Page 36 of We Drank the Dawn

“I saw you give her a cookie under the table, by the way.”

He lifted his right hand, suppressing a laugh with the back of it. For the first time, a small fire danced in his eyes as he forced away a huge grin. He was smitten with little Wren, too. “You didn’t tell, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. That’s our secret.”

Our conversation lulled as a steep incline stole our focus. Cooper pointed out the edges of Meadowbrook’s property and a few things on the horizon. The panoramic view from the top of the ridge stole the breath from my lungs. Instantly, I knew I needed to experience a sunrise right here. Right where the open sky met the distant hills.

Maybe I could arrange that.

By Saturday, it felt like I had trudged through mountains of deep, sticky mud. My limbs resisted every movement, the heat wore me down, and my appetite was shot.

Nothing had gone the way I planned.

After my trail ride with Cooper on Thursday, I threw the rest of my plans to the wind. Despite Bea and Hollie’s protests about me needing to rest, I did little else but help them in the bed and breakfast and play with my nieces, returning to the fifth wheel multiple times a day to implore Peter to spend time with me.

He refused.

When he did emerge on Saturday evening, it was to eat dinner and attend a small open mic event at a restaurant in Kerrville. Bea had finally gotten back into the swing of recording from her home studio. And in the last year, she’d produced a single. To my shame, I’d been so wrapped up in my own world, I hadn’t even taken the time to hop on Spotify and listen to it. This would be her first live audience since the last tour she took with her friend Adrienne all those years ago.

Even though I was thankful to Bea for coercing Peter out of the fifth wheel for her big night, a large part of my heart bled with jealousy. Why had Peter listened to her, yet not me? Somehow, I had morphed into the villain, constantly playing the bad guy in Peter’s life. My pleadings for his wellbeing fell on deaf ears—a nagging for him to tune out.

I climbed the slope toward the big house, arm-in-arm with Peter, whose cane brushed the grass a couple steps ahead. We made our way to the front of the wraparound porch and eased into the swing to wait for the rest of the Meadowbrook crew. Save Jesse and Cade, who were still on the road, everyone planned on attending the open mic.

Tag, Bea, and Wren made it to the porch next. Wren sat on Tag’s hip and Bea’s long-loved guitar, Glory, was nestled in a case on her back with a leather strap. Bea wore cowgirl boots, flare jeans, and a red tucked-in button-up shirt. A long, thick braid draped over her shoulder. Her aesthetic evolved over the years. From indie-folk musician to country girl.

Tag looked great, too. The tan button-down tucked into his dust-free jeans made him look broad and lean simultaneously. His hatless curls were still damp from a shower and little Wren wore a yellow cotton dress and her signature scowl.

“Bea, you look beautiful,” I said. “Are you ready?”

She eased onto the wicker bench with Tag. “Very! I thought I would be nervous, but I’m not at all.”

We chatted for a little bit as Cooper, Harlan, Cody, and Rudy made their way to the porch. Everyone was buffed clean, showcasing Meadowbrook’s finer side. I thought it was sweet that even the cowboys respected the occasion and showed up to support Bea.

We were just waiting on Hollie and the girls.

As Rudy sat across from Peter to make conversation, I sensed someone’s eyes on me. Glancing up, I found Cody staring from the porch steps—his lips parted, eyes hooded. A bolt of heat lifted to my cheeks as we made eye contact and then he looked away. Cody was young and buff and blond. Some might consider him handsome, but I didn’t. And I didn’t like the way his presence had suddenly surged to the center of my awareness.

I tried to put him out of my mind.

As Hollie and the girls emerged, we all stood and made our way to the vehicles. But Tag’s phone blared like a siren.

He fished it from his pocket then quickly sat back down.

Bea frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s—it’s Frank.” His voice was strangely breathless.

Bea gasped. “Frank?”

The cowboys and Hollie stopped mid-journey and looked back. Hollie’s mouth opened with shock. The cowboys wore mixed expressions—eyebrows raised with cautiously excited smiles.

Frank was someone important, clearly.

Bea sank back into her seat, too, then shook Tag’s forearm. “Answer it!”

Tag stared at his phone screen, not moving. “He’s not supposed to call until November.”