Page 147 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
Crash.
Metal disks slapping together and making a lot of noise.
Maybe I needed to move on. Maybe I needed to find something else I was good at so that I mattered here at Sagebrush. I’d loved photography once. I could pick that up again.
Nelly once again took over my brain.
I could take a million pictures of her and never be satisfied with the outcome. I knew that already, yet I was ready to try. I’d wanted to take a photo of her so damn badly tonight.
Me and Cooper were standing just outside the front door. Evening had settled on the landscape. Nelly had been quiet at dinner, now she was standing on the porch, leaning against a column with her arms crossed. She was lost in thought, watching Sagebrush breathe. As much as I wanted to know her thoughts, I was too scared to ask. What if the only thing on her mind was how soon she could leave?
“Do you want to go see the new house? It’s nearly done, Nell. You’re going to love it.” Cooper spoke, trying to think of new ways to entice her to stay. I knew that was the case, because it was the only reason most of us spoke since she arrived. Make her comfortable. Make her happy. Make her stay.
Nelly shook her head. “I’m not ready for that.”
“We can just walk around the outside of it? You can look in windows?” He pressed, each suggestion a hopeful question.
“I’m going to go see Ghost,” she responded, walking off the covered porch and heading towards the stables.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked quickly, before Cooper could. He flashed me a look, but I pointedly avoided his gaze. I didn’t want him to come.
“I don’t mind,” she said neutrally, not looking back at us.
Progress. Every time she chose to be around us. Every time she let us get so close. Was progress. Maybe she’d fall in love with Sagebrush. Maybe she’d stay.
Yet each step forward, each sign that gave us aching hope, came with the same refrain: "I'm still leaving when Eros responds."
Like the Dread Pirate in that one movie Cooper’s made us watch a dozen times. What did the character always say? Something like, “Good job. Sleep well. I’ll probably kill youtomorrow.” Except, in our case, it was, “Nice dinner. Admirable effort trying to keep me, but I'll most likely leave the second Eros emails."
No email yet.
Thank, God.
She asked every day.
What the hell would we do when the Institute’s response finally arrived.
What the hell would she do?
I broke another fucking pencil.
That one went properly into the trash, but I didn’t bother to address the other two snapped halves from earlier—one still tossed on the desk, the other somewhere on the floor.
I reached for another from the chipped mug I used as a holder. The ledger waited, patient and unforgiving. I shook my head. Redundant or not, I’d do my job. I’d keep being meticulous, focused Levi, making sure every cent was put to bed properly. Straight lines, supporting numbers written by a perfectionist hand.
But as I stared down at the rows of descriptions and dates and figures, all I could see was Nelly's guarded, determined, beautiful face. It made my chest ache. The walls she tried to maintain were formidable, but I'd glimpsed what lay behind them in rare, unguarded moments. A fierceness. A vulnerability. A capacity for joy that had been beaten down but not extinguished.
What would it take to break through those final barriers? To make her see that what we offered wasn't captivity but belonging? That she could have a home here, with us—with me—if she chose it?
I sighed and closed the ledger, pushing it away from me across the desk. The task was hopeless tonight. My brain refused to cooperate, refused to focus on anything but her.
Standing, I stretched my back, hearing the satisfying pop of vertebrae realigning after hours hunched over paperwork. The house was silent around me, everyone else long asleep. I checked my watch—1:37 AM. Christ.
I stepped out of the office, easing the door closed behind me. The hallway was dark, but I knew every inch of this place by heart. My feet carried me silently past the living room, through the kitchen, and to the back door. Maybe some night air would clear my head.
The porch creaked under my weight as I settled onto the top step. The Wyoming sky stretched above me, vast and glittering with stars. The same stars Nelly had been marveling at the other night. I wondered if she was looking at them now from the window in Cooper’s room, unable to sleep like me. Or was she staring at the ceiling, thinking of Seattle and ballet studio and everything she'd lost?
The moon hung low and full, casting silver light across the yard. In its glow, I could make out the stables, where Nelly had spent nearly an hour earlier, just talking to the mare while she thought no one was watching.
