Page 50 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

I move around the ground floor for a few minutes, making noise. An attempt to lure anyone who's here out. But no one appears.

The coast is clear.

My hand wraps around the gold door handle. It's cold against my palm. I twist, and it creaks open, revealing the homely little room behind it. My eyes scan the room, strategically planning the best course of action for my snooping session.

This room is full of so much love and family memories. Pictures of generations of the Carter family line the walls unevenly. There are stacks of what appear to be photo albums on the lower shelves near the far alcove. Those are the pictures I looked at the last time I was here. Then there’s the trophies and the belt buckles. All showcasing Wade’s talent as a bull rider. Many of which are accompanied by pictures of his wins, and my heart warms at how happy and content he is in those pictures. A ghost of the man he is today.

I run my finger along one of his belts, taking in every curve and dip within the design. There are around seven in total, all in date order. From December 1993 to August 1999. This must be Wade’s final win. I run my finger along the engraved 1999 of the belt buckle, deep in thought about how Wade didn’t want this to be his last win. He claims he gave it all up to look after Colt, but then, why push Colt away? Resentment for taking away his dream? Surely not. There is love there for Colt, just very hidden. And that’s what irks me the most, I see it—mainly because I have done nothing but obsess over Wade like some sort of stalker—but he does those little things for Colt that no one would notice unless they were really watching Wade. I mean, I’m here because he took a chance on Colt’s idea despite not wanting it.

A retro TV, the one that has the built-in VHS player, sits on a beautiful vintage pine cabinet in the centre of a bay window area. It has a darkened glass door hiding the storage area, showing a subtle glimpse of tapes lined in a row on the shelves. A closer look reveals handwritten titles on each of them. Colt’s first steps. Carter Wedding #2 - Wade & Ruby. Carter Christmas ’01. There are lots, all core memories of what a very loving family was clearly. I wonder if my mum ever took videos of our core moments. Let’s be real, she was probably too high or too occupied.

As much as I wanted to sit and watch some of these tapes, I decided against it. It felt too personal. Too much like an invasion of privacy. And I know what I am doing now is also that, but watching the tapes feels like a line I don’t really want to cross. I shift my focus to the photos. Photos are good, and there are tonnes of photo albums I can flick through.

I position myself, cross-legged on the floor, close to the photo albums. Leaning against the bare brick wall next to the tall cabinet, I can feel the coldness of the wall through my hoodie, but I settle quickly. I drop the first album on my lap, opening it up to the first page. Someone took time and care to make these albums, as most of them are accompanied with dates and small paragraphs about each photo. They weren’t in any particular order, so someone must have done this later on and not when they were taken. Making the effort to be more intentional makes these more special.

A knock on the door startles me, just as I was about to turn the page.

Fuck’s sake, I am not good at snooping.

Please don’t let it be Wade.

The door creaks open, and I let out the breath I had been holding when I see Colt’s golden locks and kind smile.

“Hey darlin’, what you doing in here?” he asks, not a trace of annoyance in his voice. I know I am safe, that he isn’t mad at me.

“I erm—” My brain cannot conjure up a reason quick enough, so I just say the truth, “I was snooping,” trying to pass it jokingly. “I couldn’t sleep and got curious. I am living in a house no one lives in, what do you think a girl is going to do?”

Colt smirks, then joins me on the floor. His knee touches mine as he crosses his legs, taking the album from my lap.

“You mind if I join you? Not looked at these in a while.”

Concerned that this could be a bad idea for him. “Erm, we don’t have to if you—”

“Maeve, it’s fine. It will be nice to show you some good times in the house, before it became an overachieving staff room.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, then nod.

We sat side by side, Colt flicking through albums, telling me stories linked to the photos he could remember. One of a younger him on Wade’s shoulders, lots of horse-riding pictures—of course. Him on Santa Claus's lap, which he says it is very obviously his grandfather. His face beams going through all these, and it warms my heart. This boy deserves to be happy. He is too kind. A ray of sunshine. A rarity when it comes to the men I’ve met.

“Oh, here’s my mother. Look how beautiful she is! Clearly got my looks from her.” he laughs. And he does. Because while he doesn’t look anything like his father, he looks everything like Ruby. Her wavy blonde hair is long in most of these pictures. The effortless, natural kind, not the ones you have to use the crimper for an hour to get. I’m jealous of this given my pin-straight hair that just about flicks at the end when I make the effort. Her face is covered in little freckles, and though paler than Wade and Colt, she still has a warm tone to her skin that just makes her look like she has this healthy glow. Truly beautiful.

We flick through more pictures of Ruby. Some while she was pregnant with Colt, often repping that cute country dungaree look. There were some candid ones of her with Wade in the mix, before things clearly went sour because they look so in love. Colt looks at the photos of his mother with such love, but also a look of longing. Clearly missing her.

He points to one of the pictures, Wade is standing behind Ruby, hands wrapped around her, landing on her small, bumped stomach.

“Look at how happy they look,” Colt’s voice is low and soft. I lean against him slightly, hoping it is a small bit of comfort. My eyes are still low, lingering on the page he is open on. And that’s when I see it. Instantly, my blood boils.

“I think I should go to bed,” I say to Colt. Quickly getting up to my feet.

Colt looks confused.

“We got to get up early tomorrow, and I am sleepy. This was nice, Colt. Thank you for sharing these with me.”

Now reassured, he puts away the album and joins me on his feet.

“You’re welcome. I should also get going.” He stands in front of me, placing a kiss on top of my head, causing me to still. “Thank you for listening to my stories. It was nice to remember the good times. Night, Maeve.”

I get halfway up the stairs as I hear the rattle of Colt’s truck fading into the distance. I spin on my heel, heading back down the stairs, gunning for my coat. The night air burns my face as I storm toward the truck Wade had given me access to. Not that I’ve used it, still too scared to drive on the other side of the road, but a five-minute drive on a clear ranch road should be a piece of cake.