Chapter 13

Tucker Hammond scrambled the eggs, trying to keep them tender and soft. Warm and cooked, but not overdone. He hated overdone scrambled eggs, and he'd been setting his alarm five minutes earlier so he could be the one at the stove in the mornings.

He loved his roommate, Tarr Olson, but the man overcooked his eggs.

"Morning," Tarr said in the moment Tucker deemed the eggs done enough, and he pulled the pan off the stove.

"Mornin'." Tucker put the pan on a potholder his twelve-year-old niece had crocheted him for his birthday, and he turned to get down plates from the cupboard. He watched Tarr settle at the bar, not the table, and he nudged the pan and rubber spatula closer to him. "I'm not serving you."

"Sausage and eggs." Tarr took in the breakfast food, glanced over to the full coffee pot, and then finally—finally—looked at Tuck. "You want an answer about the rodeo."

"Yes, sir," Tuck said. "I do." He turned his back on his best friend and the man he used to manage on the PRCA. They'd ridden the Montana Circuit, the Wilderness Circuit, the Mountain States Circuit, and the Texas Circuit. Tarr did well there, as he hailed from Texas, and Tuck was itching to get on the road again.

His gypsy soul didn't like all the sitting still, though he hardly had a moment to sit here on his family farm. Matt didn't hire cowboys needlessly, and everyone who lived and worked the farm had a full-time load to keep them busy—Tarr and Tuck included.

Seeing as how Tucker wasn't anywhere near the pro level of a rodeo champion, he couldn't just sign himself up for the first circuit he could, pack his bags, load his horse, and hit the road. He needed Tarr to want to get back in the saddle.

And so far, Tarr did not want to get back in the saddle.

Tarr sighed like Tucker was requiring a pint of blood instead of a decision about his career. "I like it here, Tucker." He slid a couple of links onto his plate alongside the eggs and reached for the saltshaker though he hadn't tasted the eggs. Tarr salted everything, and Tucker had gotten used to it.

"You liked it in Montana too," he said.

"I don't need the money." Tarr threw a pointed look to Tucker. "You don't either."

"Yeah, but the difference is, I'm going crazy." Tuck tipped the rest of the eggs onto his plate and snagged four sausage links. He rounded the semi-permanent island he'd installed himself and headed for the table. Then he could talk without Tarr staring at him, seeing straight into his soul.

"Bobbie Jo still won't go out with me. Melinda was a huge fail, and she still calls me several times a day." He yanked out a chair and sank into it. "A day, Tarr."

"Well, you shouldn't have kissed her on the first date." He carried joviality in his tone, and that only fueled Tuck's ire.

"I didn't," he said forcefully. He scooped up a big forkful of eggs and put them in his mouth. Tarr said nothing either, and that was his answer about joining the circuit for next year.

A no.

It seemed like all Tuck got—from anyone—was no.

He'd backed way off on Bobbie Jo since the Fourth of July, when Tarr had basically told him he was pathetic for how he acted around her. Embarrassment squirreled through him even now, months later.

"You'll want to join up as soon as you experience true snow," Tuck grumbled. "Winter ranching is no fun, brother."

Tarr chuckled then, because the weather had already turned. The leaves had turned and fallen. Thanksgiving and Christmas were both gone, and it had snowed a few times, then melted—even the big storm last weekend had only left a few inches that hadn't stuck around. The New Year sat only two days from now, and Tuck needed a plan for it.

Something. Anything.

"Stuff that doesn't melt," Tuck said. "Like what we're gonna get this week."

The other cowboy sighed and came to sit at the table with Tuck. Their eyes met, and they had entire conversations in that single beat of time. Then Tuck speared a sausage link and bit off half of it. "I don't see you makin' any moves on Hattie."

"That's because I'm a gentleman, not thirteen years old." Tarr rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure that's why," Tuck said dryly. "And that it has nothing to do with her telling Clara and Lucy that she doesn't date cowboys."

"That was hearsay," Tarr said.

"She said it in line for the luncheon last month," Tuck said. "I even heard about it."

