What on earth are they doing down there?
I whisk my way out the bathroom and down the stairs,finally recognising the song as ‘Rock My World (Little Country Girl)’ by Brooks & Dunn. I’m only a few steps from entering the living area when Sawyer’s lowered voice booms out, ‘Next up we have Willow Ridge’s craziest cowboy. He’s a three times PBR World Champ—’
‘Five!’ Noah interrupts him.
I hover in the archway as I spot Sawyer sat on the back of the couch, worn felt cowboy hat on his head and a whisk in his hands as a fake microphone. Ahead of him, the coffee table has been pushed to the fireplace, leaving a large space where an old rocking horse sits beside the table, the edges of the wood gnarled and chipped. Except, it’s not a horse, it’s a cow.
‘My mistake, ladies and gentlemen,’ Sawyer continues into the whisk, still using a deeper voice like the commentators at the rodeos. He hasn’t noticed me yet, so I lean in the archway, spectating. ‘I can confirm he is actually afive times PBR World Champion bull rider. All the women want him, and all the men want to be him. He’s still yet to ever fall off a bull. Put your hands together, for the one, the only, Noah Goldman-Scott!’
Sawyer tosses the whisk away and claps his hands maniacally, cheering at the top of his lungs as Noah struts out from the kitchen, donned in Sawyer’s bull-riding vest and a cowboy hat, both absolutely dwarfing him. Trixie follows closely behind.
Oh my God.Noah looks so freaking adorable. My cheeks ache from how widely I’m suddenly smiling. As does my heart, when I see the joy sparkling in Noah’s eyes. The surety in himself.
He hates being the centre of attention usually. Still, seeinghim like this, all dressed up and filled with glee, not one bit nervous, it has my eyes welling. My heartsqueezing. Because no one has ever elicited this kind of confidence from him—he’s not afraid to take up space. Pride radiates from him in waves that crash over me.
‘He’s climbing into the chute,’ Sawyer narrates as Noah scrambles onto the coffee table beside the wooden cow. Above him, the television screen projects a compilation of rodeo videos—bronc riding, bull riding, steer roping—all the events you can imagine.
‘The timer is ready. Will he continue his winning streak and stay on for eight seconds?’
‘Let’s go!’ Noah yells at the top of his lungs and jumps down, immediately climbing onto the wooden cow. He throws his hand up in the air, mimicking the L shape all the bull riders use, while he rocks the cow, holding onto the handles with one hand.
Sawyer counts the seconds, clapping along as Noah rides the wooden cow, the beat of the music punctuating each second.
It’s all recreational, yet my heart still races with anticipation. When the eight seconds finally hits, Sawyer leaps from the couch, probably more energised than he should considering his bad leg, and grabs Noah by the waist, hoisting him into the air. He spins around, deep, rumbling laughter barrelling out, as Noah squeals, legs kicking and arms flailing with joy.
But what has my heart melting and me clinging to the archway for dear life is Sawyer’s face as he looks up at Noah. It’s not a wide grin, but the softest of smiles—all the hardness he likes to portray wiped away by the passionand adoration glistening in his eyes at Noah. It’s a moment of what could have been. A dreamt-up scene I played in my head tirelessly nine years ago when I tried to convince myself that we might actually work. What I wish I could’ve given to Noah had Gray never left.
It’s torturous, really. And it only serves to remind me that I need these next couple of weeks to go as quickly as possible. Because I could get used to this. I could fall for the promise of this far too easily, when that was never meant to be for us.
15
Sawyer
Silvery moonlight reflects off the rim of my glass as I twist it in my hands, swirling the liquid around. Darkness drenches the fields encompassing the house, the star-speckled sky and full moon the only light that glimmers above Lucky Star at this midnight hour.
It’s one thing I never got to appreciate growing up—if I was ever awake at night, chances were I was somewhere on the property trying to get to sleep in my truck, the standard choice whenever my dad’s mood meant staying in the house was too dangerous. The peacefulness of the ranch was probably the last thing on my mind.
That reality I once lived seems harder to imagine the more time I spend here. The more nights I sit and recognise the tranquillity somewhere like Lucky Star could offer someone. The more days I spend getting to know the ranchers and what this ranch means to them. The more of Honey and Noah’s laughter that fills the place.
There’s a creak of a floorboard above me, and I realisethat I must have dialled out while listening to Honey sing Noah back to sleep after he had a bad dream, because the house is swimming in silence now, save for the soft footsteps of Honey creeping out of Noah’s room.
I hear her pad quietly down the stairs, barely making a sound, so not to wake me as she passes my bedroom, and I can’t help the corners of my mouth from twitching. The lack of light must mean she doesn’t see me, because I watch her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace walk into the kitchen and lean against the island counter, letting out one of those deep sighs I always hear and hate.
I still haven’t found a way to stop them and it kills me.
‘There’s extra warm milk in the pan if you want some,’ I say over my shoulder, making her squeak as she flips around to find me on the couch.
‘Oh.’ She presses a hand to her chest as she studies me. She’s forgone the flannel pyjama pants she usually wears to bed with her oversized T-shirts, and it takes a lot more self-control than I’d like to admit to stop my gaze from drifting down to her bare thighs, or force the thought that just her panties likely sit beneath that top.
‘Warm milk?’ she asks, fingers drifting down to tug at the hem of her T-shirt. Her hair’s loose for once, I notice then too—she always wears it up these days, when she has the prettiest locks, like flowing rivers of white and gold. They deserve to be seen more. To have fingers teased through them. Especially when they’re lit up by the ribbons of moonlight breaking through the window.
‘Yeah.’ I hold up my glass, a few mouthfuls still left. I did enough for all three of us, including Noah, when I knewthey were awake. Just in case. ‘Helps you sleep. Read about it once.’
‘How did you know I’d need—’ She lets out a long exhale and runs her fingers through her hair. ‘Noah woke you up, didn’t he? I’m sorry.’
‘No,’ I lie—he did, but it was my chaotic mind that made damn sure I didn’t go back to sleep. ‘Don’t fret, Blue. S’all good.’
Honey nods, then eyes the pan on the stove and fetches a glass from the cupboard, proceeding to pour the rest of the milk into it. I don’t think she realises I can see the way she studies me in the mirror afterwards, staring at the couch while she worries her lip, as if deciding whether to sit. Whether it’s a good idea to be close to me.