We’re just going out for a night at the rodeo. Some family bonding, even if I had some trouble accepting Mary as family at first.
“Ready to go, kiddo?” Dad asks, the keys to his truck already in hand.
“Sure am.” I pat my pockets for my phone and my wallet, just a quick double check before we actually leave.
Mary falls into step beside me as I make my way out the door and down the porch steps, nudging my arm gently with her elbow as we walk toward the truck. Soft blue eyes sparkled up at me, her freckles coming in stronger these days and making the smile she sends my way even sweeter than it used to be.
“Glad you decided to join us,” she says softly, testing the waters.
I’ve gotten over my anger at her since our lastconversation—she’s never been the type to hold her tongue, and I appreciate her not holding back on me. I don’t necessarily agree with what she had to say, but it’s good to know she’ll tell me what she thinks even if I don’t want to hear it.
Those are the kind of people I want to have in my life.
I snort and roll my eyes, but nudge her back with a good-natured grin. “Didn’t think I had much of a choice. Dad looked like he was going to cry if I said no.”
Mary laughs at my obvious exaggeration, glancing back toward Dad with so much love in her eyes it hurts to look at.
“He wouldn’t shut up about wanting you to come, but kept saying he didn’t want to bother you while you were working,” she says, her voice soft enough not to carry back to him. “Practically had to drag him to your office.”
I chuckle at the thought of it, and at the lame excuse Dad gave her. It likely didn’t work any better on her than it would have on me.
The two of them fall into easy conversation as we all climb into the truck and head toward the event center the rodeo is being held at. I’m grateful for the break, knowing that I don’t have the energy to keep up idle chatter all night. They do the heavy lifting, allowing me to chime in occasionally with my own comments or answer a question here and there.
It’s easier than I expected.
The air doesn’t feel as oppressive around them as it has in the trio of rooms I’ve been living in, and my head actually feels clear for the first time in a week. I feel almost normal as Dad parks and we wander toward the gates. He buys our tickets, wraps an arm around Mary’s waist, lets her guide our lazy pace through the crowd. It doesn’t feel like my world ended a week ago.
It feels like the same thing I’ve been doing my whole life.
I’m not sure if that thought is depressing or comforting.
“I’ll go get us seats,” I say, nodding toward the stands. “Get me a funnel cake?”
I still don’t have much of an appetite, but it’ll make Dad feel better if I pretend. I’m sure I can manage to choke down a few bites before my stomach starts revolting.
He smiles widely at me, his beard bristling as he nods. “You got it, kiddo. Powdered sugar?”
I scoff in mock offense. “Duh. Can’t believe you’d even ask.”
He lets me go with an easy laugh, and I turn away from them to head toward the stands. The world immediately feels colder without them in front of me, lonelier, like I’m not surrounded by a throng of people. I debate turning right back around and rejoining them, but I don’t want to give them any more reason to worry, and it’s not like they’ll be gone for long.
The lines won’t be crazy yet since the actual rodeo hasn’t started. They’ve only just started the beginner’s riding showcases when I find us good seats in one of the front rows. After this will be barrel racing, then a few roping demos, andthenthe bull riding that always has the stands packed to the brim.
This event is mostly kids or newer equestrians, a lot of supportive parents clapping loudly for their kids as they lead a well-mannered horse over tiny jumps and through a display of basic skills. Most of them will clear out before the bull riding even starts.
I lose myself in watching for a while, mentally taking note of a few particularly handsome horses that Dad might want to look into securing breeding contracts with. I don’t snap out of my reverie until the last rider enters the arena.
The first thing I notice is that he’s older than the others by far—clearly an adult in a class full of children and young teens. The second thing I notice is that the Arabian he’s on looks strikingly familiar.
The third thing I notice is the announcement ringing out over the stands.
“Lucas Cross, presenting on Lyra for Black Spruce Ranch.”
JENNY
“Lucas Cross, presenting on Lyra for Black Spruce Ranch.”
What the fuck?
