Page 7 of Rough
Thrusting her chest out when she puts her hands behind her, she sways side to side slightly, looking up at me with a pout. “What’s wrong with this? It’s supposed to get warm today, right?”
“Let her be,” Remy scolds me, then leaves to get the other horses.
I know enough to not keep at it. Don’t want to embarrass her or anything. “Right. Don’t mind me. Let’s get goin’.” Gathering the reins, I follow Trina out of the stall, meeting Clyde’s eyes as we leave together. He’s irritated she’s here, but he snorts out a laugh when he can tell I’m fighting back my own laughter.
“It’ll be alright.” My voice is low, so only he can hear. Ignoring me, he steps into his stirrup and swings his leg over the back of his horse, immediately at home in his seat. Tapping his Stetson on the top, he drives it further down over his eyes and clicks his tongue to get his horse moving.
He’s the first out of the barn. Checking over my shoulder, my brows furrow at the way Remy has his hands gripping Trina’s waist as he hoists her ass onto the horse. He seems comfortable with the way he’s touching her and now I’m on a mission to get details and give him shit for it.
It’s effortless as I mount my horse. Once I’m settled, I kick my heels into the horse’s flank with a click of my tongue, then sharply order, “Get.” As soon as we’re on the move, I let my body relax into the rolling pitch of our canter as we make our way tothe field. Up ahead of me, I note the orange flags in Clyde’s back pocket for marking any areas of fencing that need repairs. Once we’re at the end of the fencing, Clyde pulls up short, turning around with a frown.
“What’s wrong now, grandpa? You’re awfully sour this mornin’.”
He jerks his chin behind me, and growls, “It’s a fuckin’ joke. Look at this shit.” Following his line of sight, I turn in my saddle and bark out a laugh when I watch a scowling Remy catch up to us with a beaming Trina planted in front of him on the horse.
“The hell you doin’?” I chortle, slapping the dust off my gloves before sliding them on. “You gonna ride double all mornin’?”
Trina is bouncing awkwardly in his lap as they even up, and this time I just roll my eyes. Remy does his best to rein in his irritation. “Mare didn’t wanna cooperate with her. It’s fine. Let’s just get this done, yeah?” He’s not meeting either of our eyes, looking around like he’s inspecting the fence. “We gonna run together, or you boys want to split? Get this shit done quicker?”
“Spl—”
Clyde is interrupted by Trina’s quick, “Together, obviously.”
She looks around at us, then holds her phone up. “I want to get video of you together.” Tucking her chin on her shoulder to look up at Remy, she lowers her voice and adds, “We can do individual shots later.”
If that’s not an invitation, I don’t know what is.Fuck me, is Remy is fuckin’ Trina? I’m going to have to talk to him about this because she’s working for all of us. If things go south, that’ll screw shit over. I don’t know about Remy, but I know forsureClyde has no idea how to upload those damn videos with the music and shit.
Our quiet friend doesn’t wait for any arguments. He takes off, bent over the neck of his horse, kicking up dirt behind him.Looking at the pair near me, I raise a brow and wait for Remy. With a growl, he shoves his hat on his head and bats Trina’s hair out of his face. “Just fuckin’ go already, would ya?”
“Whatever you say, boss.” Chuckling, I urge my horse to a decent pace, just enough to keep Clyde in sight. I let my mind wander again as we ride along the edge of Joe’s massive property, keeping an eye out for any weak spots that need fixing.
There are definitely some similarities between Trina and our childhood friend, Betsy. Only limited to looks, though. Blonde, petite, blue eyes. But where Trina is put together, Betsy was always rough around the edges. She didn’t give a shit about what she wore to school or get togethers. Make up was a joke to her and the sound of her laughter when some of the girls from back home would titter on about what brands were best filters into my head.
A tiny rush of guilt fills me again when I can’t actually remember the last time I talked to her was. It can’t have been too long, but the more I try to think about when it was, I realize it’s been literal months.Fuck. Has it been over a year?No fucking way have I not talked to her in over a year.We haven’t gone home since we left. Some family has been out to see us a few times since we left, but ranching doesn’t stop just because it’s Christmas.
Clyde’s parents have never been out, but that’s not unexpected. Remy’s mom and dad used to come visit regularly, every few months at the beginning, but now that I think about it, it’s been at least a year since either of them have visited.
Ignoring what we’re here to do, as well as Trina’s constant stream of commentary to Remy, I lean forward and kick my horse into a faster sprint to catch up to Clyde. Once we’re side by side, I guide my horse to match his pace.
“You talk to Bets recently?”
Wherever his head was at, my question pulls him out of it, and he jerks in my direction. “What?”
“Have youtalkedto her recently? I was just thinkin’ that it’s been a while since I’ve called her. Wondering if you’ve been talkin’ to her is all.” We didn’t leave home on the best of terms. I can admit now that we might have been dicks with the way we handled shit, but she had these big plans that were never going to work out.
Clyde’s jaw clenches so hard I can almost hear it crack. “Been a bit.”
I pause, then ask, “How long isa bit?” He’s the one who kept in touch with her the most, keeping us up to date on what she’s been up to.
I lean forward to hear his low, “Few months.”
“Shiiiiiitttt…” I drag out. I feel like we’ve fucked up royally. If nothing else, Bets was our friend. “‘Spose I should call her or somethin’, you think?”
Clyde doesn’t answer me. Instead, he bares his teeth, kicking his horse to pick up speed and shooting in front of me.Alright, guess he’s not in a talkative mood today.
The rest of the morning goes by in relative silence, aside from Trina’s incessant chattering, which is starting to annoy me the longer the morning drags on.Has she always had that high-pitched whine to her voice?
There were less than half a dozen spots we tagged that needed repairs by the time we made it back to the farm. As soon as we stop, I dismount and grab the reins of my horse, then ask, “Joe want us to fix those today?” I’m in a mood now, not wanting to interact with anyone. “‘Cuz I’ll go take care of it now if he does.”
