Stripped Down (23 page)

“You talk to Rose about selling?” J.J. slouches up beside me on his horse.

“Yeah.” I make a mental note to send more hands out. The fence on our northern perimeter probably needs replacing, not a simple fix. “I did.”

“Didn’t go well?” J.J.’s always had a soft spot for Rose.

“Not particularly, no. Hell, J.J., how do you think it went? I want to take Auntie Dee’s house from her. It’s like I’m pissing all over her dreams. She thinks she can make it work.”

J.J.’s eyes follow the cowboy bringing back our AWOL calf. “She needs a dozen contractors, a money tree, and the second coming of Christ to fix that house. Yeah, I can see the problem there.”

“She’s pissed as hell, but we need those water rights. We’re gonna run out of water in the next few months. I can truck it in for a while, but eventually we’ll go broke—or we’ll have to give up on the cattle.” Maybe there’s a way out I haven’t seen, but it’s not coming to me at the moment. The long moment of silent that follows tells me J.J.’s got the same problems I do. He likes Rose and he doesn’t like seeing her get hurt any more than I do.

We have to have that water.

J.J. tightens his grip on the reins and his horse dances. “And she still won’t take the check?”

“She wanted to fix the place up. Live in it. She had a whole tube of architectural plans that she drew up. She was gonna run some kind of tattoo parlor out of it.”

“She’s wanted a shop of her own since that reality TV show.” J.J. slaps a hand on my back, hard enough to half-knock me out of the saddle. The fucker. “You watch her show?”

I might have the episodes loaded on my iPhone, but I’m not admitting to it, so I settle for a noncommittal shrug.

J.J. snorts. “You TiVo’d it or something, you bastard.”

I grin. “Bet you liked the bikini episode best.”

“Wouldn’t mind being a judge,” he admits. “Had no idea you could ink a girl so close to her goodies.”

“She’s good,” I say quietly and J.J. nods. “I think she’s the best.”

“She should have won.”

I glance over at my brother, and he looks like he means it. J.J.’s a competitor through and through. He doesn’t throw points or sugarcoat a performance. “You think?”

“They booked her for the cast because she’s pretty and she’s got great tits. Probably pegged her for a bit of a drama queen, too, because Rose doesn’t always remember to filter. I’ll bet they didn’t look at her portfolio until she showed up on set.”

Rose’s art is gorgeous, all bold black lines and vibrant colors. It’s like she can bring alive whatever shit she’s got in her head and paint it right on your skin. She did a tumbleweed design for a guy who’d lost an Army buddy, all stark branches and those thorns that bite into your skin and shred. Captured his pain perfectly and the guy almost broken down when he saw his ink. The feather she gave me is fucking perfect to, so I have to wonder what design she’d draw for us. I’d like her to remember me whenever she looks at herself in the mirror. I’d like to be marked on her skin for everyone to see

“You telling me life’s not fair?”

That’s no newsflash. I share a quick glance with J.J. Yeah. He’s on the same page as me.

“She was a threat to whoever they’d handpicked to be the winner.” J.J. shrugs. “So they let her get far, but not all the way. That’s how I see it. She made it to the final four, and then they eliminated her.”

If she’d made the final three, she’d have gotten money. Instead, she got nothing but me and a whole lot of trouble. She’s chasing a dream, but it’s eluding her. I untie my horse and head toward the open range.

J.J. follows. “There’s no way to give her that house?”

I still need those water rights. Water keeps the herd going and my cowboys riding. “I give her the house, I still need what it sits on. She’s not going to want her clients walking through a stockyard.”

J.J. studies me, although I have no idea what the fuck he sees. “Probably not.”

Still, those plans say something. Something important. They’re not just rooms on a piece of paper. My own ranch house is more house than home. It’s beautiful and rock solid, and it’s the place I park my ass at night, but I don’t have roots there. My roots are out here, on my family’s land.

And with Rose. Because I love her.

Hell of a thing.

Question is, would Auntie Dee’s house even be enough for Rose? If she needs the house so badly, why not just pick the place up and move it elsewhere? It’s an option if the old building is stable enough. There’s plenty of space out here on the ranch or in the heart of Lonesome. She could tattoo drunken cowboys and whoever else wanders through town. Like me. I could probably hire her to tattoo
I love you
on my sorry ass, along with flowers, hearts and shit. I swing up into my saddle and look at J.J.

“I need a ride.”

He nods and follows me when I tear out of the yard. It’s a good forty minutes of ball-breaking galloping before I finally slow the horse and swing down to walk the winded animal a bit. Naturally, J.J. sticks tight to me. He’s unshakable.

I look over at him. “I’m going to find a way to make her stay. I love her.”

J.J. nods as if that’s a foregone conclusion. Hell. Maybe my feelings
are
written right on my face for everyone to see. “You got a plan?”

Not a good one. Fuck being responsible.

“Yeah,” I lie. “I have a plan.”

ROSE

A
ngel and I will never work.

I stand on Auntie Dee’s front porch—on
our
front porch—and watch the sun come up. The yard and the house are shadows at first, comforting shapes that are familiar but indistinct. In the dark, I can’t see the million and one reasons why I can’t keep this place. Even if I had a dollar for each flaw, the money wouldn’t be enough. Some things are too broken to fix.

Some things you just have to tear down.

The sun starts to edge higher, the light grows, and I realize a couple of things. This is my last sunrise here on this porch. I think about taking out my phone, snapping pictures, but then I decide I’ll just go with my memories. I know those memories will blur. Maybe I’ll forget. The details won’t be as crisp and I won’t keep all of them. That’s okay. I’d rather filter them with my head and my heart anyhow.

