Page 38 of What I Should Have Known

Something I wasn’t ready to accept even if I’d already admitted it to myself.

Chapter 13

KAT

Ihated it.

Bernie and I hadn’t spoken or seen each other since the rodeo. And I hated how much that bothered me and how empty it made me feel. I’d tried to come up with something to text or call him about that wouldn’t come across as creepy, but nothing. And there was no way I was going to ask Emma for help. She’d already caused issues in my happy, blissful ignorance of his feelings for me. Because now all I’d thought about for a week was Bernie.

Me. He wanted me. In a way that I’d never allowed another man to have me. And my stomach swirled as hot as the sweat dripping down my back. Dust clung to every pore on my skin; the creaking of leather had long turned from a sound of comfort to one of monotony that no longer filled the empty space around me. Even the bellowing of the cattle peeling off into summer grazing pastures did little to drown my thoughts of Bernie.

Why him?

And was it really that wrong to allow myself to indulge in what he was offering?

Every cell in my body screamed at me to give in, to actually reciprocate his flirting. If I recognized it. But there was a dull thump in the back of my mind reminding me of the issue with my dad.

Everything I’d always done had been for him because I loved him and respected him. Except for one thing—agreeing to be with Wyatt. I’d been unable to swallow that pill.

But knowingly going against his wishes did nothing to curb the anguish twisting in my stomach. Time away in the mountains, tucked away from cell service and more so, Bernie, was going to do me good.

Rounding the bend, shade danced across the trail as the final steer peeled away from the horses, joining the herd. Guiding my own mount toward the familiar and worn path beneath a grove, excitement licked at my toes knowing camp was near.

A break from all of the confusion that swirled within me waited beside a blazing fire and whatever food my mom had prepared for us. A break from battling between what I knew my dad wanted versus what I wanted. And I wasn’t ready to admit out loud that they were two different things.

Pine trees scratched at the crystal blue sky, disrupting the cotton balls wisping in the light breeze. The only relief from the blazing sun came as we passed beneath the branches. Ten minutes later, I draped my sweat-soaked saddle pad and blanket over the top of the saddle and lugged all of my tack over to the waiting horse trailer, my horse safely locked away behind a fence.

The sound of children’s squeals sent birds crashing from the trees. I chuckled to myself, delighted to hear my little brothers so carefree as I slid the saddle onto the saddle rack. Looping the bridle and reins over the hook, I swung the rack back into the tack room of the trailer and turned around.

My dad was chatting with Wyatt and my second oldest brother, Sawyer, off to the side while a few other hands finished untacking their mounts. With a groan, a hand swung the gate closed, locking our horses away, and I exhaled deeply, letting the freedom of nature swallow me whole.

Trudging forward, I used this moment of isolation to disappear back into the pines, following a winding footpath taken every year. My boots crunched over dried needles and grass growing past my ankles. It was at least ten degrees cooler here in the shade, and the sweat that quickly dried upon my skin caused me to shiver.

With every step, the sounds of the hands behind me faded, masked by birds squawking high in the branches and squirrels chattering back and forth. The scent of wide open forest danced across every inch of my skin, splitting the air into one of comfort and solitude.

“Get back here, you hooligans!” A voice sheared through my dazed wandering, and I froze.

The sound ofhisvoice. Something I’d longed to hear for days.

From the right, a white Power Wheel Jeep burst forth from the trees. Bernie, with his knees tucked up to his chest, steered the battery-powered plastic vehicle forward, racing as fast as the little thing could carry a grown-ass man. The battery whirred loudly, whining as it chugged along. Bernie’s face, covered in some camouflage paint, was set with a crooked grinas a few wayward strands of his red hair billowed beneath his backwards baseball cap.

I bit down on my bottom lip, stifling my giggle as he adjusted the pink, bedazzled airsoft rifle in his lap and whipped the steering wheel to the side, zooming around a tree trunk with a whine of the battery. The muscles in his exposed forearm rippled with the movement, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the tattoos inked upon his skin.

“Hey, Kit Kat,” he said, not even glancing my way as he straightened the Jeep back out and bumped over a hole. A faint coat of dust covered the front of his T-shirt, a clear sign he’d been chasing someone. The wheels of the children’s battery-powered vehicle bounced aggressively over rocks, and just as he turned a corner, disappearing into the forest once more, I caught sight of Muffin seated beside him.

Pink Kevlar was strapped around the cat’s chest, matching the goggles covering her eyes.

A maniacal laugh boomed through the dense trees, one only mastered by a man as wild as he was. And then it was as if he was never there. Gone as quickly as he’d arrived.

I remained frozen in place, unable to urge my feet onward as I processed what I’d just seen. The dust swirling in the air slowly settled beneath the streaks of sun piercing through the canopy of leaves above me. Somewhere in the distance, a gentle trickle of a river danced through the air, and once in a while, the bellow of a cow broke the serene atmosphere.

“What the…?” I muttered, staring after where Bernie had disappeared. That was a sight I’d never forget, and one I was glad I’d experienced.

Eventually, as spurs jingled behind me, I managed to drag my feet forward, following the curve of the trail. It emerged into an open space, surrounded by thick pine trees that sheltered much of the campground from the outside world.

Once again, my mouth fell open, but not for the same kind of shock as Bernie’s sudden arrival and departure had caused. Emma and my mother sat around a campfire, the flames licking gently at the wood as smoke curled into the air.

To one side of the campsite, five brown tents were set up to perfection—tents that normally had to be constructed once we arrived with the cattle. The smell of bubbling cowboy stew wafted amongst the smoke coming from the other side of the fire. There, already waiting and set up, were two Camp Chef griddles, set to low, with cast iron pots warming on both.

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