Page 5 of We Drank the Dawn

“Don’t, Cody,” Cooper warned.

“Holy hell, that red hair and tight ass…” He groaned. “I’d of forfeited my next month of paychecks for the chance to bend her⁠—”

Hot rage coiled my fists as a vulgar fantasy of my wife poured out of his mouth.

Cody was too far away. Up on the trailer, safe from the blind guy.

He clicked his tongue. “But, I guess it tracks that the CPA is only book smart. Cowboys have common sense. And you proved you don’t have a lick of it—the way you were carrying on.” He laughed. “I never would’ve let that woman out of my sight—” Catching his unintentional joke, he cackled. “Oh, wait—shit—I guess you couldn’t help that.”

I wanted to run up to the end of the moving trailer, climb it, and shove him off. I wanted to straddle his chest and beat out his front teeth. I wanted to watch him roll beneath the tires.

But that would require a dexterity and awareness I didn’t have anymore.

My muscles twitched, tempted to try, but then I stumbled over a hay bale, because amid the distraction, I lost count of my steps. Red heat billowed into my cheeks as I grabbed the cords, and threw it—as hard as I possibly could—right at Cody.

But all he did was laugh.

SUNSET

TWO

Peter

December, two years ago

Sarah’s warm hand squeezed mine as the white, tiled hallways melted into baby pinks and blues. With a step over the threshold, the hospital atmosphere morphed—from cold and clinical to warm and happy.

Exactly how a maternity ward should be.

I glanced down at my wife, noting the way her teeth worked her full bottom lip, like she was holding in a squeal, and the way her blue eyes shimmered with light. With her left hand she clasped an aged fleece blanket around her shoulders. Underneath was a merlot-colored dress that somehow made her red hair look like flames cascading down her back. Her ironed-in curls were relaxed now, falling loose after all the movement and chaos of chasing kids and cleaning up after a wedding.

I gave a breathy chuckle, yanking her closer to me.

She looked up. “What?”

“You’re floating.”

She bumped my shoulder with hers. “So are you.”

Yeah, I was, surprisingly. I’d been concerned about my sister, Bea, for the last couple years. She picked up her life and moved all her gigantic dreams to Texas for a cowboy I didn’t know from Adam. And even though I’d gotten to know Tag a little bit, it was my big brother duty to worry about her. Tag was a good dude—the best for Bea. I could say that confidently now.

Finally arriving, Sarah rapped on their door, and we were answered by a familiar song-like voice. “Come in!”

Bea reclined on the hospital bed with a little wad of pink blanket clutched against her chest. Sarah gasped and flew to Bea’s side—cooing and swooning. She lifted a hand to her heart, going weak at the knees at the sight of the baby. Mom sat on the couch nearby, and Tag stood from the edge of the bed and made his way toward me.

I lifted my hand to shake his. “Hey, man. Congratulations.”

“Thanks so much.” Tag’s ash brown curls, usually squished under a cowboy hat, were free and wild, like he’d been running his hands through them. But his grey eyes shone with so much pride and contentment that I couldn’t help but smile. Poor guy still wore slacks and a button-up shirt from the wedding. So did I. Bea’s labor went so fast, no one even thought to change.

“How are you?”

“Doin’ great now.”

“I heard that drive aged you a little.”

Tag chuckled, shaking his head. “Might take a minute to recover from that.”

Mom came up behind him, arms outstretched. I bent down to hug her small frame as she kissed me on the cheek. “Tag should win an award for the way he was driving. Like a street racer!”