Page 41 of 11 Cowboys

She smiles and follows me to the truck, Beau glued to her side every step of the way. I guess he’s coming, too!

The truck rattles over the uneven dirt track as I shift into fourth. Dust plumes behind us, curling into the soft blue of morning.

Grace hums low under her breath, one leg folded up on the seat, elbow draped against the open window.

Beau sprawls half across her lap, snout resting on her thigh, his eyes blinking lazily like he owns her and still worships everything about her. Every time she stops stroking his ears, he lets out a quiet, needy whine.

I glance over. “You’ve ruined him already.”

She smiles as Beau paws at her hand again. “I’m not doing anything. He came to me.”

“He’s never done that before.”

“Maybe he senses something.”

Maybe he does. In quiet moments over chores, there’s been lots of discussion about the kind of woman Grace is. How she doesn’t flinch from the noise or the mess. How the kids climb her like she’s a tree, and she laughs instead of ducking away. How she looks at each of us like she’sseeingrather than assessing.

There’s a steadiness in her. A firmness. Something rooted and good. And sparks, too. She’s bright and quick, with a mind I’d love to explore.

Even the dog knows, and Beau’s a damn good judge of character.

She’s pretty, too, but that’s never what interests me most in a woman. In the end, we all age, and what we look like on the outside changes, but our souls carry through. That’s the part I struggle with in this arrangement because we’re all focused on different aspects of a potential partner, and that makes it almost impossible for everyone to be satisfied.

The road stretches ahead: open fields, fence lines, distant cattle grazing. I know every bend and bump, but today, I’m distracted.

“How far is town?”

“Twenty-three miles.”

She laughs lightly. “Not twenty or twenty-five?”

I tap the list in my pocket. “Details matter.”

She glances sideways at me. “Yeah, they do.”

“Do they matter to you? Like, this article you’re writing about us… is the truth important, or how salacious you can make it to sell copies.”

“The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive.” She grins, flashing her pretty white teeth behind her pretty red-lipsticked smile.

“If you can make anything about this ranch salacious, you’ll deserve a Pulitzer.”

She laughs, and Beau lets out a soft groan of contentment, curling tighter into her lap.

I keep my eyes on the road and let the silence return as we roll towards town, but Grace doesn’t leave it that way for long. By the time we reach our destination, she’s going to know my inside leg measurement. But nothing in this life comes for free. She’s going to have to tell me a lot about her, too.

***

Foster’s General is already busy. Two pickups, a battered sedan, and Mrs. Alvarez’s ancient Buick crowd the tiny parking lot.

I pull in neatly between the lines. Grace is still stroking Beau’s ears absentmindedly as I kill the engine.

I slide my list from my pocket and shake it out. “We stick to the list.”

Grace nods solemnly. “Scout’s honor.”

I don’t believe her for a second, and that thought makes me smile.

Inside, the bell above the door jingles, and every head turns. Conversations stop, but not because of me. I’m here twice a week. I’m invisible. Just another dusty cowboy. They’re looking at her.