Page 21 of Backup Cowboy
The singer immediately turns toward Zane’s wife, an experienced social media personality with a strong brand and a loyal following. “I wanna snap some social media pics.”
Capri looks around the space and points to the opposite wall. “Over by that window is some great light.”
Sammie hops up and walks over to the window still wearing my hat. She snaps several photos with and without it, and I cansee the appeal. The girl is hot. Too young for me, but she won’t have any trouble hooking up this weekend if that’s on her to-do list.
Alex steals glances at me over her turkey club, her tongue darting out to catch a drop of mayo at the corner of her mouth. It’s so fucking endearing. This is the side to Alex that I like the best. The one who lets down her guard and isn’t afraid to get a little dirty.
Her eyes flick over to where Sammie’s posing by the window, her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly before she takes another deliberate bite. I should probably get my hat back, but watching Alex’s reaction is too entertaining.
Capri leans over and whispers, “Why is Sammie bouncing on the ladder?”
The sound of splintering wood cracks throughout the barn as Sammie lets out a shrill scream.
I’m already moving, Zane right behind me. As we rush over, Sammie’s boots slip, and the ladder rung gives way beneath her. She’s gripping the top rung, but barely hanging on, her feet dangling as she struggles to catch her footing.
We hold out our arms just as she falls, her curls smacking my face as she crashes into us. I take her weight as Zane tilts her feet toward the ground. She stands, a little stunned, rubbing her palms on her back denim pockets.
“You hurt anywhere?” Zane asks, concern shrouding his features.
“No. I’m alright. I grew up climbing trees and chasing my brothers.” Her voice is a little shaky, and for a second, she sounds exactly her age, twenty-one and far from home.
Alex checks Sammie for any bumps or scrapes, her no-nonsense work demeanor calming the young star immediately. After we make sure that Sammie’s really okay, Capri takes her by the hand and ushers her out of the barn in search of otherInsta-worthy shots. The fact that she follows immediately puts everyone’s mind at ease.
I grab my radio and call one of the ranch hands to come grab the ladder as Zane sets it low against the wall.
An image of the accident flashes through my mind, and I immediately stiffen.
“This is not on you, man.” Zane’s words are sharp and direct. “I should have listened to you about not using that damn ladder.”
“Don’t.” I wave my hand to cut him off. “It’s ultimately my responsibility.”
Zane claps me on the back, the gesture letting me know he doesn’t agree, before he heads out the door. He’s not one to argue, which I respect and appreciate about working with him.
My jaw clenches tight as I nod. I’m so fucking pissed off, and now that the adrenaline is subsiding, a deep stab of guilt overwhelms me. She could have landed on her back, she could have broken something, or worse. Speckles dot in front of my eyes, so I head to the nearby table and sit, elbows on the table, my forehead on my clasped hands. I inhale and exhale deeply, the technique my therapist taught me when my anxiety threatens to take over.
Having Alex witness this is the last fucking thing I need.
“Is it okay if I sit next to you?”
I nod, incapable of speaking right now, and feel her shift right next to me. Outside the practice barn, muffled voices and equipment sounds become a distant hum. She remains quiet, breathing in rhythm with me. Eventually, the spots disappear, and I sit up in the chair to find Alex watching me.
Her expression is neutral, comforting. “Mind if I give you a hug?”
I manage a tight nod, so she slides toward me, her soft vanilla-caramel scent filling my senses as she straddles my lap. Shewraps her arms around my neck and places her head on my shoulder, anchoring me with her weight. I grab onto her like a lifeline.
Each exhale is deliberate and slow, her breath warming the hollow of my throat. The tension in my body starts to melt as her pulse beats steady against my collarbone.
Finally, I pull back, brushing her hair away from her face. “Thank you, Boots.”
Dust motes dance in the afternoon light filtering through the barn's weathered boards around us. She cups both cheeks, her bright blue eyes looking directly into mine. “It’s my honor.”
“You’ve had experience with panic attacks before.” It’s obvious.
Her fingertips trace my eyebrows, then my cheeks and jaw. “My grandpa is a retired Marine. He has some PTSD from his last tour that was triggered by cars backfiring and things like that. My grandmother was the best at showing all of us how to support him through it.” She smooths her hands down my arms. “It doesn’t happen so much anymore.”
“I saw one of my buddies fall from an oil derrick. He broke his back and couldn’t walk for a long time.” I trace circles on her back through her soft gauzy blouse. “He’d been scaling the ladder leading to the hydraulic safe lift. I was right behind him and had just turned to say something to my boss. If I had just waited until Brandon reached the lift, he wouldn’t have broken his back or spent months in rehab learning to walk again.”
I will never forget the look on his pregnant wife’s face when I showed up at her house to take her to the hospital. That one hurt. And I will never forget the look on my own wife’s face after my first panic attack the day I returned to work. Embarrassment. Disdain.