"From who?" Tarr gave him a wicked look, but Tucker could handle him. He'd been managing the cowboy's career for five years now, and he couldn't stand the thought of working this farm forever. Or even for another month. His very skin itched to get out there and do something.

Whatto do had always been Tucker's problem.

He loved his family. He did love this farm. He simply didn't want to live here forever, work this same land forever, be trapped here forever. He disliked feeling like this and thinking like this, because it felt ungrateful to him, and Tucker really tried not to be ungrateful.

He'd even gone so far as to buy a gratitude journal, and he wrote one sentence in it every night before he went to bed. One thing he was grateful for. One thing he wanted to reflect on later, something he wanted to remember, something that meant something to him.

He glanced over to Tarr, who quirked his right eyebrow. "Fine," Tucker said. "I heard it from Molly."

"Molly." Tarr scoffed, though Molly ran Pony Power, and Hattie, Clara, and Lucy all worked within that program. Hattie worked with the horses, the way Gloria did, training them and attending the therapy appointments with the children. Clara and Lucy were counselors who worked in the cabins that ran along the north side of the pasture, before the family land took over, and then the cowboy cabins.

None of the counselors lived on-site, but Hattie did. In fact, Matt and Boone had just reorganized the cabin living situations, and now Hattie shared with Bobbie Jo.

In Tucker's over-imaginative mind, he saw himself and Tarr standing side-by-side on the porch of the cabin down the lane, waiting for their dates to answer the door. He'd hold Bobbie Jo's hand, and she'd forget all about that dentist boyfriend of hers in Oklahoma.

The fantasy evaporated as someone knocked on their front door. It started to swing open before either of them could move, and Boone Whettstein filled the doorway. "Boys," he said.

"What's up, Boone?" Tucker rose to his feet and stuck out his hand. This cabin was a bit bigger than the others, but he could still take a couple of steps and reach the door from the table.

"Morning." Boone had a big personality, with plenty of loud laughter and entertaining stories. This morning, he smiled, but it didn't quite hold the shine it usually did. "I'm just stopping by on my way off the farm. Matt wanted you two to come see him before you head out this morning."

"Sure." Tuck pulled his hand back. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." Boone nodded and tucked his hands in his pockets. "I'm just going to sit with Gerty's baby while she goes to the doctor with Opal."

"Oh, does she have an appointment today?"

"Yep," Boone said, his smile growing in intensity. "Hopefully her last, but Gerty feels real responsible because she got hurt on her farm, and I'm not going to say no to a morning of playing Grandpa."

Tucker grinned and then chuckled. "I can't imagine why you would." Gerty and Mike had the cutest baby alive, and Tuck suddenly wanted to take the ten-mile trip south to their farm just to get off this one.

Outside, the wind howled, probably because the sun hadn't come up yet, and Boone reached up to tip his hat. "Just wanted you boys to know, and I forgot to text last night."

"We'll stop by," Tucker said, and Boone backed out of the doorway. Tucker closed the door behind him, sealing out the cold and wind. He sighed and turned around. "I can't believe this is where we're livin'." He hooked his thumb toward the closed door. "Did you see? It's still dark outside."

Tarr grinned and stood up. He collected their breakfast dishes, but Tuck was determined to be in a bad mood. He skulked over to the couch and sat down. "Now we have to meet with Matt. Boone's off the farm for the morning. You know what that means?"

Only the kitchen sink turning on answered him, and Tuck rolled his eyes. "It means we'll be on all the hardest jobs."

"They're all just jobs," Tarr said.

"Why can't I be mad?" Tuck asked.

"You can be."

"I just wish you'd get mad sometimes too."

Tarr hardly ever did. He was as even as even could be, and if he showed negative emotion, it was neg-a-tive. Otherwise, he did what he was assigned. He'd worked out hard for the rodeo. He trained relentlessly. He smiled all the time, and he had one of the most positive outlooks on life that Tuck had ever encountered.

