Page 17 of Brim Over Boot
Colton is the one to reply to that, even as he sounds surly about it. “What does that mean? ‘All things considered.’”
I debate answering him, positive he doesn’t care. But Remington is watching for my response, too, and I don’t want to be rude to the guy just because his brother is a superb pain in my ass.
“He has scoliosis that’s progressed enough to cause some pain, and his arthritis makes it difficult to walk. But he’s otherwise fine.”
Colton frowns, but then he interprets for his brother. “Remi says, ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’”
‘Thanks,’I tell Remington directly, my hand moving from my chin.
He gives me a small smile, but Colton simply grunts, turning away enough that I know our little moment of semi-peace is shattered. That’s fine. Not like I want to get friendly with the guy anyways. The chance for that has long passed.
I sip my stout, no longer enjoying it. Deciding to call it a night, I drop a tip on the bar and push my half-full glass away. Colton catches the movement, another frown marring his face.
I can’t quite help myself. “Sweet dreams, little Colt.”
The man grits his teeth, and I smile, heading for the door.
Sound cuts off almost immediately when I step outside, the air crisp with an underlying hint of dirt I associate with this time of year, like the earth is waking up from its hibernation.
I like this region any time of year, but spring might be my favorite. Temperatures are warming but aren’t as sweltering as we get in the height of summer. Flowers come out to play, reminding me of new life and my mother’s gardens from so many years ago. Plus, springtime is when we get the most new foals born on the farms and ranches around town.
I dare anybody to be upset when there are baby horses running around.
Since the streetside parking was full when I arrived at The Barrel, I head to where I parked my bike in the lot behind the building. My boots crunch over the occasional small rock on the pavement, my thoughts a scattered mess of seasonal changes, my uncle back at home, and the man inside the bar who boils my blood without even trying.Especiallywhen he’s trying.
And try he does.
Fuck. Why won’t he just…go away? Why does he have to be so—
“Noah.”
“Oh myGod,” I groan aloud, turning in place. “What now?”
Colton emerges from the narrow alley beside the bar. He strides my way, his hat obscuring his face with the shadows cast by the streetlights.
“What?” I repeat, my ire up.
“You know ASL,” he says, almost like an accusation. Actually, definitely an accusation. He comes to a stop in front of me, crossing his arms and waiting for my answer.
“Very little,” I tell him.
“Why?” he spits.
I throw my hands in the air. “Why? Maybe because there’s a Deaf individual in my community who I’d like to be able to talk to?”
Colton looks gobsmacked. “But you hate me,” he says vehemently, no question in his tone.
“Not everything is about you.”
There goes his scowl again.
“Is that why you came out here?” I ask. “To see if I—what? Was spying on your conversation?”
“Well, were you?”
“Why? What were you saying about me that you don’t want me to know?”
“Not everything is about you,” he parrots, lips twisting wryly.
