As my grandma would’ve said, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.
15
Wes
I’m sitting on the outdoor couch with Warner and Wyatt watching the cowboys play horseshoes. My mom, Jessie, and Dakota sit on the opposite couch, talking about something I’m not paying attention to. Judging by the glances Dakota keeps throwing my way, she’s not paying attention either. Gramps went inside to take a nap, and Warner’s kids play tag in the yard.
“Who wants to be the grill master today?” Dad asks, walking out to the group. In each hand, he carries a tray piled with hotdogs, hamburgers, steak, and chicken. It looks like a lot of food, but the cowboys eat like teenagers.
“Me.” I jump up.
“Wasn’t aware the couch had an ejector seat,” Warner taunts.
I take a tray from my dad. “Feel free to help,” I say to Warner. “You too, asshole,” I tell Wyatt, pushing against his leg as I go by him. They each get up and follow.
“Language,” my mother warns, but it doesn’t matter. The kids are at the far end of the yard, screaming and dodging each other.
Wyatt and Warner stand beside me at the grill. Warner gets started on the steak and chicken while I heat the second grill for the hot dogs and hamburgers.
“You know,” Warner muses as he places the last chicken breast on the grill. “For someone with a crush the size of a bull, you sure aren’t acting like it.”
“Wait, what? Who is Wes crushing on?” Wyatt asks.
Warner gives him an irritated look. “Open your whiskey-soaked eyes.”
“Fuck you, I’m not drunk,” Wyatt responds, obviously hurt. It makes me think maybe his drinking goes deeper than partying. Maybe he’s running from something, too. I hide behind the ranch, but maybe Wyatt uses the bottle. Maybe we’re not so different.
“You mean you’re not drunk yet,” Warner responds, and I watch anger and shame fall over Wyatt’s face like a curtain. Anger wins out, and Wyatt shoves Warner hard in the back. Warner flies forward a couple feet before I catch him. He circles around to go after Wyatt but I get between them. “Not now,” I say to Warner, holding my hands against his chest. I turn around to face Wyatt, but I’m addressing both of them. Under my breath, I say, “This is a family fucking picnic you dipshit. There are children here. Knock your shit off before I take you in the barn and beat both of your asses.”
Wyatt glares at both of us and stalks away. Warner turns back to the grill like nothing happened.
After a long, quiet minute, he says, “He has a problem, Wes.”
“Don’t we all,” I mutter, adding the hamburgers and hot dogs to the hot grill.
“Fuck, Wes,” Warner says in a voice so frustrated it gets my attention. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “You’re so damn secretive. Dakota is hot and your chemistry with her is off the charts, but you won’t say a damn word about her. You won’t talk about what the hell happened to you in the Army, but you get up early every morning and ride Ranger like you’re running from something.” Warner gives me a hard look, but the bruised feelings are floating right there beneath the frustration. “You came back a different person. Nobody faults you for it, but it would be really damn nice if you trusted someone enough to at least talk about it. And maybe you wouldn’t be such an asshole all the time, too.”
I don’t know what to say to him. He’s right, but who the fuck am I supposed to talk to? To understand, you had to have been there. Seen action. Taken fire and feared for your life. I could tell Warner about it until my face turns blue, but he would never really get it.
“Maybe sometime we’ll talk, okay? Just not now.” It’s an olive branch, words that might be empty but are meant to make him feel better. Our eyes meet and I see the brother who used to be my best friend, the one who shared my bedroom until I was twelve and wanted my own space.
He nods and reaches down to open the beer fridge built into the barbecue station. He removes two, twists off the tops, and hands me one. It’s a silent acceptance of my olive branch.
My mom has set up three picnic tables on the grass so they are in one long row. Places are set for each person, and each table has bowls of potato salad, chips, baked beans, and all the sauces and fixings a person could want to put on their hot dog and hamburger.
“Dakota,” Wyatt calls from across the table. “How’s the project going?”
“Well,” she answers. “We’re breaking ground tomorrow. I hired a general contractor last week and he moves quickly. The skid steer arrives at six a.m. and we’ll start grading out the land.” A smile spreads across her face as she talks, and I wonder if she knows it’s there.
Wyatt takes a bite of his hamburger. “Are you planning on staying in Sierra Grande to oversee things?”
It hits me that we haven’t talked to Wyatt about any of this. These are questions he wouldn’t have if we’d discussed stuff with him. To be fair, he’s usually drunk, sleeping off the night, or working with the horses. He doesn’t have his hand in the day-to-day running of the ranch, nor does he seem to want to.
“As of right now I plan to be here for the summer,” she answers, but there’s uncertainty in her voice. Her gaze flickers over to me and then back to Wyatt.
“Is that how long you think the project will take?” he asks.
“It will definitely take longer than that. But the bulk of my work will be in the beginning, while we’re finding contractors and getting it all started.”
“Right.” Warner nods, interjecting himself into the conversation. “And when are you and Wes going to admit your feelings for each other?”
Everyone around us freezes except for Jessie. She laughs loudly. I give Warner a dirty look and the mischievous look in his eyes disappears. He thought he was helping me out, as if the problem was that I was shy and needed a nudge to ask out the pretty girl I’m sweet on.
Dakota saves the day, laughing melodically and calling Warner a troublemaker. Conversations resume, but they’re stilted. When we’re done eating, Warner’s kids beg to ride horses. I offer to take them. It’s a great excuse to get the hell away from the table.
“Let’s go get the horses,” I tell Peyton and Charlie, standing up from the table and tossing my napkin on my plate.
We walk to the stable and they talk nonstop about their mom’s new house in Phoenix. “It has a pool in the backyard,” Peyton boasts.
“With a water slide built into rocks,” Charlie adds, his chest puffing out proudly.
“Sounds fun.” And not at all like your mother is trying to buy your love to appease her guilt about blowing up your family. When they’re older, they’ll see that. Right now, she’s just a cool mom.
I pass Ranger as the three of us walk through the stable and give his face a quick rub on my way by. He’s a great horse, but he’s not kid-friendly. I need our oldest mares for my niece and nephew.
After I get them ready, I lead Pumpkin and Priscilla out to the round pen. Charlie needs help getting up, but Peyton has no problem fitting her boot into the stirrup and getting her leg over.