“Are you about to do a hard thing?” Poppy asked as we made our way down the metal stairs.
“Yes.”
“Just believe you can do it, and then you will!”
“Thanks, sweetie.” I stopped near the concession stand and gave Poppy’s ponytail a tug. “You’re so wise. Did someone share those words with you?”
“Yes, Uncle Miller did.” She finished her last bite of popcorn. “No, wait. It was Big Bird.”
We found Buck in the same location as I’d seen him last time—near a merchandise table and surrounded by a small group of people. When he threw back his head and laughed at his own joke, a vivid memory of that laugh returned. He scribbled his signature on photos and random scraps of paper, and I wondered who these people were that still recalled an amateur rodeo performer who’d never quite arrived. But Buck looked at them with more reverence than he’d ever bestowed on his children.
As the crowd dissipated, Miller’s hand rested on my shoulder as he pulled me to his side. “You got this, Sutton.”
Before I could respond, Buck Sorrel’s gaze searched for the next wave of his adoring fans and landed on us. On me.
“Hello, folks.” His voice was full of Marlboro Red, and his eyes held volumes of stories that had nothing to do with me. “Want me to sign something for you?”
I lamely handed him a rodeo program I’d received when we walked in.
Buck uncapped his pen, enjoying his return to stardom. “Who do I make it out to?”
I looked at the man who’d taught me that love hurt and disappointed, who had walked out and never looked back. I took a step closer, allowing Buck to get a good look at my face.
“Hey, do I know you?” he asked. “You sure do look familiar.”
“No, Dad.” I swallowed hard and met his curious gaze. “You don’t know me at all.”
Chapter Thirty
“Hattie Sorrel, as I live and breathe.”
I stared at the man who was once my father. Taking off his hat, Buck had a full head of Kenny Rogers hair, and upon closer inspection, his face was every bit as weathered as Ernie’s. Buck had probably seen plenty of battles in his life as well, though none of the military variety.
“It’s Hattie Sutton,” I finally said.
“Oh, that’s right.” Buck’s smile wobbled a bit at the reminder that another man had taken Buck’s vacated spot and adopted my brother and me. “I...I can’t believe you’re here. What in the world are you doing in Oklahoma? Do you still live in Sugar Creek?”
“I just moved back.”
My bio-father noticed Miller and the girls. “And who’s this good-looking bunch with you? You must be Hattie’s family.”
Miller’s arm slipped around my waist, and he tugged me close. “Not quite, but we are friends who care about her. I’m Miller James.” He shook hands with Buck as he introduced the girls.
“Is there somewhere we could talk, Buck?” I asked as rodeo attendees milled about. “Somewhere a little quieter?”
“Uh, yeah.” Buck looked like he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave his spot for fear of missing out on a fan or two, but he gestured for us to follow. “My buddy Mick has an RV we can step into. Right this way.”
We followed him down a dusty gravel path, past crew members, cattle, and vendors hawking rodeo souvenirs. I did not think I would be memorializing this night with a t-shirt. When we came to a parking lot of RVs, Buck led us to one that looked like it needed a paint job and some TLC.
“Here we go.” He opened the door and waved us inside, looking as nervous as I felt.
“I think we’ll stay out here,” Miller said. “Give you two a chance to talk alone.” I startled when Miller then leaned down and kissed my cheek. “You can do it,” he whispered, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze. With a parting thumbs-up, Miller ushered the girls toward a park bench, promising the possibility of ice cream on the way home.
The RV smelled like an odd combination of stale smoke and microwave popcorn, but it had ample seating, and Buck gestured for me to sit at the table.
“Can I get you a beer?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
