Chapter 35 - Chase Me, Cowboy

I fall asleep on the plane, my head on his shoulder. When I wake, we’ve landed in the Bluegrass Airport. We’re the last passengers aboard; it’s just us and dozens of empty rows. A flight attendant holding a bag of trash gives us an impatient stare. Guiltily, I unbuckle my seatbelt and sit up.

“You could’ve woken me sooner,” I say, blinking and cracking my neck.

“You were fine,” he says. He rises, unfurling his tall body to pop the overhead bin and pull our luggage down. “I kept you up most of last night. You needed to rest.”

“Why?” I say, even though I already know.

“So I can keep you up again.”

I roll my eyes at his back as we move down the aisle and into the airport. It’s small and oddly cozy, with a large image of racehorses on the wall and the faint smell of coffee everywhere. It has to be around six in the evening. My stomach is growling as we head outside, a misty rain hitting our faces. It smells fresh and green, like something new.

“Is this your first time in Kentucky?” he asks.

“Yeah, I only ever went to New York,” I say. “And then Maine.”

A car pulls up, and we’re in another Uber.

“It’s the perfect place to disappear,” he says, resting his hand on my thigh. “I always have a good time here. Nobody fucks with me, and the people are down to earth.”

I lean my forehead on the glass and watch the muggy green hills pass by. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a farm, about an hour outside the city.”

“Like a lodge?”

“No,” he says. “I own it.”

I shake my head. “Of course you do.”

“It’s not like that. A lot of my properties have people living in them, some clients need a leg up, a cheap place to stay. Production companies don’t always pay well up front.”

That puts things in a different light.

“Really? You put them up?”

He shrugs. “Occasionally. It’s my job to make them successful.”

“Paying their room and board is above and beyond.”

“That’s my job.” His tone is firm.

Sometimes, I admire him. It’s clear he gets a lot of value out of serving other people. That’s not a bad trait to have…especially in a partner. Not that we’re anything other than two people playing pretend.

“Is anyone staying there now?” I ask.

“No, it’s been empty since June. I do let the neighbor use the barn and pasture for his horses, though, so we might have some non-human visitors.”

“I’d love that.”

My voice comes out soft. Ever since we landed, the big, awful knot of anxiety in my chest has eased. The world is on the other side of the airport, hidden behind the hills. Right now, it’s him and me, tucked in the back of this sedan.

I want to hold his hand.

Glancing sideways, I study it. It’s big and broad; I’m very familiar with it in a sexual sense. But not woven into mine like we’re something real.

My stomach flutters. I reach out and slide my fingers up the inside of his wrist. He turns his head, eyes falling on our hands. Is he going to pull away? No, he flexes his fingers, opening them so I can put mine in between. A little sweat breaks out on my upper back, and my heart thumps. I wonder if he can feel it against his palm, just pattering away in my chest.

I wish he would. I wish he knew everything I’ve done since I went home. How I lay awake and sorted through every memory like a box of old photographs. But I know I’m not ready for that, so I stay quiet for the rest of the drive until we’re dropped off outside a quaint cabin about a quarter mile down a drive off a state route. He takes our luggage out and tips the driver, raising a hand as the car backs up and leaves.

Then, it’s just us. And miles of hills, a winding river in the distance just visible through the thick tree cover.

“Wow.” I pivot in a slow circle. “This is stunning.”

“It is,” he says, squinting. “I don’t get out here often, I kind of forgot how much I liked it.”

“When did you buy this?”

His jaw ticks. “About eight years ago. My dad always wanted a place in Kentucky, where his mom was from.”

“Oh,” I mumur.

While I don’t remember his father, Scott, well. Dad was good friends with him before he passed. Instantly, I feel selfish that I’ve never asked Jamie about it. It seems like an obvious thing to ask how he’s doing, even though it’s been a while. Just out of consideration. I open my mouth, but he meets my gaze.

“I don’t really talk about my father,” he says, not unkindly.

“Okay, I get it,” I amend.

His jaw works lightly. “Maybe I should.”

I wasn’t expecting him to go back on it that fast. “It’s whatever you want, but I’m sure therapy would help you out.”

He laughs shortly. “I’m sure it would. Come on, let’s go in.”

The rough gray wood steps creak as I follow him on the square front porch. Now that I’m closer, it’s clear it’s an older building that someone put quite a bit of effort and time into authentic restoration. The siding is overlapped, rough-hewn boards, the roof of faux thatching, with a stone chimney rising from it. Everything is so ordinary and homey.

It’s a sanctuary. A place where the world doesn’t exist.

I’m here with him. He brought me here. To hide with me?

Inside, he flicks on the lights. The door falls shut, and my eyes adjust, taking in the deep chestnut walls and floor, the burgundy leather furniture, and dark marble countertops. Oh, this place is nice.

“Did you do all the fixing up?” I ask, turning in a circle.

“Sort of. I had a local guy restore it,” he says, dragging the luggage across the living room.

He disappears through a door to the left of the enormous hearth. I go, leaning in the entrance. He’s rolling our luggage to the end of the bed.

“Bold of you to assume I’d be sleeping with you,” I say.

He gives me a hard stare. “Bold of you to assume I’d let you sleep anywhere else.”

“God, stop it.”

“I won’t, but you know that.”

He comes close, taking me by the back of the neck. He dips in, blue eyes flashing. Then, he kisses me deeply. Something has changed. I feel it in the pressure of his hands, in the timbre of his voice.

“Are we going to talk about what you’ve been putting out into the world? The covers you’ve been posting. The ones you’re hiding from your sister and Coen,” he says, pulling back.

Embarrassment shrivels in my chest. “We already did.”

“We breezed over it.”

