“You about ready, Teag?” Knox calls.
I nod, tossing the turnout rug over Daisy’s back.
“Trailer’s hooked,” Knox continues. “Cooler’s packed. Deacon gave me a lecture about not dying. Again.”
“Good,” I mutter, attaching a lead rope to the halter. “Would be a shame if I only had one brother to annoy me about every detail of my life.”
Knox walks a few paces behind us as I lead Daisy to the trailer, his eyes on my back.
Jerking my head over my shoulder, I snap, “What?”
“You look like you’re heading to a funeral.”
“I’m heading to a rodeo.”
“Same thing, the way you’re carrying on.”
I stop walking and turn to face him fully, brushing the hay off my jeans. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“You’ve said that a lot lately.”
Turning on my heel, so I don’t have to meet his gaze, I finish the short trek to the trailer and load Daisy. The truth is, I’ve been running on fumes for weeks. Work fills the days. Riding fills the arena. But the spaces in between, those are harder.
After checking we have everything we need, we hit the road. We make it halfway to the Wyoming border before Knox starts to look restless behind the wheel. “You gonna talk to me at all on this trip?” He half-teases, giving me a slight jab with his elbow. “Or are you planning on brooding across the state line and all the way to Cheyenne?”
“I don’t brood.”
“Youabsolutelybrood. Wilsons are brooders. It’s practically genetic. It skipped me, though,” he jests, with an obnoxious smirk. “You haven’t stopped brooding since Eas?—”
I shoot him a look that quickly shuts him up. “What do you know about caring about anyone, anyway? You haven’t evercared about someone longer than it takes to unzip your fly.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
He recoils dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ouch.”
“Too harsh?” I ask, though I don’t sound sorry.
He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m being realistic.”
He studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “You really think that’s who I am?”
“You’re a man-whore.” I shrug. “I love you to death, but history is kind of on my side on this one.”
He scratches the back of his neck, something uncharacteristically uncertain flickering across his face. “There’s something I need to tell you…”
I roll my eyes. “If this is about another buckle bunny?—”
“It’s about Jess.”
I blink in confusion. “What about her?”
He shifts his weight uncomfortably in his seat. “I’ve been seeing her.”
I snort. “Yeah. In The Dew Drop bathroom.”
