“Don’t drink?”
“Only things that taste good.” I crossed and uncrossed my legs three times as sweat trickled down my back. The air-conditioning blasted loudly, but my nerves warmed me from the inside out. “Whose trailer did you say this is?”
“My friend Mick’s. He’s an agent. I work for him.”
“Is that what you do now? Agenting new talent?”
Buck popped the top on a can and sat across from me. “Mostly. Once you turn thirty, you’re a relic in this business, so when my body said I couldn’t ride anymore, I had to find something else to make a living. I represent the young kids.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “It ain’t what it used to be, that’s for sure.” After a sip of his beer, Buck turned those hazel eyes to me. “How are you, Hattie?”
“I’m good. Great, really.” That felt a bit of an exaggeration at this moment in my life, but Buck didn’t need to know that.
His rough hand flicked at the tab on the can a few times, a tinny sound that echoed in the trailer. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an equine-assisted therapist.”
“Whew!” His laugh was as wheezy as an off-key accordion. “That’s some big words. Bring it down for your old man.”
“I offer a therapy program using horses to military veterans suffering with PTSD.”
“Well, if that isn’t something.” He drummed his fingers on the faded Formica table, and his nervousness made me oddly satisfied. “You have my love for horses and the outdoors.”
“Yes,” I said. “I guess I do.”
“Are you married?”
“No.” I imagined myself riding my own bucking bronco of shame and embarrassment. “Not for lack of trying.”
“You get that from me too. Long-term relationships aren’t for everyone.”
“Maybe they’re not.” What a thing to speak over your daughter. I wanted to grab one of the thick-bristled brushes we used on the horses and sweep his words off my clothes so they couldn’t land and become prophecy. But perhaps Buck was right. Maybe it was genetic. Had he passed down his eyes, his love for large animals, and the inability to hold onto a relationship?
“How’s your brother?” Buck asked.
“Colin’s good.” I wouldn’t bother telling him Colin was divorced. “He works nonstop and is very successful.” I watched Buck’s sun-creased face for any tinges of regret or remorse and saw none. Just mild interest, as if we were discussing a friend we both had once known. “What about you? What has Buck Sorrel been up to since I last saw you?” It was strange to throw out these questions, as if we were distant relatives seeing one another again at a family reunion. Instead of father and daughter.
“I’ve been working hard with little to show for it. I got married a few more times, hit in the head more than a sane man should, and traveled all over this beautiful country.”
He sounded so carefree, so unapologetically untethered to his responsibilities. “Did you get the life you wanted?”
He studied the rim of his can for a beat. “Does anyone, Hattie?”
The answer to that completely depressed me. “So you’re headed out of town with the rodeo, and then what?”
“Yeah, this reunion gig is quite the thing. It’s been great being back here.” Excitement lit his expression, and his tone gained some energy. “I’m actually not leaving town for a few months though. I’m staying at a cabin down south. An old buddy runs this bull-riding school on the grounds of an old church camp and thinks I should teach some classes.”
My dad would live an hour away from me? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “That sounds promising.” I vaguely recalled my mom once saying that Buck often had offers thrown at him, but always went back to his mistress, the rodeo.
Buck ran a dirty hand over his face as if the idea fatigued him. “I’ve, uh, had a few successes in my agenting over the last ten years or so. The rodeo’s a big business now. These riders aren’t just athletes and competitors, they’re personalities, you know? Now it’s all social media hits, endorsement deals, and selling that merchandise. I’m about done with it all. I’m too old to keep up.”
“Will you be taking the coaching job?”
“Maybe.” He laughed. “Can you see your old man staying in one place and teaching others what I know?”
Nope. I couldn’t. “It seems like a perfect opportunity.”
“Probably is.” He shook his gray head. “I dunno.” It sounded like an all-encompassing statement—more than just a declaration of his feelings to the job. “I just don’t know.”
We fell into a heavy silence for a few moments, both of us wrestling with our thoughts. I knew I was making my bio-dad uncomfortable, but I couldn’t seem to leave. There was so little I knew about him, and so many gaps to fill. Buck looked much older than the photos I occasionally broke out of a box from the top of my closet, but he was still a good-looking man. I had often wondered what my mom had seen in Buck, but if he’d possessed even a bit of charm back in his day, perhaps now I could see the appeal.