Some things you just have to let go.

Angel is one of those things. I sink down onto the top step, sitting cross-legged. The wood planks are still cool and slightly damp from the dew underneath my butt and my bare legs. I never expected us to last forever, either. I’ll keep those memories, too. I’ll probably be that old woman in the nursing home who tells story after story to anyone who will listen, reliving her glorious past. She’s lost in her memories but happy, while you’re looking at her and wondering how someone who looks like her lived all these things and yet ended up in a nursing home, alone and talking to you. She’d tell you it’s okay. Some things you let go and some things you remember.

I’ll remember Angel, but I’m also letting him go.

But first there’s something I can do for him. I don’t like accepting help, but Angel refuses it altogether. He’s the steer that won’t go down that chute, no matter what you do—and he belongs out here, running wild and free on his land, bellowing and fighting with the other steer and bossing them around. He’s glorious and a pain in the ass and he makes my heart hurt. He’s going to be one of my good memories, though. The sun climbs a little higher, the yard grows a little clearer, and I let go of the crap.

Angel’s not perfect, but neither am I. Perfect would actually be fucking boring. So I sit there, enjoying our yard for the last time as the sun pops all the way over the horizon and the light spills everywhere. The birds are belting out hellos to each other, or maybe they’re hooking up, finding their mates or their baby daddies, and it’s all good.

Rory wanders out of our RV hours later with a cup of coffee in his hand. He offers it to me silently, and I take it. He sits down on the lower step, resting his head on my knee. Coffee, a good friend, and memories to last a lifetime. Things could be so much worse. I know what I have to do next.

“I’m going into town,” I tell him. He tilts his head back, waiting for me to finish. “I’m signing the papers. I’m selling Angel my half.”

He rests his cheek against my knee for a minute. “You sure, baby girl?”

“Very,” I tell him and it’s true. Angel needs the water. That would be enough for me right there, but Blackhawk also needs the water. There are good men working here, fighting to hang onto a way of life that’s slowly disappeared around them while they were riding the range and wrangling cattle. They’re a different kind of memory and I’m going to hold onto them, too.

He snorts. “Angel’s gonna shit when he realizes you just rode to his rescue.”

I grin and gently push his head off my knee so I can stand up. “That’s the icing on the cupcake.”

Maybe he would have found another way to bring water to Blackhawk—if anyone could work a miracle, it’s Angel—but I like thinking that I’m
choosing
to make him this gift. He’d presented me with an ultimatum. He’d pointed out that he could force me to sell by taking me to court. That put him in control, which is what he want. I’m giving him what he wants, but on my terms. I’m the one in control, and that’s going to bug the hell out of him. It will be good for him.

I’m still grinning when I drive away from Auntie Dee’s for the last time.

I sign the papers.

Seemingly a hundred times in triplicate, my signature getting looser and lighter as I work my way through the stack of papers the lawyer handed me, I sign over the house and the surrounding ranch land to Angel. I already told Rory that I’m not going back to Auntie Dee’s. I’ve got those good memories stored up in my head like a squirrel preparing for winter, and that’s the note on which I want to end things. After I finish with Mitch—who clearly thinks I’m crazy for selling my share in the ranch for a fraction of what it’s worth when I could stick Angel for a small fortunate—the plan is to get back into my car and drive. Somewhere. Anywhere. We’re just going to pick a direction. Rory will follow me in the RV. He thinks we should head to Vegas, camp for a while in some casino parking garage while we figure out our next step. Maybe they’ll need more tattoo artists in Vegas.

When I’m done, I leave, the lawyer’s door snapping shut behind me. Mitch hollers a farewell, but I’ll bet he’s already forgotten me. I’m just a job to him. Paperwork to file and a loose end to wrap up. I’m not surprised. I didn’t spend too much time here in Lonesome, while he’s lived here pretty much his entire life. He must have left at some point—he has a law degree from the University of California hanging on his wall—but then he came back. There’s probably a Mrs. Mitch and some mini-me clones running around as well.

I pause when I hit the sidewalk. I’ve got two choices—left or right—and they both lead straight out of Lonesome. I figure I can decide when I reach my car, which is parked all of ten feet away. Before I can get to it car and hit the road, however, my nemesis rides right on up Lonesome’s main street as if he owns that patch of asphalt, too. Angel is all cowboy. Tough and hard, his face determined as that horse of his picks up speed. Of course, I’m probably the problem he’s riding hell-bent for leather to solve.

I’m not his problem anymore.

I’m not his anything.

I kind of wish I could see his face, though, when Mitch explains things to him.

Angel stops the horse in front of me.

It’s turning out to be a real pretty day, the kind of sunny-and-blue that usually makes me think about picnics and swimming. Shielding my eyes from the glare, I look up at him. God, he’s gorgeous.

“I wasn’t late this time,” I tell him.

I was early in fact, eager to get this over with. Knowing why I decided to sign—because I love Angel, and he needs this more than I do— doesn’t actually make the act itself any easier. It just makes me okay with the sadness of it all. I’ll make new memories, more memories—just somewhere else and with someone else.

His face doesn’t give shit away. “That’s not what I’m here about.”

“Whatever.” Turning away, I start walking toward my car. I’ll get in, and I’ll go. There’s a fresh start and a fourth chance out there with my name on it, and I’m finding it.