Page 34 of Eight Second Hearts

“It’s not for my benefit,” he says, his eyes trailing back over to Tripp.

I follow his gaze, taking in Tripp’s sleeping form. Yeah, I get him trying to protect him. At the same time, he protects me. Neither one of us deserves Rammie, but here he is, saving us anyway.

The big brother I never had. Both of them. And inside my chest, there’s a little kid still wishing he could live down the hall from his brothers forever. When I wished for someone to save me as a kid, it was Rammie and Tripp I found. Not a mother.Not a father. They didn’t ask me to leave the darkness. They sat within it with me.

A bond that can’t be broken by anything. Not even a legacy that demands blood.

But our darkness has always been missing something, something we’ve all yearned for, all searched for without realizing it.

The bathroom door opens and Indie steps out, her hair a mess as she dries it with a towel, her eyes dancing over me and Ram where we watch her. She’s dressed in a baggy t-shirt and black jeans, comfort over beauty, and somehow, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

I grin. “Hey, little outsider. How do you feel about pancakes?”

Chapter 23

Indie

The little hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant didn’t look like much from the outside, but damn if it doesn’t serve the best food I’ve had in a while. Apparently, these three have been coming here every morning because the waitress knows them by name and the owner comes out to check on them. She speaks with a heavy Spanish accent and hugs on Ram when she asks if we’re doing okay and if the food is good. She’s very motherly and doesn’t dismiss me. In fact, she brings me a glass of horchata when I admit I’ve never had it before.

She’s right. It’s fantastic.

“How did you find this place?” I ask when I finish myjuevos rancheros. I’m delightfully full despite there still being food on my plate. I wish I could finish it, but I can’t. I’m stuffed.

“We found it last year,” Ram admits. “TíaJosie came to the rodeo and told me I’d have a free plate of food waiting for me. We’ve been coming ever since.”

Beau nods. “Nothing compares to her cookin’ honestly. Except for Ram’s mama’s. Her tamales could bring about world peace if given the opportunity.” He points to my plate. “Are you going to eat that?”

I shake my head and hand him the plate. “I’m too full.”

All three men eat significantly more than I do but that’s by necessity. What they do takes incredible strength and stamina. They need fuel for that.

“So, are the three of you ready for another day of rodeo?” I ask.

“I’m always ready,” Beau shrugs as he shoves the rest of my food in his mouth.

Ram’s eyes crinkle at me. It’s such an endearing look, like his whole face has to smile at me. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” He glances at Tripp where he focuses on his food. “How ‘bout you, Tripp?”

Tripp glances up, his eyes flicking from Ram and then over to me. He shrugs in answer rather than speaking. A man of few words, but something tells me it’s more by choice rather than a personality trait.

Which makes me wonder again what it is they’re hiding. Why don’t they do interviews? Why have they refused them for so long? And most important, why are they okay with me being close to them when they know I’m trying to get an interview?

I lean forward on my elbows, watching him carefully. “Your stats are pretty impressive. Your family must be proud of you continuing that legacy.”

Tripp tenses. Our eyes are locked, so I see the emotion flicker in his before he wipes it away. I’d seen it though. I’d been looking. Anger. Fear. Defensiveness.

Which is strange. Tripp’s stats really are impressive by most bull riding history. The man is a multi-million dollar cowboy and he’s already been inducted into the Rodeo Hall of Fame. Even his own father didn’t have as good of a record before he retired, and he’d never been inducted. Tripp’s grandfather, of course, was an apparent legend, but their stats were on pretty equalfooting last year. Tripp has surpassed even his grandfather. So why the tension when I bring up his family?

I glance at Ram. “What about your parents, Ram?”

He raises his brow, and I can tell he thinks about not answering. For whatever reason, he does. “My dad left when I was little. But mymamá, she’s very proud of all three of us.”

I smile. “And she makes the best tamales?”

“The very best,” he agrees. “Maybe you’ll get to try them sometime.”

Which is a silly thing to say. I can’t imagine when I’ll ever be in Wyoming to meet his mom, but it does sound nice. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt at home. For so long, home was wherever the story was. This. . . this right now kind of feels like that. It’s comfortable to sit here at this table with these men. This companionship is what I know from my time chasing stories in wars. It almost feels like I’m back out there, sitting around with people who were very much at war, but still found time to sing the newest pop song before sleep. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard the gruffest of men sing Pink Pony Club.

Sitting with these three men feels like that. Like home. Even out in the desert, there was always a grumpy one, too.

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