Page 47 of Sexting the Cowboy
Three riders in a row come through with minor scrapes that don’t require more than gentle hands and stern warnings. Two mothers thank me with cookie coupons. One father tries to argue about sitting his son out, and Jaden steps in with the kind of diplomacy I wish I could buy in bulk. We make our little square of order over and over until noon.
When the noon lull hits, the tent breathes. The shade cools by a fraction. Jaden heads out to refill the water jugs and schmooze the volunteer EMTs. I sit on the edge of the table and finally let myself look at the thing that’s been pulling at me the past thirty seconds.
I wish you were here,the new text reads.
Where?I type.Trailer? Fence line? Kettle corn stand?
All of it,he replies.But mostly in my bed. On my face.
Heat rolls through me.You’re going to get me fired.
Doc,he sends, and I can almost hear the way he says it, low and amused,I’m going to get you smiling. That’s all.
You’re trouble.
Only the survivable kind.
My heart doesn’t care that he’s probably grinning. It’s busy doing the bumpiest two-step inside my chest.
He sends a second message, almost immediately after.I’ll behave, if you need me to.
The restraint in that lands harder than any of the teasing. The thing is, I know he’d back off if I told him to. He likes me—there’s no denying that. But he would stop the moment I told him to. He’d be my friend, and he wouldn’t push for more if I told him that’s what I wanted. That level of restraint is something I’m not used to, and it means something to me.
A shadow falls across the flap. “Knock knock,” Mac sing-songs, pushing her way in with her camera bag, bumping her hip. She looks like she hasn’t slept but is delighted about it—high ponytail, flushed cheeks, the kind of sparkle that says she did something dumb and lived to brag.
“I come bearing a medical mystery,” she says, wiggling her fingers. The whole unit crunches. “My right wrist says I’m thirty going on ninety.”
“Occupational hazard,” I say, motioning her toward the chair. “Grip too tight on the rig all morning?”
Her eyes go a little wider at that. “You know, I thought so. But if I’m being honest…” She glances over her shoulder to make sure the tent is empty. Jaden is still out charming the world.She leans in like the tent walls have ears. “I, uh, hooked up last night.”
I burst out laughing. “With the librarian of your dreams?”
“Shut up.” She grins so hard it looks like it hurts. “With the rider.”
“Jesus, Mac.”
“I know. I’m a walking cliché.”
“You’re adorable,” I say, then hold up a hand. “And I do not need to know what wrist-based acrobatics were involved.”
She groans, face in her hands. “You really, really don’t.” Her voice drops. “But it was…sogood.”
“I’m happy for you,” I say, and I mean it. My chest warms with something that feels like solidarity, even if I can’t tell her about mine. “You ready to tell me who it is?”
“Not yet,” she says, cheeks pinking. “It’s too new. And you’ll judge me.”
“I won’t. I’ll judge him.”
“Fair.” She sticks her arm out for me. “Okay, Doc. Fix me so I can carry fourteen pounds of camera gear and my poor life choices.”
I palpate gently along the tendons, feel for swelling. It’s tender over the abductor pollicis longus, and she subsequently hisses when I press that track. “Overuse. Rest. Ice. And a brace for the next couple of days. I’ll tape you now if you want to shoot.”
“You’re a saint.”
“I’m a pragmatist.” I wrap her and anchor it with clips. “How’s that feel?”
“Like I made at least one good decision today.” She tilts her head at me. “Anything new with you? You’re not as…cranky as usual.”
