Stepping outside, Jonas takes a gasping breath as if he’s been oxygen-deprived for hours. The sun’s rays are strong and hot, and I’d much rather be in the barn, where the concrete helps keep things a few degrees cooler.
The buzzing of June beetles bounces around in the stagnant air, and in the distance a few ranch hands linger outside a round pen, watching what I assume is Jackson starting a new horse. The sound of something twanging against the metal fence rails catches Jonas’s attention, and he squints to get a glimpse of what’s happening.
“Wanna go see?”
He simply nods, and we start down the gravel driveway.
“What made you want to be a cowboy? It’s not even fun.” Jonas shuffles his feet as he walks.
“Um, I’d say it was about eighty percent the movieSpiritand ten percent thinking the cowboys my dad hung out with were super fucking cool.”
“Spirit? The kid movie about horses?” I’m tempted to warn him his face is going to get stuck, considering it’s been held in the same pinched expression all damn day. “You’re missing ten percent.”
“Um, the other ten was me wanting to do the exact opposite of what my mom wanted me to do.”
Guess that answer wins me some points, because he smirks to himself.
We settle in next to where Denny’s leaned against the arena fence rail, heckling his older brother. With all three Wells brothers running the ranch, each one has taken on a major part of the ranch work. For Austin, the eldest, that’s finances—he’s the one Ireallywant to keep happy so I get paid. Jackson, the middle brother, ensures our remuda is up to snuff and sometimes takes on extra training clients, like the horse he’s working now. And somehow Denny, the youngest, became a pseudo-mechanic—fixing everything that doesn’t require the expertise of anactualmechanic.
“Hey, man.” Denny looks at Jonas, then turns to me. “Told ya you weren’t doing anything illegal when I had you go pick him up.”
“He drovereallyfast on the way here,” Jonas offers up. “And can’t put a shirt on right.”
Eyeballing me, Denny laughs.
I look down at the sweat- and dirt-stained fabric and shrug. “It’s the new style. Guess you guys are behind the times.”
I meant to switch the shirt back after we pulled away from Whit’s house, then forgot. Anyway, now the inside is dirty, so it’s staying inside out and backwards for the rest of the day.
We fall silent and watch as Jackson gets the horse moving again, circling around him with an empty saddle on her back, huffing and snorting as she passes our section of the fence.
“Why isn’t anybody riding it?” Jonas asks after a few moments.
I answer, “Jackson’s getting her used to the saddle first.”
“Quit messing around, Jackson. She’s ready to ride.” Denny leans against the rail, watching the animal intently. Then his hands smack down on the metal, and he steps toward the closed gate. “If you’re too chickenshit, let me on her.”
Jackson opens his mouth to argue, but Denny’s already slamming the gate shut behind him and sauntering toward his brother. Clouds of thick dust billow with each step. With a grin, he playfully pushes his brother out of the round pen, then strokes a palm down the horse’s neck. He maintains a steady touch on her shoulder as he tugs the cinch tight with his free hand.
“Your funeral, Denny,” Jackson says with an annoyed huff. “This is why I don’t do this shit when you guys are around—always gotta interfere.”
“You do this when I’m not around because you don’t want to give up yourfancy schmancytrainer title when I show you up.” Denny steps a foot into the stirrup, keeping an eye on the horse’s expression.
“He just wants another excuse to pay a visit to the clinic in town,” I loudly say to Jackson.
“Don’t need an excuse,” Denny calls over his shoulder, hauling himself into the saddle. And for a moment, the horse remains perfectly still. “I’ve got a way with womenandhorses. What can I say?”
As if understanding what he’s saying and wanting to prove his cocky attitude wrong, the mare immediately bucks and bolts toward the far side of the arena. With the sudden motion, Denny nearly falls off—ass coming out of the saddle entirely and cowboy hat flying from his head to settle in the thick dirt. At least if he’s bucked off, he’ll have a soft landing.
He yells something about calling it quits, but Jackson insists he stay on so the mare doesn’t learn she can get away with this shit. I’m sure his reasoning has more to do with getting a kick out of putting his arrogant brother in his place.
“Is he gonna fall off?” Bewildered, Jonas watches Denny fight for his life with the mare.
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Getting bucked off horses is what he does for fun, though.”
“For fun?What’s wrong with him?”
Jackson’s laugh comes out more of a howl. “Kid, I’ve been asking that question for thirty-some years.”
