Page 24
“I didn’t feel disrespected.”
“Good.” He looks off, squinting. “And I am single, have been for a while.”
“I wasn’t worried you were cheating. Or taking advantage of me.”
I don’t know why, but I wasn’t. The thought that he was using his position to sleep with me crossed my mind as a brief possibility, but that didn’t last after we took our clothes off. He was so careful with me, and he doesn’t seem like the type to cheat. Obviously, I correct myself, some cheaters don’t. I would know that well enough. However, in Coen’s case, I know Serena would have relayed that info to me if he was in a public relationship.
“So why are you single?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Last relationship ended bad. She slept with my co-producer.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, but it’s fine. I’ve worked through it.”
There’s something final in his tone. I think he’s done talking about it, just before he began. Ever since he’s showed up, it’s confirmed to me he’s going through something significant. Last night gave me a pretty good indication that he’s having a mental health issue, though I’m not sure exactly what. He’s clearly not in danger, or Jamie wouldn’t have sent him out here. No, I think it’s something both less serious and yet corrosive. Less formal in the way it needs to be addressed.
He’s just so…tired.
His eyes should be bright blue, but they’re half-covered by heavy lids at all times. He responds slowly. It seems like he trips over his words a bit—not a lot, but here and there.
“You want to let the horses run?” I ask.
He glances over, but I don’t wait for him to agree. I click my tongue, and Gabe takes off, eager to stretch his legs. The thunder of hooves behind me says either he or Samson wants to run too. The ground is smooth and worn down, free of holes. I relax the reins and center my balance, letting Gabe take us all the way to the crest of the hill. The sun is rising and casting a pale gold light over the hills. When I glance over, he’s riding easily alongside me.
Hmm, I guess the cowboy is still alive and well in there.
We come to a halt on the other side of the hill. He’s not even breathing hard.
“You’re pretty damn good at this cowboy thing,” I say.
He smiles, slow. “I’ve put in my time in the saddle.”
“Where?”
We start walking at a slow pace. It’s such a pretty day, and birds are singing overhead and in the underbrush by the fence. Any tension I felt when I woke up this morning has melted away.
“I started on the ranch next door to where my mom and I lived when I was still a kid,” he says. “They weren’t all that bad to me.”
“Not good?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I meant it in a good way. There were a couple wranglers who took me under their wing. We used to call the one guy Old Bill, and the other was his wife, Sherry. Tough as leather. Taught me everything I knew, how to get by.”
There’s a soft note in his voice. Not sadness…more fondness than anything else.
“You miss it?”
His jaw works. “Yeah, some nights, it can be all I think about.”
“You could go back.”
He shakes his head. “Some careers you can, others you can’t. It’s hard to hit the reset button once people know your face. Public facing careers have a way of putting their mark on you.”
I’m quiet for a while, thinking about that and how permanent it sounds. I’ve always thought of my life with a lot more grace. Grace to change my path if it doesn’t work out. Grace to go back to school and restart. Grace to become whoever I want if I wake up and discover I don’t like my path. It never occurred to me that, because he’s so public, he doesn’t have grace anymore. Every move he made was recorded in the court of public opinion. Now, he couldn’t escape it if he tried. He’ll always be Coen Taylor.
It sounds…claustrophobic.
It also makes me grateful for my little life out here for the first time.
