Page 27 of The Cowboy's Cabaret

Wesley

Dahlia and Daphneare surprisingly good at roughing it. Daphne complained a fuck ton when we had to muck the stalls, but she was giddy when she got to walk the horses around.

“See, this is the idea. Horses are so calming. If they can tame the wild child in Daphne, maybe they can help someone else who’s really struggling.” Dahlia goes on to tell me what she’s come up with so far. She says the goal would be a place for teens to have a safe place to come, whether it’s for therapy, community service hours, maybe even mentorship. She’s so animated describing her ideas, something like this would have done wonders for teenage me.

Trauma is trauma, no matter what age, but I think there’s something to be said for the trauma that manifests in youth. Shit, I turned out okay, I guess, but I had family to take me in. Most kids aren’t that lucky and I recognize the privilege I have—even if I’m still a little fucked up.

The financial aspect of this is what’s going to convince Jasper, so we agree to look through the grant requirements tonight. Did I agree at light speed for a reason to spend moretime with Dahlia? Who’s to say. Did I spend far too long staring at Dahlia’s ass in those jeans as she shoveled horse shit? I plead the Fifth.

“I think this horse is my soulmate.” Daphne is lovingly patting Jasper’s horse, Rage. We worked all morning and Jasper was nowhere to be seen. I don’t know if a certain short woman is to blame for his absence since he hardly, if ever, slacks on work. As if my thoughts summoned him, Jasper bellies up to the paddock we’re at and huffs a discontented sigh. He takes his hat off and runs his hand through his dirty blond hair before kicking at the fence post and heading back where he came from.

I make a mental note to check on Jasper later. Dahlia looks down at me from her perch on the fence with a smile before she flicks the brim of my Big Al’s hat, accidentally knocking it off my head. I bend down to grab it, making sure to move real slow on the come up.

“You just wanted to check out my ass, you dirty girl.” I immediately regret my choice of words because the chub I’ve been sporting all day is rapidly hardening when I notice Dahlia biting her lip and looking away. I file the image away for later since introducing mybestieto my aching cock would probably make her run for the hills.

Dahlia moves to hop down from the fence and I stand in front of her to offer a hand. Her small hands land on my shoulders as I help steady her. My hands move to her hips, fingers branding her skin like they know their home. I easily slide her off the post and onto the ground in front of me, realizing after the fact, I’ve caged her in against the fence.

My brain probably sounds like a Honda Civic backfiring right now, the proximity to her is overwhelming my senses. Being around Dahlia has this stupefying effect on me. I can’t even be mad about my obsession when she makes no move to free herself from my grasp. Rich brown eyes look up at mine and Icould so easily imagine her moving her hands around my neck and leaning in close.

Daphne yells something inaudible to Jasper who’s now entered the paddock, but the spell over Dahlia and I is broken. She pats me on the chest and says she’ll see me for dinner before I watch her big, beautiful ass walk away from me, taking my heart with it. I decide to leave Daphne and Jasper to duke it out and head to finish up the rest of the day’s work.

Come dinnertime,I’m beat fucking tired and ready to knock out. Another survey of the orchard today shows what we feared—it’s still a money pit. I hit the shower, opting for a cold one to cool down while I rinse the smell of failing farm off me.

I’m trying not to be cynical, but there feels like no chance we can save the orchard portion. I know Jasper is stuck in his ways, but there is a chance to redeem this place if he’d be open to it. The orchard used to be more fruitful, but over the years diseased trees and the rise of bigger operations in our area have damn near erased any benefit of the small plot of land. What started out as acres is down to a minuscule portion of the property.

My mind wanders at what my life could be like outside of the farm. If I do something else, what would I even do? As the water beats down on my back, I press my forehead to the wall. I don’t know why I entertain this line of thinking anyway because it ends the same way every time. The suffocating pressure of obligation, the tightening noose of loyalty to family crushing me until I feel worthless.

I don’t know how much time passes as I stand in the shower blank faced, only that my fingers are wrinkled to hell and I’m probably cutting it close for dinner. Shutting the faucet off, Itry to do the same to my depressed mood—turn off the flow of darkness seeping into my brain and hope for the best.

Heading to the main house for dinner, my carefully crafted facade of happiness slips into place like it has many times before. I keep this toxic sludge inside my head and my expression the same goofball everyone likes to be around.

As a kid, my dad made sure I knew what happened when I cried or showed big emotions. Uncle Stone and Aunt Lorraine tried their hardest to get me to open up afterwards, but it took a long time to undo the fear. Suffice to say, I keep my shit under lock and key—which is why Dahlia’s concerned face in front of me is wildly confusing.

When I enter the house, I toe my boots off before rounding the counter to hug Aunt Lorraine with a dopey smile on my face. Now as I look at Dahlia, I’m wondering what she sees in my face others don’t.

“You alright?” Dahlia nudges my shoulder when I move to sit next to her.

“Of course.” I lie. “You ready to eat?”

“I’m not buying it, but I’ll let it go for now.” She points a black fingernail my way before tucking her hair behind her ears. “I’m fucking starving. I need food soon or I’m gonna become a problem.”

“As if you could ever be a problem, Dahlia.” A problem is something Dahlia is not. My muse. My friend. Someone I want to kiss. Someone I want to love. Those are problems, but my sweet Dahlia is not.

TWENTY-TWO

family dinner cage match

Dahlia

We surroundthe cherry oak table in the dining room ready to descend upon the hearty pasta dish Lorraine whipped up. As we take turns dishing out the meal, Lorraine asks about our day.

“So what did you think, dear?” In the time we’ve been here, I’ve grown quite fond of Lorraine. She’s a gentle woman, but it’s clear she’s not to be fucked with—like she’d go to war for anyone in her family. She’s the kind of woman I hope to be, soft but firm, kind but steady. From what I’ve seen, Stone gives her a hard time, but he loves her fiercely.

“Honestly, it was a great day. Hard work for sure, but it felt really good to be outside and around the horses. They’re gentle giants. I can totally see how being here would be therapeutic.” I’m really eager to research what’s available, even more after my day.

The property itself is a sanctuary. It’s peaceful and serene, and the kind of place you could go to get out of your head for a little. That’s exactly what I want this grant to bring life to. I knowtraditional therapy has its place, but it doesn’t fit everyone the same and that’s okay.

I hear Jasper huffing and look up to see him scoffing like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. I move to apologize if I said something wrong, but Wes speaks first.