16
Caroline
It had been a busy, beautiful, sometimes overwhelming day. There were a million little moving parts to keep track of, but everything went off without a hitch. Honestly, that was a relief because my morning started out terribly. Before I even set foot on the fairgrounds, my father gave me an earful. He was on his usual rant about how nothing should keep me in Conway. He started out seemingly sweet. I was rushing around trying to get out the door when he handed me a Thermos of coffee and a muffin in a brown paper bag. It was the same kind of muffin he used to pack me for breakfast when he drove me to school as a kid. As I took the brown bag with the little grease spots from him, I felt sentimental, like he was trying to say have a good day in the only way he knew how. So I hugged him and said, “Thank you, Daddy.”
I had to admit, I didn’t hug him often. Not because I didn’t want to, but because he didn’t seem that open to being hugged. I remembered hugging him more as a kid. I actually remembered thinking he was a hero, and that if I didn’t have him I’d die of loneliness. But as I got older, and he realized how smart I was, his focus shifted to my success, and the softness of our relationship evaporated. I guess because of that, he seemed a little startled by my hug. He looked flummoxed, then he cleared his throat and said, “Of course, big day.”
Considering how annoyed he’d seemed by the rodeo as we were planning, I was delighted by this comment, but then he said, “Just don’t go thinking you want to do this every year. Remember, even if today is fun, this small-town life with a small practice isn’t for a woman like you. No matter what other people might think or who might want you to stay here, you’re destined for something bigger.”
Like always I bit my tongue, but this time I almost didn’t. I stood there looking at his face, his drawn eyebrows and his pursed lips, wondering why he wanted me gone so desperately. Why did he think that a life in some big city filled with faceless people would make me happier? Decimated by his failure to see what a boon this rodeo was for me and the children I was helping, I considered the possibility that maybe my father's wishes weren’t connected to my ultimate happiness at all. Maybe my father was just like all the other people who looked at me and saw a caricature: The Smart Girl. Because no matter what he thought, I was really starting to think that the only life that could make me happy was a small-town life with a particular small-town man.
But I didn’t say that. I just gave him a tense smile and gently said, “Not today, Daddy, okay? I’ve got a million things to do and I’m excited to enjoy the fruits of my labor, so can you just be happy for me right now and focus on Seattle tomorrow?”
“As long as that’s still the plan,” he commanded.
I rubbed my temples with my thumbs as I said, “Yep.” Then I left without saying anything else other than a little wave after my back was turned. I was so upset by his singular focus that I didn’t realize I forgot the muffin on the table by the door until I’d already driven away. I didn’t go back for it.
My dad came to the rodeo, but not to see me. He and a small group of other cops worked the rodeo for me. If I was really honest with myself, I would have acknowledged that they were present for any and all events at the fairgrounds, but I wanted to believe that my father enlisted his men to make my day easier, so I did. They helped with parking and walked the grounds, smiling. Really, everyone was smiling. Wyatt and I created an amazing event. I was surrounded by children buzzing with joy, and not even my father’s sour mood could keep me from seeing that. We’d raised more money than I’d ever imagined we could, close to three hundred thousand dollars. People came from far and wide to participate in the event. There were attendees everywhere I looked, a sea of straw cowboy hats and laughter. For the first time in my life, I was loving the fairgrounds.
Literally, when Wyatt showed up with that boy, Taylor, I didn’t think the day could get any better, but it did. I was standing with Cody, laughing at my own lifelong failure to register the unadulterated pleasure of sinking one's teeth into fried dough covered in powdered sugar. Apparently, Cody spotted me earlier in the day, scarfing down a serving that Bev had insisted I try. Without my knowledge, he was privy to a silly spat she and I had because once I had one bite, I refused to give her the fried dough back.
Making fun of us, Cody said, “Saw you throw down with your girl Bev over fair born baked goods earlier.”
I was absolutely brimming with glee, so I grinned and laughed as I joked back, “It should have been a death match. Have you tried that stuff?”
Cody laughed too when he said, “Of course, the better question is how have you not tried it?” He looked at his boots and shook his head before he said, “Sometimes you’re weird, Caroline, you know that?” He wasn’t being mean at all; like his brother, my weirdness seemed to delight him. He said as much and more. “I like it. I think you’re just the right kind of weird for him.”
I smiled quietly to myself, still hoping not to give anything away. I felt like the thing between Wyatt and me was shifting, but honestly we hadn’t really had time to feel it out, let alone discuss it. Since the night Carolina was born, he and I were too busy to connect. I hadn’t even spoken to him about my suspicions that he was dyslexic. I didn’t think he had a clue, and it seemed like an awfully big deal to discover you had a learning disability at thirty. He must have struggled to excel in a traditional school environment, despite how smart he was. It wasn’t something I wanted to just throw out there. We needed time and space to have that conversation. All we’d had recently were stolen moments and text messages. In fact, I got a text from him when I woke up.
Wyatt: Today is already amazing. So proud to have done this work with you. Thank you, Caro.
And then a second one:
Wyatt: Let’s face it, you are amazing.
And then a third one that made me laugh.
Wyatt: Dammit, now I’m hard.
He was really just so adorable and whoo-wee, he was sexy. Man, oh man, was that guy hot. There were more hard fleshy planes to his body than I thought possible. Honestly, I had all but forgotten that I’d lived through years of an orgasm-free life because at this point I was pretty sure I could make myself come from just thinking about him. He had already given me so much, opened me up physically in a way I never thought possible because he taught me that sex was about the creativity and titillation of your mind, not just the right physical techniques. But I wanted more. I wanted to be with him, for real. Not just based on some agreement.
Lost in my thoughts about Wyatt, I was surprised when Cody added, “Don’t worry. He’ll get his head out of his ass soon. When push comes to shove, we Morgan boys always get it together.”
And then I looked up, and Wyatt was coming toward us walking next to a boy with a prosthetic leg. The boy’s gait, albeit a smidge hitched by the rhythm of his prosthetic, was that of a man’s, sturdy and responsible, and Wyatt was talking to him and treating him like he was his own boy. I assumed that the brunette trailing behind them was the boy’s mother. I looked at the trio and thought to myself, Wyatt’s doing what he does best, making someone else’s life better, and then the next thing I knew Wyatt, Cody, Buck, and I were doing our damnedest to make that little boy’s dream happen.