Stripped Down

“She’s pissed as hell, but we need those water rights. We’re gonna run out of water in the next few months. I can truck it in for a while, but eventually we’ll go broke—or we’ll have to give up on the cattle.” Maybe there’s a way out I haven’t seen, but it’s not coming to me at the moment. The long moment of silent that follows tells me J.J.’s got the same problems I do. He likes Rose and he doesn’t like seeing her get hurt any more than I do.

We have to have that water.

J.J. tightens his grip on the reins and his horse dances. “And she still won’t take the check?”

“She wanted to fix the place up. Live in it. She had a whole tube of architectural plans that she drew up. She was gonna run some kind of tattoo parlor out of it.”

“She’s wanted a shop of her own since that reality TV show.” J.J. slaps a hand on my back, hard enough to half-knock me out of the saddle. The fucker. “You watch her show?”

I might have the episodes loaded on my iPhone, but I’m not admitting to it, so I settle for a noncommittal shrug.

J.J. snorts. “You TiVo’d it or something, you bastard.”

I grin. “Bet you liked the bikini episode best.”

“Wouldn’t mind being a judge,” he admits. “Had no idea you could ink a girl so close to her goodies.”

“She’s good,” I say quietly and J.J. nods. “I think she’s the best.”

“She should have won.”

I glance over at my brother, and he looks like he means it. J.J.’s a competitor through and through. He doesn’t throw points or sugarcoat a performance. “You think?”

“They booked her for the cast because she’s pretty and she’s got great tits. Probably pegged her for a bit of a drama queen, too, because Rose doesn’t always remember to filter. I’ll bet they didn’t look at her portfolio until she showed up on set.”

Rose’s art is gorgeous, all bold black lines and vibrant colors. It’s like she can bring alive whatever shit she’s got in her head and paint it right on your skin. She did a tumbleweed design for a guy who’d lost an Army buddy, all stark branches and those thorns that bite into your skin and shred. Captured his pain perfectly and the guy almost broken down when he saw his ink. The feather she gave me is fucking perfect to, so I have to wonder what design she’d draw for us. I’d like her to remember me whenever she looks at herself in the mirror. I’d like to be marked on her skin for everyone to see

“You telling me life’s not fair?”

That’s no newsflash. I share a quick glance with J.J. Yeah. He’s on the same page as me.

“She was a threat to whoever they’d handpicked to be the winner.” J.J. shrugs. “So they let her get far, but not all the way. That’s how I see it. She made it to the final four, and then they eliminated her.”

If she’d made the final three, she’d have gotten money. Instead, she got nothing but me and a whole lot of trouble. She’s chasing a dream, but it’s eluding her. I untie my horse and head toward the open range.

J.J. follows. “There’s no way to give her that house?”

I still need those water rights. Water keeps the herd going and my cowboys riding. “I give her the house, I still need what it sits on. She’s not going to want her clients walking through a stockyard.”

J.J. studies me, although I have no idea what the fuck he sees. “Probably not.”

Still, those plans say something. Something important. They’re not just rooms on a piece of paper. My own ranch house is more house than home. It’s beautiful and rock solid, and it’s the place I park my ass at night, but I don’t have roots there. My roots are out here, on my family’s land.

And with Rose. Because I love her.

Hell of a thing.

Question is, would Auntie Dee’s house even be enough for Rose? If she needs the house so badly, why not just pick the place up and move it elsewhere? It’s an option if the old building is stable enough. There’s plenty of space out here on the ranch or in the heart of Lonesome. She could tattoo drunken cowboys and whoever else wanders through town. Like me. I could probably hire her to tattoo I love you on my sorry ass, along with flowers, hearts and shit. I swing up into my saddle and look at J.J.

“I need a ride.”

He nods and follows me when I tear out of the yard. It’s a good forty minutes of ball-breaking galloping before I finally slow the horse and swing down to walk the winded animal a bit. Naturally, J.J. sticks tight to me. He’s unshakable.

I look over at him. “I’m going to find a way to make her stay. I love her.”