Page 50 of Untamed
Rider Relief Fund, established in 1999, provides financial aid to bull riders whose careers are put on hold by injury. Resistol contributed more than $1 million in seed money to start the non-profit fund that helps professional, college, and high school bull riders and bullfighters who sustain injuries during competition. Money is raised via personal contributions and a variety of annual fundraisers including golf tournaments, silent auctions, and a blackjack tournament.
Driving to Stanton’s ranch, Haylee points toward the Cascade mountain range. “If Mount Rainier blew up, would we all die?”
I side-eye Haylee. “Why?”
“I’m curious. I wish it’d blow up. Life around here is boring. We need a natural disaster, a hurricane, tornado, earthquake . . . somethin’ for fuck’s sake.”
“People die in those, you know. Why would you wish for that?”
“I don’t want anyone to die. I mean, the earth’s overpopulated for sure, but whatevs. I just want some excitement. When we lived in Wyoming, the biggest threat we had was the summer fires and the remote chance Yellowstone might blow up and kill the world.” She laughs. “Is that morbid of me?”
“I’m really concerned with why you want that to happen.”
“Think about hurricanes and tornados. Not only are they some of the most powerful destructive forces of nature, but they’re also fucking beautiful.”
She’s right, to some degree. I remember reading about Mount St. Helens blowing up and the ash acted like fertilizer on farms over there and once they recovered, they ended up having some of the best crop seasons. I guess in a way, some good does come from disasters.
When we get to Grayer’s dad’s ranch out toward the Yakima River, there’s a For Sale sign in the yard with a red SOLD sticker over it. It’s bare and looks as if almost everything has been moved out.
“I asked around,” Haylee says, pointing to the sign. “Apparently, some investment company bought the land. They have until the end of the month to get Stanton’s stuff out of there before they’re turning all this land into a strip mall or some shit.”
“What happened to his mom?”
Haylee looks at me as we get out of the truck. “You’ve lived here longer than me. How do you not know this?”
I shrug, kind of clueless. “I don’t know. I never really paid any attention to the Easton family, but I don’t even remember the brothers. And I went to grade school with them.” I laugh. But then I remember Jamie . . . and him being all that mattered in my life back then. I didn’t have friends growing up. I had Jamie. And when the Easton brothers left town four years ago, it was at that time in my life when I couldn’t have told you what day it was, let alone what was going on with the Ellensburg drama. When Jamie died, I quit eating, living. I might as well have been dead too.
“Their mom died giving birth to Dani. I had English with her. She told me their whole life story. She’s a nice girl too. Little wicked at times, but she did grow up with three rowdy brothers.” And then Haylee smiles. “She’s feisty. Like you.”
“That sucks about their mom.” The idea of their mom dying when they were so young makes me sad. I couldneverimagine being without my mom. She has always been the soft to the harsh demeanor of my dad. I wonder about Grayer’s mom and if he remembers her at all. He had to have been, what, five when she died?
“They’ve had tough lives.”
Haylee and I end up parking down the street and then walking a half mile back up the long dirt road that leads to the ranch. We’re totally intruding being on the property, yet from seeing this, I understand Grayer a little better. I’ve driven past this house a million times andnevernoticed it. Until now.
The massive land dwarfs a modest white home. A covered porch wraps around the house, sagging in sections, with rotting rails and red paint. It’s like time had stopped on this ranch years ago and the land had taken over.
My mind drifts to Grayer and what it must be like for him back in this house. He must have thousands of memories trapped here in the hazy air that settles around us. The setting sun shines through the back windows of the home and I wonder how many times Grayer sat on that porch and watched the sunset like I do from my bedroom window. The thought of him watching a sunset, finding beauty in the warm colors blanketing the night, it brings a smile to my face.
We’re not out there but five minutes when we hear the low rumble coming up the road.
Haylee’s eyes dart to mine. “Oh. Shit!” We scramble for the bushes along the side of the house.
“Fuck.” I start to panic, my eyes wide. I pull my hair up into a messy bun. In case I had to run. I’ve had to run from the police more times than I care to admit—never caught by the way—and it’s been my experience to be prepared and have your hair dealt with beforehand. “What if he sees us? We’re trespassing.”
Haylee gives me a scrunched look of concern, her freckled nose wrinkling. “Since when have you ever given a fuck about rules? And you’re eighteen. Walk in there and surprise him.” A grin tugs at her lips. “I’ll wait here.”
“I bet you would.” I laugh, looking at the driveway debating on what to do. Haylee shoves my shoulder, but I don’t move as I contemplate the consequences. “He’d have me arrested for sure.”
We watch through the branches as Grayer gets out of his truck with a six-pack and two boxes. He looks as hot as he always does, but for once, I have a good view of his face when he leaves his hat in the truck. It’s strange seeing his wavy golden-brown hair in the sunlight. And oh so adorable. I can picture him as a child, wild and tough, but with innocent eyes.
He keeps his head down, walking toward the house, but his head shoots up when Haylee sneezes. Of all the times for her to sneeze. My hand flies to her face, my eyes once again wide with panic.
Hedefinitelyheard that.
Grayer pays no mind to the sound and walks inside the house. It takes us twenty minutes of arguing in the bushes—five of which Haylee threatens to scream—before we’re spying in the kitchen window, unable to stop ourselves.
It’s wrong to spy on him, but like Haylee argued, what if he has his shirt off again. Then it’d be a shame not to.
