Page 25 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

“That takes brains,” I said. “Teaching yourself all that. What do your parents think of you? They’re proud, I bet.”

He glanced away, out over the collection of young cowboys and older ones gathered around the fire, like they were taking part in a star-lit ceremony.

Then he settled himself, looking down at his hands as he laid them on his thighs. “Didn’t have any,” he said, like he was pulling the words out of his soul. “Foster care kid. Walter made me get my GED.”

He’d just flayed himself open. I was so bad at delivering candid, honest praise because I’d seldom gotten any myself, but I’d be goddamned if I was going to tease or screw this up in any way.

“Walter sounds like a good man,” I said. “The kind that knows how to recognize goodness in another.”

That was wrong. I had just said nice things about Walter, rather than the good man sitting next to me. What a fuckup I was. Jake must have thought I’d stabbed him in the heart.

“He took a chance on me,” Jake said. He was looking at the fire, though I could tell he wanted to look at me. Maybe he was fearful that those eyes of his would say too much.

I was so out of my depth, it felt like I was reaching up for a life buoy I was sure would never come.

Jake had led a ragged life, that much was obvious. Pain-laced and uncertain.

I wanted to open up and tell him that I got it, because my life hadn’t been a bed of roses, either. That he could talk to me about his childhood, and I could share with him.

Then we’d be friends, and we could hunt down a copy ofStar Findersso I could read it and I, too, could point out constellations in the night sky as I sat on a hay bale in a circle around the prettiest campfire I had ever seen.

Dillon and Cameron came up to us, just when I didn’t want them, or anyone, to interrupt.

“Hey,” I said, in that casual way old friends do. “How was your popcorn?”

Beside me, Jake settled back, letting out a slow breath, like he’d just eased away from a cliff’s edge. This was worse than terrible, right? I’d led him on, maybe, with promises of acceptance, and now this interruption.

“It’s good, but Mr. Dalton?—”

I looked up at Dillon, usually so quiet, but who was well-spoken. “What is it?” I asked. “Everyone okay?”

“We know you told us not to tell—” Dillon began.

Cameron interrupted him. “But everybody knows.”

“That you’re afraid of horses,” Dillon said.

“That’s why you fell off,” Cameron said. “Because you were afraid.”

“We only told Lucas, but he already knew,” Dillon said.

“He’s always known,” I said slowly. I doubted that everyone knew, but because the one person they told had already known,they’d decided that everyone did. But now the truth was out, and Jake was looking at me hard. “It’s okay,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You could try again if you wanted to,” Jake said. Like this bit of old news gave him a reason to toss everything else aside, because someone needed his help. Some wild thing needed rescuing.

I very much wanted to be a creature that he’d hold on his lap and show popcorn to and let crawl along his shoulders before it disappeared into the dark. I’d like to be Buddy, getting a good, firm brushing and plenty of wordless praise in each touch, each pat, each pet. I’d soak it in like the driest desert until nobody would recognize me.

Chapter 10

Jake

As I tucked into breakfast Wednesday morning, I knew I needed a new straw cowboy hat. This meant that after the main barn chores, I should head into Chance. It wouldn’t take me long, as I’d pick out a hat similar to the one I had before.

This wasn’t anything much out of the ordinary. I’d let Lucas or Jesse know about my errand. Neither would begrudge me an hour or two, and I could always make up the work later, anyway. So, all good: The morning was bright, the day was shining ahead of me, and soon I’d have a new hat to shield me from the sun.

The problem, as it had been for two days, was the man sitting on the far side of the room, beneath a window that cast his fair hair into a frenzy of light, like a golden crown. Maybe he preferred eating alone, or maybe he simply didn’t want to spend the energy to get to know anyone and sit near them at breakfast.

Of course, it was the latter. Dalton Gayle was headed home in a little while. I couldn’t hardly say I blamed him for his hasty exit. Not since the night before, around the campfire, when I’d presumed I’d be welcome company but had probably outstayed that welcome inside the first handful of minutes.