Page 138 of For Cowgirls and Kings
“Thanks for doing this, Nathan. It’s very nice of you.”
His cheeks pinken lightly, before he shrugs. “When Faith called and asked, it sounded fun. And I’m just glad to help, it’s nice to put my knowledge to use once in a while—I feel like I know all this about cattle genetics, and my parents talk about selling the cattle every day. I don’t know what I’ll do if they do.” I soak in his words, nodding, not sure what to say. It feels like he’s saying it more for himself than me anyways. “Besides, I’d do anything she asked me to.”
At that my eyes involuntarily widen, and I shift uncomfortably on my feet. The deal with him and Faith feels completely off limits, especially because Faith won’t say much about it, no matter how many times we ask. I can tell it’s an open, infected, deep wound for her, and I refuse to betray her, even if I’m grateful Nathan’s helping.
“Uh, yeah, well glad she called you,” I sputter, still surprised by the fact she had. Faith just said Nathan was the best for something like this, and then refused to speak any more on the matter. Even when I got her drunk—that girl is like a steel trap on certain things.
“How is she?” Nathan whispers, his face melting into a look of true concern.
“She’s good,” I state, only half meaning it. Things with her mom have escalated to a toxic level, but that’s all I know, and I certainly won’t be telling him.
“Oh, well good.”
Unable to help myself, I raise a brow and ask, “What’s the deal with you two?” I shouldn’t be asking.Bad Dale. And yet, I wait with bated breath, hoping for even a clue.
He shakes his head. “We were so young, but I hurt her and I don’t know how to fix it. Doesn’t help her parents are—” He teeters off, straightening once more to look over my shoulder. “Hey, Reiny, are you ready to judge some steers?”
He turns without another word, retreating toward the line of steers and handlers, and the girls giggle, filing behind him.
“He’s so cute!” one of them coos as she passes me.
“And his family’s so rich,” another adds, nodding her head. I roll my eyes, and then face Reiny as she brings up the rear.
“What do you think, Reiny?” I smile.
“I think he’s the nicest guy in the world, but he’ll never be with Faith. Not when it’s exactly what my parents want, and Faith’ll never do anything they want again.”
Her words tumble in my brain like rocks in my cowboy boot, pressing painfully against my subconscious.What does that all mean?
“Oh, Ms. Mendes, will you tell Mr. Reyes he’s done a great job with the sale barn since he bought it? The livestock board is very pleased, even if they don’t love the choice of paint color.”Nathan shoots me a final smile, before turning his attention to the gathered group of girls.
And I stare after them, feeling completely detached from myself.
Mateo owns the sale barn? Why?
The regret doesn’t hit me until after I can hear his breathing on the other end of the phone. I freeze, staring at a particular particle of dust as it dances lower and lower through a beam of sunshine streaking across my kitchen.
What the fuck am I doing?This was not part of the plan.
“Dale?” A second wave of regret seizes me by the pang of concern and hesitation that fills his voice.
“Sorry, I’m okay.” The words tumble from my now desert-dry tongue. I’m far from okay—what are they symptoms of a stroke?Am I having one?
“Okayyyy, good.” I can practically see him nodding.
“Yep.” I pop the‘p’,pressing my free hand to my pulse just to make sure it’s still there.
“Can I help you with something?” It’s a simple question. And I hate it clear to the marrow of my soul.When did we become so formal?
“You bought the old sale barn.” It’s not a question, and he doesn’t gaslight me by lying.
“I did.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me? Don’t friends typically tell each other big life things like that?” I’m met with a thick, suffocating silence. And I hate it even more than the formality. Itwasn’t supposed to be like this. We were never meant to be like this. “Or are we not friends anymore?”
“I believe we are, yes.” His words slap me, and I have to slump into a chair to keep from passing out.
“You believe—don’t friends at least call each other with this kind of news?” I snarl, the metal of the phone groaning in my grip.