Behind him, the dishes clanked loudly. He startled and sat up. Looking over his shoulder, he found Tarr slamming his palm against the countertop. "I just can't believe we have to go to work in the dark."

Tucker blinked, not sure what was happening.

"And you know what? If Hattie doesn't want to date cowboys, that's her loss, you know?" He pointed to Tucker and then back to himself. "We're good men. We work hard." He gestured toward the front windows. "She'd be lucky to go out with one of us. And you know what else is totally ridiculous?"

Tuck cocked his head and rolled his eyes. "Okay, stop it."

"No, I won't." Tarr actually looked a little mad. "Who dates someone long-distance for months and months? Never flies out to see them? The fancy dentist can't come visit her? That's what I don't get."

Tucker smiled and shook his head. "Tarr, enough." He turned back around and sank into the couch. His best friend joined him, his smile sunny and shiny, and Tuck couldn't resist it. He grinned too, and the two of them burst out laughing.

As they sobered, Tarr looked at him. "Seriously, brother, I'm sorry about Bobbie Jo."

Tuck nodded. "Me too. And I'm sorry about Hattie."

Tarr's jaw twitched, but he shook his head. "Don't matter." He exhaled heavily as he got to his feet. He gazed down at Tuck. "Do you really think we'll stay here?"

"With all the glory of the sun, I hope not," Tuck said.

"Right," Tarr said. "So why would we want girlfriends? Do you think Bobbie Jo is going to run the circuit with us?"

No, Tuck did not think that. So he put his hand in Tarr's and let his best friend pull him to his feet. "Let's go see Matt."

"Don't worry, Tuck, the sun'll come up later today."

"Yeah, yeah," Tucker muttered as he followed Tarr out the front door. Another day in front of him. Another day at the farm. Another day trapped here in Ivory Peaks.

The sun did indeed rise that day. Tuck did have to take a leadership role with the other cowboys, and he could admit that he enjoyed the variety. He still went back to the cabin and made himself a couple of sandwiches, grabbed the bag of potato chips from the counter beside the fridge, and filled his water bottle from the filtered spigot on the sink.

He left the cabin immediately, because he couldn't stand to be contained by four walls while he ate. He headed away from the cabins, went past the family bonfire pit, and crossed the road.

The seed shed sat over here, the only building on this side, with field upon field stretching toward the pine trees, the fences that marked the boundary between this farm and the Harris' next door, and the highway.

Hardly anyone drove this way, so Tuck didn't hear any traffic, and he kept his eyes on the ground as he walked. Only gray existed on the farm right now. Gray in the sky. Gray on the ground. Gray in the fields. Heck, even the farmhouse had recently been freshly painted in its usual color—gray.

His boots made crunching noises against the dirt, and he could feel the snow in his bones. Oh, how he hated the snow.

He walked along the side of the shed, and it took him a couple of steps to realize there was more than just his footsteps filling the air with noise. It sounded like….

Tuck arrived at the corner of the shed and peered around it, half-expecting to see a hurt cat or a lost child.

He found Bobbie Jo Hanks, crying into her hands. Her shoulders shook, and she made high-pitched squeaks that tore at every piece of his heart. His feet had frozen, making it impossible for him to move, though he knew he should. She wouldn't want him to see her like this.

Then, his mouth betrayed him by asking, "Bobbie Jo?" Thankfully—and this was so going in his gratitude journal later that night—he didn't ask her if she was okay. She obviously wasn't.

She lowered the tissue and looked at him with those gorgeous forest green eyes. "Can I sit with you at lunch today?"

"Of course you can." He'd invited her to come eat with him behind this shed over the summer, and she'd told him—again—she didn't think her boyfriend would approve of it. She hadn't said that today.

He took the couple of steps to her and slid down the shed to sit beside her on the ground. "Sandwich?" He extended her one, and she took it.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. "Physically, I mean. Like, do I need to get a first aid kit?"

She shook her head, and Tuck nodded. "Okay, then." He didn't ask anything else, because the Lord shouted at him to wait. Just wait.

And though waiting and patience were not Tuck's strong suits, he prepared to do exactly that.