“I just found it embarrassing,” Joe answered. “I’ve known Logan Tate forever, and I don’t need him playing sheriff with me.”
“He seemed to think it was funny, too.”
“Because he’s a deputy sheriff.”
“Do you have an issue with authority figures, Joe Wyatt?”
“No. Just Logan.” He smiled reluctantly. “He and I used to go at it.”
“Fight?”
“All the time.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know why. I guess it’s what boys do.”
“To establish dominance,” Sophie said. “I know how this works. I have brothers. But there had to be a reason you and Logan would get into it that frequently.”
“I actually don’t remember. I know I used to be more of a hothead. I was angry about a lot of things. Dad dying. Mom falling apart. Granddad being Granddad.”
“What does that mean?”
“Granddad used to be a lot harder. He’s mellowed over the years, especially when we all left to compete on the PRCA circuit. But when we were kids, he was strict, and he didn’t put up with any backtalk. Heaven help you if he caught you rolling your eyes.”
“Would he hit you?”
“No, but he’d give you chores from dawn to dusk. The worst chores. Usually involving, mud, muck, and manure. When we arrived here after my dad died, we didn’t know what hit us. We were pretty torn up, at least I know I was, and I didn’t want to be in Montana. I didn’t want to be stuck on that ranch. And I didn’t want my mom crying all the time. I was angry, and I took my frustration out on the playground. I’d look for trouble. I loved to fight. But then, we all did. Sam, Billy, Tommy, me—we were our own wild pack. Scrappy. A lot of the other ranching families in the valley weren’t fans of ours. They complained about us to the school, they complained about us to Granddad, they complained about us to anyone who’d listen. I guess we were hoodlums.” His lips twisted and he shook his head. “That’s when Granddad got us involved in the junior rodeo. It’s hard to have the energy to fight if you’re always sore and nursing broken bones from riding, roping, and wrestling steers.”
It was the longest Sophie had ever heard him talk about anything, and the most words she’d ever heard him say at one time, and it crossed her mind again that he kept so much inside. He must have a whole world of hurt and grief locked down within him. And for the first time, she understood that him getting over Charity probably had less to do with Charity herself and more to do with loss in general. His not dating wasn’t because he couldn’t find another woman as wonderful as Charity, but that his heart couldn’t handle more pain.
“Sounds like you Wyatt boys took to the junior rodeo pretty well,” she said, putting her hand on his leg, just above his knee. “I saw some of your impressive buckles in your room. Your mom said there’s a lot more that you just dumped in a box and put away.”
“I had a good run there.”
“You couldn’t compete still? Not even at some pro-am type events?”
“Maybe. But unless the event was close to home, it wouldn’t make sense to do it. It’s just hard to leave the ranch. I can do it for a day, but a whole weekend? Not fair to Granddad.”
“You couldn’t hire more ranch hands? You’ve got a couple.”
“I actually meant I couldn’t leave my mom’s care to Granddad. It’s not fair to him.” He hesitated. “I’ve thought a lot about hiring Mom some help. It will probably be necessary down the road—”
“I can help her, Joe.”
“You’re not here to be a nurse, and I appreciate you offering, but that’s a definite no. It’s hard being a caretaker, and we’re going to have kids, and they’ll have activities, and you’re going to need a life, too.”
She rubbed her palm across his knee, the denim smooth, his body warm. “What about you?” she asked. “Don’t you need a life?”
His hand covered hers. His voice dropped, deepening, “Thanks to you, Sophie, I’ve now got one.”
*
It was cold when they stepped out of the truck on Main Street and walked to Grey’s Saloon, the wind an icy blast. Joe glanced up at the sky. Clouds had gathered, obscuring the moon. The weather had changed dramatically since this morning. He hadn’t paid attention to the weather report today, but he should have. He had a feeling temperatures were going to keep dropping and that wouldn’t be good with all the heifers ready to calve.
Part of him wanted to go home and check in on the pregnant cows they’d brought to the pasture nearest the house, and another part of him felt like he owed Sophie a drink and a night out. They didn’t have to stay out long, either. Just one beer, listen to a little music, and head home.
They found a table not far from the jukebox and they ordered drinks but Joe’s mind was elsewhere. Seeing Logan, talking about being a kid, remembering all the trouble he used to get in had stirred other memories, memories not as comfortable. Mom hadn’t been herself for years after they arrived in Montana. She hadn’t taken to bed, but she was numb. Shut down. She was there physically, but not emotionally, and some of Joe’s antics were to get his mom’s attention, and somehow make her love him again. He knew now that she hadn’t ever stopped loving him, or his brothers, but her grief was so big, and so consuming, she couldn’t be there for the boys. There was a stretch of time—four years, five—where she was just gone, and Granddad was doing everything for them, literally everything, and then his grandfather insisted his mother get counseling. Mom had been resistant but counseling helped, and she came back to them, little by little. Maybe that was why Joe was so glad to see her enjoying the wedding planning. He still remembered when she didn’t smile. He still remembered when she just sat at the kitchen table as if a marble statue.
“Hey,” Sophie said, extending a hand to him. “I’m Sophie Correia, and I’m new to Marietta. Who are you?”
He smiled and took her hand, giving it a shake. “Joe Wyatt. Nice to meet you, Sophie. How are you liking Montana?”
“I like it. A lot.”
“Yeah?”
“Pretty state. Handsome cowboys.”
“You like cowboys?”
“Now I do,” she said.
“Anything else I should know? We’ve never discussed politics.”
“And I don’t think we need to. Politics remind me of faith. You have your views, I have mine, and we’re not going to try to convert the other.”
The corner of his mouth briefly lifted. “I have faith.”
“Good, me, too.”
“And I’m an American.”
“Me, too.”
“I love this country.”
“As do I,” Sophie answered, grinning back at him.
She was so dang cute. Big brown eyes, soft full mouth, a heart-shaped face. He could get lost in those eyes, and kiss that mouth for hours. There was a lot of things he wanted to do, and would do, when the time was ready.
He was ready.
She was the one not yet ready.
He sensed it had to do with Leo and the wedding that didn’t happen. Joe felt like there was more to the story.