The chaplain took it from there, but if someone had asked me what he said, I couldn’t have told them. I didn’t hear another word after Neil’s speech. To say it felt like I’d been hit with the biggest sucker punch of my life would be an understatement. I remembered that day. I’d taken home my first championship belt buckle, and I’d been so sure Clay had been passed out drunk in his truck like I found him later that afternoon. I’d been so certain he missed one of the few times in my life I actually wanted him to be a part of so he could see what I was capable of and maybe, just maybe, feel a moment of pride. I’d believed he’d missed that moment, along with the few others that might have been worth an ounce of pride in Clay Black.
According to Neil, I’d been wrong. Clay saw me that afternoon. He’d said . . . That’s my . . .
I don’t need this shit. Not now. Not ever. Gritting my teeth, I emptied my head and managed to stay silent and in place until the chaplain was finished. It was one of the hardest things I’d done.
As the chaplain passed me, he offered yet another small smile. “Peace be with you, son.”
“Peace has never been a big fan of mine. Or me of it.” My words weren’t meant to be argumentative but informative. Peace and I resided on opposite sides of the universe.
“But like you said, your father’s death has given you a new freedom. Freedom to be and do whatever you like.” The chaplain patted my shoulder before heading toward the trail. “Give peace a try. I can guarantee it’s not as overrated as you might believe.”
“Says the man who says good-bye with peace be with you,” I muttered. The chaplain was out of hearing range, but Josie’s elbow in my ribs confirmed she hadn’t missed it. “And what are you doing here, by the way? I thought you had wannabe cowboys to date, and mean ones who picked fights in bars to avoid.”
“I’m paying my respects,” she replied, refusing to make eye contact.
I huffed. “You hated Clay almost as much as I did.”
“I’m not paying my respects to him.” Turning toward me, her gaze shifted from the whiskey cap on top of the rock to me. I’d told myself hundreds of times, possibly thousands, that I needed to avoid looking into Josie’s eyes at all costs. Every single time she did what she was doing then—staring at me, waiting for me to stare back—I forgot all of my warnings and broke my golden rule: stay away from Josie Gibson. “I’m here to pay my respects to you.”
My eyebrows came together and, before I could figure out what she’d said and what I should say, she threw her arms around me, gave me a quick squeeze, and hurried back up the trail. But not before kicking off her heels to run up it barefoot.
Jesse came up behind me. “What was that?”
“Women are mysterious creatures bound to make a man crazy if he spends too much time trying to decode their every move.”
“Amen.” Jesse chuckled. An exaggerated clearing of a certain young woman’s throat stopped his laugh mid-stream. “I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about at all.”
“Having you gone so much this year, I almost forgot what a little girl you’ve become.” Spinning around, I patted his cheek. “Thanks for the reminder.”
“I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.” Jesse shoved my chest lightly then tilted his chin down the river. “Wanna talk?”
Jesse had been trying to talk to me for the past few days, but I’d done one of the few things I did best and avoided him. Not because I was avoiding him per say, but because I wanted to avoid anything to do with talking about Clay, what happened, and the all-important what now? The first two subjects I could navigate if need be. The last one, though—the what now?—I didn’t have a f**king clue where to start. So I’d been avoiding, ignoring, and pretty much hiding from Jess.
“Not even remotely,” I answered him, nodding my acknowledgement as the Walker family passed me, heading back up the trail. Truthfully, I was touched they’d come, but hell if I could find the words to tell them so.
“Too bad.” Jesse kissed Rowen, whispered something to her, and shouldered past me to head down the river. I knew where he was going. We used to go down there and skip rocks as kids. As we got older, Jesse came down to fish during the day, and I brought my girl-of-the-hour down at night. Our favorite rock-skipping spot was a couple hundred yards upstream.
“You’re going to be waiting a while, Walker!” I hollered after him.
He kept walking. “See you in a minute then.”
“He is a serious pain in my ass,” I said as Rowen came up beside me.
“Aren’t you two peas in a pod then?” She watched Jesse until he disappeared before angling toward me. “I’m not going to ask how you’re doing, and I’m not going to ask if there’s anything I could do. I know those are the last questions you want to answer right now, and even if you did answer, your answers wouldn’t be honest, so I’ll just skip all the standard protocol if that’s okay with you.”
I smirked at her. “You are a fine woman, Rowen Sterling.”
She promptly returned my smirk. “Flattery gets you nowhere with me.”
I hitched my thumbs under my belt buckle. “And flattery gets you everywhere with me.”
Her mouth opened like whatever she wanted to say was on the tip of her tongue, but she clamped it shut, inhaled, and waited a few seconds. “You know, Garth, if you want to take some time off and get away for a while, Jesse and I’d be happy to have you at our place. It’s not much bigger than the cab of your truck, but the couch is yours whenever you need it. Seattle might not be your ideal scene, but there are plenty of bars chock full of women who’d jump at the chance to have a real life cowboy show them ‘the ropes.’”
