run of the evening when Shelby’s fingers rap against my thigh, stinging my skin even through the Wranglers.
“Told you he’s man enough.” She points toward the chutes where a kid is climbing on the back of a horse. It’s hard to tell what she sees in him from this distance, but I give her an approving nod.
Cassidy starts talking about how much hotter her baby daddy is—comical considering mere months ago she was denying having any interest in him. With my gaze darting from cowboy hat to cowboy hat, the thought train running through my brain derails entirely.
Denver’s sitting on the fence rail, laughing with the cowboy getting ready to ride. His hat’s low over his forehead, and he pats the guy firmly on the back before turning to talk to Red.
I stare for so long, I start to worry he can feel my eyes boring into him, though he never looks in our direction. The gate opens, and Denver disappears. Ride after ride, I scan each chute with the eye of a sniper, keen for another glimpse. Refusing to spend any time dwelling onwhyI want to see him so desperately.
Just like last night, when I sat in my darkened living room—away from the window, so he couldn’t see me—and watched him sit in his truck for far too long before driving away. For a moment, I thought he might get out and come back to the house. For a moment, I thought I might run out to the truck and ask him to stay.
Denver finally pops up at chute number four, adjusting his hat as he climbs inside. His gaze cuts to where we’re sitting, as if he’s known exactly where we were all along. Staring into my soul, he presses his hand to his lips, then swings like he’s lobbing a softball toward the grandstands. The discreet motion hits me like a gut punch, and I swipe my clammy palms against my thighs.
I shouldn’t have come here.
I moved back to town with the intention of staying well away from Denver Wells. When we broke up as kids, the only thing that kept me from hauling ass back to Wells Canyon, and throwing myself down on my knees in front of him, was the physical inability to leave my dorm. Then I got antidepressants, my emotions became callused, and I knew I couldn’t love him the way he wanted anymore.
Now he’s blowing me a kiss from the bucking chute before his ride, as if we’re back to being sixteen and in love.
I won’t survive losing my person again.
The gate opens, and Denver’s on the back of a reckless, bucking horse doing everything in its power to toss him into the thick blanket of dirt below. Without taking my eyes off him, I set my empty cup down and rest my hand on my shakyknee. He’s well seated, his movement fluid, and the seconds are ticking by. I move my tongue around inside my excruciatingly dry mouth, counting each second in my head. In backseat-driver fashion, my feet flex instinctively each time his legs kick up toward the horse’s shoulders. Time’s dragging, and I’m not breathing. Not even sure if my heart is beating.
When the buzzer loudly sounds, he’s quick to release his grip, lunging to grab on to the pickup man next to him. And when his boots safely hit the ground, the pent-up breath I’d held for the full eight seconds comes out in the form of a whooping cheer.
—
Fresh drinks in hand, the three of us girls plop down at an empty table. With the rodeo about to end, a wave of people will be flooding into this space any moment, grabbing drinks from the bar and milling about until the sun sets and the local country band starts to play. But for now, it’s quiet and the evening air around our shaded table is refreshing.
Cass checks her phone for approximately the three hundredth time since we dropped Hazel off with Dave, and a smile lights her face. “Wait, have you ever seen something cuter?”
She holds the phone toward us, and I lean closer to Shelby to see the screen. She’s right—I don’t think I’ve seen anything cuter than my niece, swaddled up in a buffalo plaid blanket, sleeping peacefully.
“What are we looking at?” A man’s voice breaks our focus on the screen, and I blink up to see Red slowly rubbing Cassidy’s shoulders.
“The most perfect baby in the world, that’s all.” Cass shows him the photo just as Denver approaches, setting an armload of red plastic cups down in the center of the table.
“Tequila shots for the ladies,” he says with a grin, pushing one of the cups toward me.
Cassidy shakes her head. “None for me.”
“Thanks, Denny.” Shelby picks up a cup and swallows it before standing. “I have a cowboy I need to track down now. Bye, girlies!”
“Well, Hart.” Denver sits down, the bench flexing under his weight, and places his cowboy hat upside down on the table. Running a hand through his hair, his knee knocks into mine, fanning the sparks ignited under my skin. “Looks like you and I are getting drunk tonight.”
“No way. One shot. That’s it.” With a shiver, the fiery liquid burns through me, and I reach frantically for my rum and Coke to chase the foul taste.
“I don’t think two would hurt.”
“Blair’s alcohol tolerance isn’t any better now than it was in high school. Two shots will knock her on her ass.” Cass laughs, cozying up to Red.
“Good thing I have a lot of practice carrying her drunk ass home,” Denver says, cracking a beer can open. “Didn’t even drop her the time she puked down my back when I tossed her over my shoulder.”
I bury my face in my hands, a hot flush building in my cheeks. “Okay, let’s not relive those times. I’m an adult now. I can handle my liquor.”
The mostly empty plastic cup clunks against the wooden tabletop with a hollow sound. “Prove it, Hart.”
A hypocrite at heart, I don’t care that a mature, rational adult would turn down the challenge. And Denver’s taking full advantage of my competitive nature, egging me on with a waggling eyebrow and a nudge of the cup. The tequila’s gone in seconds and I hold my lips firmly together, not letting any disgusted reaction show on my face.
