“I’m not sure. My aunt goes in for surgery Monday morning, and depending on how long it takes for her to heal up enough to handle all of this by herself, I’d guess at least a few weeks. Maybe more.”
“That’s nice of you to offer to help her out. Are you guys close?”
“Not really,” I reply truthfully. “I mean, we aren’t estranged or anything, and any time she comes into town, me and my sister enjoy visiting with her. She comes to Washington a few times a year, mostly for holidays.”
“Do you just have one sister?”
“Yeah, Gemma. She’s two years younger than me.”
“And how old are you?”
I glance over at him as we walk. He meets my gaze, and I notice his eyes are a rich dark brown, like a milk chocolate color that looks gorgeous when the sunlight hits them. He’s asking alot of questions, but it doesn’t feel like filler or like he’s being nosy. It’s like he genuinely wants to learn more about me. It’s different.
“I’m twenty-eight—twenty-nine in a few weeks. What about you?”
“Twenty-five.” He grins. “So why are you here taking care of your aunt’s farm instead of your sister?”
We reach the pasture and let the horses go. One of the cows is in the field on the other side of the fence, chomping on grass. She doesn’t even look up when the horses trot away. This one looks like the typical cow that I’ve always thought of in my head; black and white spots, no horns. No Brazilian blowout.
I return my attention to Cope and the question he asked. “Gemma’s married, and she’s pregnant,” I offer. “And I’m not…on either account. So, it made the most sense for me to come.”
“Makes sense,” he murmurs. We watch the horses for a moment before turning to head back toward the house.
“What about you?” I ask. “Any siblings?”
“Nope,” he replies. “I’m an only child.”
“Did you like that growing up, or did you wish you had brothers or sisters?”
“Eh, half and half probably. Sometimes I wish I did, but other times I was fine with it. Mostly because I was so close with the other kids in town since our parents were all friends, that it felt like they were siblings sometimes. For instance, my best friend, Shooter, and I have been friends since we were really little. Our dads competed together, so our families were all very close. Shooter and his sister, Daisy, have always felt like family to me.”
“Competed?”
He nods. “In the rodeo.”
“Like bull riding?”
“Like bronc riding.” My brows pinch together at that.
“What’s the difference?”
Head dropped back onto his shoulders, Cope groans to the sky. “Oh my God. What are we gonna do with you? You might just be hopeless after all.” Leveling me with a stare, he asks, “Are you serious right now?”
I can’t help the chuckle that sneaks out. “Uh, yeah. What the hell would I know about the rodeo? Washington, remember?”
“There’s rodeo in Washington, my friend.”
“Well, not where I’m at. So, enlighten me.”
Cope clutches at his chest. “I’m hurt. Disappointed.”
“And dramatic,” I add, rolling my eyes playfully.
After he manages to pull himself together after I clearly broke his heart with my lack of rodeo knowledge, he says, “Bull riding is just that—riding a bull. Bronc riding is very similar, but instead of a bull, it’s a horse. A bronco.”
I nod. “Got it.” I don’t got it, but I’m not going to further exasperate him. “So, your dad is a professional bronc rider?”
“Was,” he corrects. “He’s been retired for quite a while.”
