Neither of us spoke again until after we’d finished our meal. “I’ll clean the dishes,” Dad said gruffly, standing up and scooping up my plate as well as his. He paused for a moment, staring down at the dishes in his hands. Then, he spoke, each word deliberate, “You’re so much like your mother, you know. She would have been proud.”
He stalked off without another word, and I sat there for a long time, thinking over those words. Would she have been proud? I wasn’t doing anything worthwhile with my life. I had the idea for the gallery, but without the funding, I would never be able to make that dream a reality. As far as anyone was concerned, I was just bumming around, living at home. Not exactly the kind of life that a parent wished for their child.
“So, what’s this about a gallery that I hear?” Trethan asked suddenly, dropping into a chair across from me.
I jumped in surprise and heat reddened my face. My hands clenched as I tried to figure out some way to tactfully get away from him. I’d been thinking about him more and more since I’d come back, but since our conversation out on the ranch the other day (well, really since I’d seen him out on the ranch the other day and noticed his muscles and the perfect curve of his ass), I hadn’t been able to forget about how much I’d like for him to bend me over the nearest surface and have his way with me.
I shook my head, trying to come back to the conversation at hand. “How did you hear about the gallery?” I asked suspiciously. I doubted he’d been talking to Julie about it. I knew that Trethan and my dad had some sort of a connection now that he the right-hand man around the ranch, but I didn’t think Dad would mention my gallery prematurely before the place had funding.
Trethan grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said. “I just overheard it while you were talking to John about it. You’ve found a job, then?”
“Not exactly,” I said, shaking my head. I hoped that’d be enough to get him to drop it, but he continued to look interested
I shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about curating a gallery here in White Bluff,” I told him.
“We already get a ton of tourists every year. I don’t think it’ll be difficult to sell some regional art to these people. If they come here on vacation, they like the area and the culture. I figure with all the local artists around, I should be able to source pieces. Plus, art from this area has such low representation when it comes to the larger galleries. It would be neat from a sociological and cultural standpoint, just as much from a-” I broke off, flushing warmly enough that I could feel my ears burning. “But I guess you’re not interested in any of that stuff.”
“Why wouldn’t I be interested in it?” he asked, surprising me.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “Because you hate art?” I suggested.
“I don’t hate art,” he said. He looked away from me as he said it, though, and I could see the way his hands clenched into fists. “I used to,” he continued, his voice quiet. “Or at least, I used to think that I did. But that was kind of an act. I was trying to be cool, to stay in my persona. Stoners don’t just sit around talking about the finer points of modern art, you know.”
I snorted and shook my head. “You’re still trying to convince me that you’ve changed, huh?”
Trethan didn’t respond to that, but when he looked back at me, his gaze was serious. “That’s really cool, though,” he said. “I like the idea of a gallery here in White Bluff. You’re right; there are a lot of people here who deserve more representation.” He paused. “You’ve really grown from the little girl that I used to know.”
I shrugged. “It’s been years,” I reminded him. “I’d like to think that I’m a little more put together than I was before I went off to college.”
“It’s not just that,” he said. “I can tell that you care about other people. You always did, but it’s even more pronounced now.”
I snorted. “And you don’t?”
He was quiet. “Sometimes I think I might care about my promises more than I care about the people that I’ve made my promises to,” he said cryptically.
I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but my heart evidently had different ideas about what to ask. “Are you seeing anyone?” I blurted out before sense could catch up to me.
Trethan laughed. “Like a girlfriend?” he asked. “Nah.” I must have looked pitying because he scowled darkly at me. “Don’t go feeling sorry for me. I fuck around. I’ve fucked around with half the women in this town. Maybe more than that. And most of the tourists, too.”
“I didn’t need to know that,” I said, wincing.
“Then don’t go asking about my sex life,” he said hotly. “Yeah, I fuck around with anyone I want to. I go down to the Roasted Bison, and it’s like the whole goddamned town is out on display, especially on a Friday night. I don’t go home alone unless I choose to go home alone.”
I stood up, almost knocking my chair over in my haste. That only made him laugh. “Yeah, it’s a real show,” he continued cruelly. “Lately, I’ve been getting on the mechanical bull — I’m actually really good at it. The women watch me, squirming in their wet panties and-”
“That’s enough,” I interrupted, my face practically on fire. “God, I was starting to think that maybe you really had changed. I guess that was just an act, though, wasn’t it? You’re just the same as you always were.”
Trethan looked like he wanted to say something in response, but instead, he just turned away, setting his jaw. “Yeah, I guess so,” he said.
I shook my head in disgust and stalked off.
Chapter Thirteen
Trethan
I slugged back another beer and then marched toward the mechanical bull. I didn’t know what it was about the past week, but I’d just felt restless and frustrated for days. I tried to drink away the feelings, but it didn’t do much good. I wondered if a ride on the bull would help. Maybe the rush would finally settle whatever it was that churned inside of me.
I hopped up on the bull and nodded over at Pat, who knew by now that I was only interested in riding the thing at full speed. With drugs and drinking and hard work and everything else, I’d never been the kind of guy to do things halfway.