Page 21 of And Forever (The Riders and Rings Duology #2)
WILDER
COEUR D’ALENE, IDAHO — AUGUST
T he thick, sticky-sweet smell of kettle corn mixes with the earthy odor of dust in the rodeo grounds.
Country music is blaring from the speakers, and cowboy hats are everywhere.
Winona rides on my shoulders, her hands accidentally pushing my baseball hat further down over my eyes.
But, as I manage to walk through the throngs of spectators unnoticed, I don’t really mind.
Charlotte has her fingers laced through mine next to me, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze every now and again.
Even without talking about it, I know she can sense how difficult this is for me. It’s just who she is. How well she knows me.
In my years of therapy, I’ve confronted my feelings about Travis’ death and how that impacted my relationship with the rodeo world.
Rodeo became a graveyard, filled with the specters of what-ifs, death, and heartbreak.
I haven’t been to one since that unforgettable December in Las Vegas.
It’s taken a lot of growth and time to understand that I didn’t return due to fear or avoidance; I made the choice to look after my emotional wellbeing by letting that chapter of my life close.
But now I’m here so I can try to capture some firsts with Winona, and embrace the part of Charlotte that secretly longs to come back into this world.
I remind myself of the things Adam and I have worked on together: breathing techniques, mindfulness, and giving myself positive self-talk if I start to struggle.
“Do you want to come with me when I take Win back to the staging area to see Tim?” Charlotte leans over to ask as we near an opening in the stands to find our seats.
I release her hand to bring both of mine up and extricate the little girl with a koala grip from her perch.
She snags Winona out of my hold, bouncing her on her hip.
Our little girl is wearing jeans and her tiny riding boots, a cherry-red bandana-patterned shirt paired with the red lace ribbons I added to her pigtail braids today.
“Is it okay if I skip it? I don’t think I’m ready to be back there.
” I hook a hand behind my neck and stretch from side to side.
I hope Charlotte believes it’s from carrying Winona, but the truth is the tension is making my muscles tight.
She nods, but I don’t miss her examining me closely.
“Let’s go get some seats before the good ones are all taken! ”
I play up the excitement to my daughter.
She babbled happily all morning about coming, practically vibrating in her car seat when we got here.
We hadn’t made it three steps away from the ticket booth before Winona tried to break away to look at the rows of pastel-colored puffs of cotton candy.
I hoisted her up to my shoulders, trying to focus on making this a good experience for her.
Our trio enters the stadium and begins making our way halfway up the metal bleachers to a spot big enough for Charlotte and me to sit and give Winona a little wiggle room.
We’re at the north end of the arena, away from the bucking chutes and announcer’s booth, and on the side where the ropers will exit when they start chasing down steers.
There’s a canopy covering the expanse of this section, keeping us from baking in the midafternoon sun.
Winona sits between us as the voice comes over the speakers, calling attention to the far gate where the rodeo queens are gathered in their rhinestones and rawhide, preparing to enter for the National Anthem pageantry.
The crowd rises to their feet as the queens ride a loop around the edges of the arena, waving flags representing the country, the state, the armed forces, and other public services.
At the conclusion of the performance, the crowd, which is lively for a matinee, cheers loudly as the first event is introduced.
The saddled bronc riders begin to scale the railings, up and over the top of the chutes, where their horses wait impatiently.
Nervous energy pulses through me, a prickling under the skin, so I pick Winona up and settle her on my lap for something to do.
Charlotte glances at me out of the corner of her eye, but I bounce our little girl, giving her a ride like the cowboys she’s watching.
“Ride, Wildy, ride!” Winona claps her hands, using Meehaw as a pompom when she cheers, continuing even when three of the four riders end up in the dirt.
The concern lodged in my throat recedes a little as I watch the recovery riders quickly and safely aid the riders or direct the horses toward the open livestock gate.
I know Brent’s no longer here, both because Tim fired him that summer, but also because Charlotte told me he died the New Year’s Eve after Vegas.
I can’t say I was sad to learn he crashed his truck into a ditch after getting behind the wheel drunk.