Ah, hell. That was exactly what I didn’t want—people treating me differently because my daddy had burned to death. Everyone tiptoeing around me because who knew when I’d lose it. That Rowen was doing it—the one I was sure would be the last one to treat me like a walking time bomb—was a sobering reality.
“No fair. You didn’t warn me that the pity patrol were coming to town.” I wagged my index finger and tried to act like Rowen’s transformation into sympathetic when it came to me, was anything but staggering.
“That wasn’t pity, Garth.”
I laughed one hard note. “If that wasn’t pity, what the hell was it?”
Rowen stepped forward, her eyes narrowing just enough. “That was one misfit telling another misfit that she’s got your back should you need it. That was one misfit telling another that you don’t have to go through whatever you’re going through alone. That was me telling you that you’ve got friends. So lean on them, god dammit. Stop acting like every battle you face is a one-man-war.” Clearly irritated, Rowen headed for the trail. “It doesn’t have to be Garth Black against the whole world, you know. Give your friends a little more credit.” If I wasn’t so shocked, I might have thought about replying. She skidded to a stop, turned around, put her hands on her hips, and leveled me with a Rowen look. “And if you don’t go talk to him in the next two seconds, I am going to spread some nasty rumors about you on the women’s restroom stalls of every public place in the state. Rumors that will ensure the only action you’ll get for the rest of your life will be from the soft side of your hand.”
Lifting my arms, I started down the river. “How can I say no to a woman who talks dirty to me?”
A smile broke on Rowen’s face before she recomposed herself. I flashed a salute at her before continuing upstream. I hadn’t been up that way a while, and I’d forgotten how many damn slippery rocks there were. I caught myself from wiping out every other step, and my slick-bottom boots only made a precarious situation lethal.
“I lost the boots fifty feet back! Might want to do the same if you’re hoping to not break your neck!” Jesse yelled from his perch on one of the tall rocks dotting the riverbank.
“We wouldn’t want the town going and throwing a celebration party if both Black men died in the same week, would we?” I replied, continuing over the treacherous terrain. “Thanks for the tip but no thanks. I’m a cowboy. The real kind. We don’t take our boots off, god dammit.”
Jesse tossed a pebble my way. “Don’t or won’t?”
“With me, Jess, they are one and the same.” After slipping yet again, I finally made it to the rock Jesse had climbed and heaved myself up. “Nice suit, shithead.” The only time I’d seen Jesse in a suit was at a funeral or a school dance. In Montana, men only wear suits for death or dancing. True story.
“Nice lack of suit, dipshit.” Jesse shoved me as I sat beside him, keeping a respectable distance so we wouldn’t look like a couple of love birds watching the river pass by.
“So . . . now that you’ve got me out here which, by the way, is so very serene and inspiring”—I swept my arm dramatically—“why don’t you just let me have it so I can go get shit-faced like I need to. You don’t bury the man who wished he’d never given birth to you every day, you know.”
Jesse almost sounded like he mumbled dipshit, but I couldn’t be sure. Grabbing one of the flat rocks he’d piled up beside him, he flung it out into the river. It skipped five times. Weak. “How are you? What’s going on in that depraved head of yours right now?” Points for getting straight to the point. Negative points for getting straight to that point.
“I’m living the dream, Jess. Fucking on top of the world.” I grabbed my own rock and launched it out into the river. Six skips. I grinned.
“Yeah, you sure look like you’re living the dream.” Jesse didn’t examine the scruff on my face, or the dark circles under my eyes, or the notch I was down to on my belt. His words and tone said it all.
“Yeah, yeah. Bite me. Next question.” One down. Knowing Jesse, probably only a few million more to go.
“Do you need anything? Is there anything . . . you know . . . I can do for you?”
I wasn’t sure who looked more uncomfortable: Jesse or me. “You know, your fee-an-say knew better than to ask those exact same questions. She basically told me she knew I either wouldn’t give her an answer, or if I did, it wouldn’t be a straight one. So what makes you think I’ll give you an answer or a straight one?” I flung another rock, and it barely skipped three times. The stupid Kumbayah conversation was messing with my stone-skipping skills.
“Because I, unlike my sweet one hundred and twenty pound soaking wet fiancé, can and will happily kick your ass in order to beat the answers out of you if need be.” I broke out in laughter. Stomach-grabbing, body-rocking laughter. “What?” Jesse shoved my arm. “What’s so funny?”
After forcing myself to calm down, I answered him. “I can’t decide what’s funnier—you describing Rowen as sweet or being so confident you can kick my ass.”