“Maybe after a few shots of whiskey and a hot meal.”

He lets me go, heading to the kitchen. I follow him and climb on a stool at the breakfast bar. The kitchen reminds me a lot of the one I grew up in at the ranch house, just updated, the way Coen and Sabrina have it now.

“There’s a small grocer about twenty minutes up the road,” he says, leaning on the sink and crossing his arms. “I’ll run up there and get something, grab some propane for the grill. We should be set for a few days.”

“That works for me.”

His eyes flick across the room to the big window overlooking the back field. “I used to hunt out here for venison.”

“Really?” My brows rise.

“Yeah, I was trying to be more ethical with my food. I’d come out here in November, do a few weeks of hunting, and eat off it when I stayed here.”

“You used to stay here more often?”

“I work more now.”

It baffles me how he could work more than he did in the last several years. Coen has talked about how they were always on the road, always in some executive’s office, always in a studio with some artist. The thought of adding to that seems extreme.

“You should work less,” I say.

He shrugs. “Right now, I’m working less.”

I give him a coy look from beneath my lashes. “But only because you’re trying to get pussy.”

“That’s true. Not trying very hard, but still getting it.”

“Oh,” I say, biting back a smile. His smirk makes me weak. “I can make it a lot harder for you, if you want.”

His jaw ticks. “You make it so hard, it’s uncomfortable.”

Tension ripples. He comes to the counter and leans on his elbows, so close I can make out the shades of blue in his eyes.

“Make yourself at home,” he says. “I’ll go hunt and gather.”

I laugh, and he kisses me briefly, like he’s mine. My stomach is a pit as he grabs his keys, slinging them in a loop, and strides down the hall. Silence falls. I go to the sink and fill a glass with water, trying to wet my dry throat. There seems to always be a lump in it these days.

My phone rings. I pull it from my pocket and put it to my ear.

“Hey, Mom,” I say guiltily. “Sorry, I meant to text.”

“You’re fine, honey. I’m just checking on you.”

“Did you get my note?”

“I did.”

There’s a long silence. In the background is a faint rushing. I wonder if she’s in the car. It’s about the time she comes home from work.

“I’m with Jamie,” I say.

“I know, honey,” she replies casually. “You know, at some point, you might want to stop living in denial about this whole thing. It’s okay to be into him.”

My chest hurts.

“There’s a lot of moving parts,” I say finally. “It’s more complicated than that, but I don’t know…if I want to get too deep into other stuff.”

“I won’t pressure you. Where are you two now?”

Looking around, I move across the room to glance through the window in the front door. The drive is empty. Across the road, a field of dried corn ripples in the breeze.

“He has a cabin in Kentucky. We went out for a few days to talk.”

“I’m sure you’ll do plenty of talking. Make sure to use protection.”

“Mom!”

She laughs, and a car door slams. There’s a rustling, then her keys jingle. I smile at the faint clinking of Derry’s nails in the hallway.

“Have you told Sabrina and Coen about any of this?” she asks.

“Yes, but please don’t mention it,” I rush. “I really want time to figure it out on my own.”

“I know, honey, but you don’t have to.”

I smile again, thinking about when Jamie said the same thing to me in the airport. I’m used to having people around me, deciding almost everything for me. It was never any other way. Dad made the rules, but Sabrina ran the show. I was the follower, my opinion rarely asked. I found my ways of rebelling, but in retrospect, I was pretty good at just going with the flow when it mattered.

This is something that matters. Jamie, the music. I want to make my own choice.

“I know, but I want to,” I say firmly.

“I get it,” she says. “How’s the cabin?”

Doing another loop of the living room, I shrug. “It’s really nice. Jamie has a lot of different places around the country. He has an apartment in New York, apparently.”

“Is that where you were last night?”

“No…we were at a hotel. He leases his properties out to his clients to help them get on their feet.”

“That’s dedication to his job.”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “He’s really…an all-in kind of guy.”

A pause.

“Is he all in when it comes to my daughter?”

“Mom, we’re not there yet,” I sigh. “But he treats me good, and he won’t let anything happen to me. I haven’t opened a door or carried my bag since we met up.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” she says.

“Alright, I’m gonna go make a cup of coffee or something.”

“It’s a little late for coffee.”

“It’s been a long day,” I yawn.

“Alright, honey, you get some rest. I love you.”

I clear my throat. “I love you too, Mom. Sleep tight tonight.”

She hangs up. Jamie isn’t back yet. I set the phone down and make a cup of coffee, because that’s what my family does when we don’t know what to do. While it brews, I go to the bedroom and turn on the shower. I wash the airport off and pull on my sleep shorts, then open his luggage and take out a hoodie. It’s thick, soft, and a khaki shade that reminds me of a sporting goods store.

I inhale as I pull it over my head.

Perfect.

Back in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, I pull the door aside and step out. The back porch looks out over a field of waist-high grass. Along the tree line, I catch sight of a group of turkeys, strutting up and down. It reminds me of back home, how Dad would go out and get a wild turkey for Thanksgiving because he didn’t believe in factory farming and never let us buy from the grocery store. It would always be a bit stringy, but he said that meant the meat was healthy. It reminds me of what Jamie said about the venison.

I breathe in, holding the clean air in my lungs.

A hint of homesickness appears. It’s mid-October, it’ll be snowing in Wyoming if it’s not already. Here in Kentucky, the trees are brilliant orange and gold. Everything has that nostalgic dead-leaf smell, a hint of spice coming from the oak trees.

I climb down the steps and look out over the hill.

I can ask myself again and again if Mom is right. Or I can let everything else fall away and follow the ache in my heart all the way to Jamie.

Maybe there’s another way to my dream.

Maybe I can really have it all.