Rough Country (Tannen Boys 3)

“Yeah, hear me out,” Mr. Wheatley agrees with me.

“I could make it hurt,” Bobby threatens.

I don’t want a record deal for Bobby if it means all that stuff Jeremy was trying to pull. The manipulations he was almost successful with nearly ruined everything. But that doesn’t mean that Bobby should give up on his dream entirely. We’re home, and we’re happy, but it truly doesn’t cost anything but a few minutes to hear this guy out. Best case scenario, it’s worth considering. Worst case, we’re five minutes later with getting our coffee.

Holding his hands up in a placating gesture, Mr. Wheatley pleads his case. “I like who you are, where you come from, and what you represent. A real cowboy, a working man, a family man. I don’t want to change you into some poster boy for bad boy country. I want you to write what you want, sing what you want, be authentically you. That’s what I liked at the Bar and at Hank’s last night.”

“Look, I’ll leave this here. I’m staying at the resort until Tuesday. Come see me if you’d like to talk. If I don’t hear from you, you’ll never see me again. Good luck to you, Bobby. You’ve got a real gift.”

Mr. Wheatley bends down, setting some paperwork in the dirt driveway. He picks up a nearby rock, adding it to the top of the stack so it doesn’t blow away. He doesn’t seem to care that his pristine white papers are smeared with dust and grime now. Somehow, that already seems like a better sign than Jeremy Marshall’s slick approach.

True to his word, he gets in his car and pulls away without so much as a wave.

Bobby turns for the front door, not even picking the papers up, but as he disappears into the house, I grab them. He should at least check them out. Just because his dream blew up last time, doesn’t mean it has to be that way this time. What if there’s still a chance for him to have his dream and for us to still be together?

Chapter 27

Willow

“You sure about this?” Bobby asks me. His hand is in mine, his eyes locked on me as if we’re the only two people at the table. Actually, with the intense way he’s scanning me, it’s more like we’re the only two people in the room.

I nod, biting my lip to keep the smile from beaming too broadly. He’s going to get his dream, after all. And I don’t have to lose him for him to get it.

“We can stay right here, work the farm and Hank’s, play music and take pictures, and live a good life. I can give you a good life, Willow. Full of love and happy days, with the occasional fist fight with my brothers or a Bennett.” His lips quirk. “Just keeping it real.”

I cup his cheek, the stubble scratching my palm as he tilts into my touch. “We could do that. And it would be a wonderful life. But you have this gift and a fire in your belly. I know you need to see if this could go somewhere. I’m good with that. Let’s do it together, you and me. There will be time enough to come home and work the farm and Hank’s. And I can take pictures anywhere.”

We’ve talked this through several times already. I had picked that contract up out of the dirt, set it right on the kitchen table, and started reading while Bobby had made our cups of coffee. The deal was good, better than good. It’s an amazing offer.

Bobby had still said no, justifying it by claiming that Brutal needs him and Unc needs me. I didn’t tell Unc’s secret. It’d seemed needless considering he’s on the road back to health, but I had shared that Unc might not need me quite as desperately in the coming days other than prime fishing days with Doc. I’d smiled in relief that I meant actually fishing and not fishing.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Bobby growls as if it’s still just the two of us. He kisses my palm, searches my eyes once more, and then holds my hand tightly as he tells Mr. Wheatley, “Okay, run it down again. Every detail.”

Dinner that night is different. There’s no special meal with Bobby’s favorites, there’s no sign in the doorway, and we don’t turn off the lights and shout ‘congratulations’. It’s low-key, more like Bobby and his family. Down to Earth, hard-working cowboys and their women.

Like me.

Somehow, I do fit right in with this motley group of people. I’ve spent so much time alone, introverted and keeping to the perimeter, an observer to any action. I get lost in the shadows, both literally and figuratively, sticking to my photography as a way to keep the camera between me and others. But here? Around this dinner table with these people, I’m simply one of them.