Page 9 of Knot my First Rodeo

Autumn

I wander through the house with no real direction, just moving from room to room because sitting still makes me feel like I’m trapped. The place is quiet in a way I’m not used to; no TV humming in the background, no voices, just the soft creak of the floor under my steps and the faint sound of something running somewhere deeper in the house.

The living room tells me nothing about them. A couch, a chair, a table. That’s it. No pictures, no color, nothing that feels lived in beyond the basics. It’s like they exist here without leaving any part of themselves behind.

I turn into the hallway and slow when something on the wall catches my eye.

Belt buckles that look too big to be practical. Silver and gold, scratched in places, worn down like they’ve been handled a lot. I step closer and run my finger over one of them, tracing the edge of the metal. There are words etched into it. Dates. Things I don’t understand.

These aren’t decorations.

My gaze drops to the floor where a pair of boots sit by the wall. They’re scuffed, broken in, dried mud clinging to the edges.

I shift my attention again, and spot something hanging on a hook nearby.

Chaps.

I step closer and touch them, the material stiff but worn in all the right places. There are marks along the thighs, scuffs that didn’t come from sitting around inside.

What the hell do these guys actually do?

A sound behind me makes me turn too fast, and I find Clint standing in the doorway, watching me like he’s been there longer than I realized.

“I was just looking,” I say, even though he didn’t ask.

“Didn’t say you weren’t allowed to.”

He steps into the room, calm, like none of this is weird for him. I glance back at the wall, then at him again.

“What do you guys do? What is all this?”

“We run this place, and rodeo.”

I blink at him. “Rodeo?”

“Yeah.”

I shift my weight, crossing my arms as I try to picture it. “Like girls running horses around kegs and stuff?”

His mouth twitches. “No.”

“Bull riding?”

“No.”

I frown. “Then what do you do?”

He leans against the wall, relaxed in a way that makes me feel like I’m the only one out of place here.

“Tripp rides broncs, I do tie-down roping, and Briggs does steer wrestling.”

I blink again, slower this time. “Those are real things?”

“Yeah.”

I nod like I understand, even though I absolutely do not. “Okay. Got it.”

His eyes stay on me for a second too long.