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jackson

M agnolia Myles had zero fucks to give. After my dad died, Mom changed. I had worried it’d be for the worst, but fuck, my mom was living her best life. Life was too short and all that.

She lived in a senior’s place—the kind with a few nurses on staff, individual apartments, and more social events than anyone needed. They had parties, card nights, brunches, and more. These old fucks really did live it up. I was also fairly certain that a few too many of them were fucking around whenever they could. More props to them if their dicks were still working.

“Ladies! Who wants a picture with a real live cowboy?” Mom exclaimed when she saw me walking across the dining hall toward her. “I mean, just look at that saunter and hair. Son, you’re looking like something right out of a John Wayne movie.”

Her nose crinkled as she smiled at me. I bent down and kissed her cheek, overwhelmed by her floral perfume. She always did wear too much.

“Ain’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, Ma.” I chuckled. “And stop trying to pimp your son out. ”

“Honey, you’re a gay bull rider. I’d be stupid not to capitalize on it whenever you came to visit me,” she retorted and tossed me a wink. I knew she was kidding. Mom was fiercely protective of me. We had some serious citation issues the first few weeks after she moved in because some people had choice opinions about her gay bull riding son. It was all fun and games now, but she’d gotten into a few fights over it. As I sat down, she asked, “How’s my handsome boy doing? You’re looking a little tired there, Jackson. Are you sleeping or are you working?”

“Can’t I do both?”

“And when was the last time you did both ?” She arched a brow and waited for me to give her an answer. Instead, I grabbed a toothpick from the condiment turntable and jammed it between my teeth. I offered her a cheeky grin, doing whatever I could to not answer. “That’s what I thought. Jackson Myles wouldn’t know what life balance was if it hit him square in the face.”

“Depending on how big it is, I might dodge before it can hit me,” I answered with a little too much sass, making her laugh. I got that shit from her.

“How are things on the ranch? Quiet, I hope. No more chaos?” Mom asked. I knew what chaos she was referring to, which had nothing to do with my current predicament. Still, I frowned. “I don’t like that face, Jackson. What’s going on?”

“Did you know Harrison changed his will?” I opened a deck of cards, handing them to her. Mom and I played a lot of cards while we talked. It was an easy thing for both of us to do with the latent energy we both struggled with.

“Good riddance with that man,” she snapped. “What the fuck did he do now? Wasn’t good enough to just die and leave us alone?”

I chuckled like I always did when Mom swore. I disliked Harrison, but Mom downright hated him. For what reason, I had no idea.

“Well,” I began with a sigh, “looks like I ain’t selling to West anytime soon. Harrison made it so he has to work the ranch for one year before he’s given ownership of the land and can sell.”

“What a load of fucking bullshit,” she spat. “He knew that boy would never come back—will never come back. ”

“West is back at the ranch, Ma,” I told her. Those words stopped her mid-shuffle. Something sad crossed her expression.

“Oh, that poor boy,” she whispered.

“See, it’s reactions like that that tell me I’m missing out on something here,” I said. “Something fucking vital to me running my ranch.”

“Just go easy on him, Jackson,” Mom replied instead. “You’re so stubborn and hardheaded like your Dad was. I’ve seen you out there. I know you’re hard on those men—almost as hard as you are on yourself—but you can’t be that way with West.”

“And why not?” I demanded. Someone somewhere knew some shit that I wanted to know. It was ridiculous how hard it was to get Mickey and her to fucking talk about any of it.

“It’s nothing you need to work your handsome little self up about, Jackson,” she dismissed.

“It’s my ranch, Ma,” I reminded her. “I have a right to know if he’s about to fuck up my ranch.”

“Or maybe you just use a little bit of that empathy I worked so damn hard to teach you about.” Her dark eyes caught mine, full of fire and tempting me to argue with her. Fuck. I was a thirty-four year old man and that look still got me. “You don’t need to know what’s going on in someone else’s life to exercise empathy. Maybe you should try fighting less and show more compassion—scratch that. You should try fighting less and show more compassion. It wouldn’t hurt you. I know that ranch gets to you, and I know you ain’t happy there, but that don’t mean you can go around taking it out on others. And at the very least, you best not be taking it out on West McNamara. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I muttered. I had no intention of listening to her. It wasn’t the first time we’d had a conversation like this. Mom thought I needed to be less grumpy and smile more. That thought held no appeal to me because then people would want to fucking talk to me. I spent roughly seven months a year putting on a smoke show to make people fucking happy—the happy gay bull rider that my agent insisted I be.

There was no way in hell I would spend my good months off playing into the same facade.

“Now, are you going to listen to your mama, or am I about to start selling photo opportunities with you?” She batted her lashes playfully, but I knew better. Magnolia Myles had no fucks to give. She would make me take pictures with every goddamn person in the place if I tested her.