Page 83 of Lost and Lassoed

“Then don’t,” I whispered as his body collapsed on mine.

Chapter 36

Teddy

I’d picked up Riley at the Big House the next morning. Gus and I had had a long night, so I was exhausted, but in a good way. We didn’t talk about the whole “I never want to let you go” thing. I knew how I felt about what he said, but I didn’t know what to think about it yet, so we just lay together on the counter until Gus insisted that we shower, insisted on taking care of me.

So I let him.

I took one of Gus’s four-wheelers, knowing I could leave it at the Big House, so Riley and I could walk home together—and hopefully scout some plants. There was a new patch of wildflowers down by the old arena, and I was hopeful we might be able to finish out our list.

Before I left Gus’s, I looked at the embroidery project that I’d been working on over the past few months. We needed three more flowers to fill up the blank spaces, including rock jasmine, the flower that started this whole thing. According to the internet, which I figured was a little more up-to-date than Hank’s 1998 field guide, it was fairly common in this part ofthe Rocky Mountains, common enough that we should’ve found one by now.

Honestly, if we didn’t find one this week, I’d be heartbroken. I didn’t want to fail Riley, I didn’t want to feel any sense of failure, not when I still had to face what I was doing afterward.

An idea had started to snowball in the back of my mind about what was next for me, and I was excited. I liked to keep things close to my chest while I was working on them, but I also couldn’t wait to tell Gus and Emmy and my dad about it.

Emmy and I hadn’t talked since that day. We would soon, I’m sure. We’d had a few fights before—the great recess disaster of 2006 when Emmy picked Collin Haynes to be on her kickball team instead of me. She claimed he could kick the ball farther, which he could, but ten-year-old me was fucking pissed about it anyway. Hank picked us up from school that day, and when we got back to Rebel Blue, he got out of his truck and locked us in. He told us we couldn’t come out until we weren’t fighting anymore.

It worked.

Over the years, we’ve learned how to handle conflict in our friendship a bit more maturely. Sometimes she needed space; sometimes I did; but we always worked it out.

Riley and I walked hand in hand. It was a beautiful summer day at Rebel Blue. Every day at Rebel Blue was beautiful, but I never stopped being awestruck by it.

We’d gone off the path—cutting through a patch of aspens that would get us to the old arena slightly faster. Not that I was in a hurry—I was soaking up the time with Riley and could walk through Rebel Blue with her all day—but one thing I’dlearned this summer was that six-year-olds had little legs and got tired, even when they didn’t want to admit it.

I loved aspens. I loved the way the light filtered through their leaves like rain and the way their leaves sounded like thunder when they were met with wind. Walking through the aspens was my favorite type of storm.

“Papa bought me my own sleeping bag, and it’s pink,” Riley was saying. “And we made s’mores but we made them with Reese’s instead of Hershey’s.”

“Mmm. That sounds decadent,” I said.

Riley paused for a moment. “What does dickadent mean?”

I didn’t laugh, because I didn’t want to deter Riley from asking questions. At this rate, she’d be smarter than all of us by the time she was ten.

“Deck-a-dent,” I said slowly. “It means super yummy—something you might not have often because it’s almost too yummy.”

“I like deck-a-dent things,” she said.

“Me too, Sunshine.” We broke through the trees then, to the large patch of plain that held an old horse training arena—the new one was covered, this one wasn’t. There was a small herd of cattle grazing near the arena—right about where that patch of wildflowers had cropped up.

I love all living things, but I swear to god, if one of those little fuckers ate my rock jasmine, I was going to lose it.

“Are we going over there?” Riley asked, pointing at the cows with the hand that wasn’t holding mine. I nodded. “Can we run?”

“Hell yeah, we can run,” I said. I picked up my pace and pulled Riley along with me. The cows, of course, didn’t carethat there were two humans barreling toward them. They just stared at us, but Riley and I hooted and hollered all the way over to them. Riley must’ve hit a gopher hole, because she tripped and we both fell into the grass. I was worried she’d fucked up her ankle, but she was laughing, so I figured she was okay. We lay there for a second. I listened to Riley laugh and take little gasps for air.

Riley and I scoured the patch of wildflowers for a little over an hour. We found one of the three that we’d been looking for—Riley spotted it. Yarrow—it was small, short, and white. The patch that we were in was mostly large yellow blooms, so I was hoping we’d spot some evening primrose here too (no dice). But I’d take the yarrow.

We’d picked a few of them, and Riley held them like a bouquet for the rest of our walk. She’d learned about bouquets from Cam—wedding planning—but Riley informed me very matter-of-factly that she wouldn’t be carrying a bouquet at her mom’s wedding; she’d be throwing flower petals because she was the flower girl.

When we were nearly home, Riley wanted to run again. Over the summer, I’d noticed that every time she started to run—even if it was just from the living room to the kitchen—she let out this maniacal little banshee cackle. It had become one of my favorite noises.

I was going to miss her. I was going to miss this.

I was going to miss him.

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