In the brief changeover from broncs to pairs roping, Winona slips off my knees to root in Charlotte’s bag, extracting a container of goldfish crackers before climbing into her mama’s lap to munch happily.
“Can I have one?” I reach over, opening my mouth so Winona can pop a fish-shaped cheddar-flavored bite into my mouth.
I chew in an exaggerated fashion that makes Winona giggle as she wedges the tail of another fish between my lips.
The distraction this little game provides further pushes away the disquiet that hasn’t left my thoughts since the night before.
“What about Mama?” Charlotte pipes up, leaning over to chomp at Winona’s offering. The rodeo continues in front of us, but it feels distant as I focus on my family.
“Folks, up next we have some of the fastest cowgirls in the world.”
The announcement of the barrel racing competition pulls all of us back to the action in the ring.
A small pickup truck drives up and back the length, dragging a grater behind it to smooth the dirt kicked up by the ropers.
Then, a four-by-four truck with three covered barrels drives through the gate, a crew pulling them free of the tailgate and sets them up in the newly smoothed-over dirt.
Winona hops off Charlotte’s lap, clapping and whooping, sending multiple orange crackers flying from the container.
Through our laughter, Charlotte and I manage to wrangle the toddler and the wayward snacks into something more appropriate for the occasion.
“Mama, you and Roo can ride.” Winona nods with conviction, pointing as the first cowgirl turns around the first barrel in a blur of sunshine yellow and chestnut brown.
I look over her head to see Charlotte’s face pinch with the barest flash of longing before she tucks it into the crook of Winona’s neck.
“No, Squish,” she tries to whisper. “Mama and Roo don’t race anymore.”
“Why?”
It’s the most innocent question, filled with the purest curiosity in the world, but hearing Winona innocently ask makes guilt drop like a stone in the pit of my stomach.
It sits heavily, nestled in the anxiety residing there, making my chest feel a little tighter than it was moments before.
I can’t look at Charlotte, and I don’t know how to lend my support, so I busy myself with tucking the near-empty container back into our bag.
“Because I found something I loved more than that,” Charlotte offers to our daughter, sealing the words with a loud, smooching kiss to her cheek. “Look at that horse go!”
And just like that, she diverts the attention from her past to our daughter’s present by pointing at the new rider struggling with the last turn before taking off for the finish line.
Charlotte’s eyes are on me, and I can’t pretend there’s anything else in the bag for me to deal with.
I lift my gaze from the bag by our feet and slide next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist, holding her tightly.
Her quiet understanding helps me keep calm for the next several events.
I’m returning from the bathroom with Winona when the announcer notifies the crowd that the remaining bucking events are next.
In an instant, all the air is sucked from my lungs and my hands go clammy.
I drop onto the bench seat, keeping Winona between my legs as she dances to the filler music played over the speakers.
“Hey, you okay?” Charlotte’s fingers are pale from how hard she grips my forearm, but I barely feel the pressure by the time I focus on her face. “Fuck, Wild, you’re white as a sheet. Let’s get out of here.”
“No, no,” I protest, even as the first bead of sweat rolls down my spine. “You and Winnie still need to see Tim. I’m just going to get a bottle of water and meet you at the truck.”
“Tim will understand, I?—”
“Please, Charlie,” I interrupt her. “I’m all right, I just can’t stay any longer, okay?”
Charlotte’s brow pinches together with concern and her dislike of my assurance.
But she doesn’t fight me, trusting me to make the call, even when I flinch at the chute door slamming into the side of the arena.
Her lips part, maybe to protest one more time, but I silence her by tipping her hat back enough to press a kiss to her forehead.
My smile feels brittle when I lean down to kiss Winona’s cheek and tell her I’ll see her after.
“Bye, Wildy,” Winona chirps. “Kiss Meehaw!”
I give a little tug at the end of one braid before lifting Meehaw from her light grip and giving the stuffed cat a kiss. Then, with the swelling cheers of the crowd pounding in my head, I drop down the stairs of the bleachers and duck out of the stands.
Charlotte hovers at the bedroom door. “Come on then, baby.” I reach a hand out to her from my spot on the edge of the bed. “Let’s talk about it.”