Firefly Night

CHAPTER 13.5

I didn't even bother to turn around when I spoke, too focused on fixing the fence rail that the Spice had kicked apart. "Again," I said, nodding toward Colt, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Colt loosened his grip on the coiled rope, lifting the loop with his left hand. He swung it overhead, trying to find a rhythm that felt right. When he let it fly, the loop missed the target again, falling short of the sun-bleached cow skull perched on the fence post. I could practically hear the frustration in the way he yanked the rope back to try again.

"You're trying too hard," I said, giving the fence rail a solid shake to test my repair. It held firm. I turned around, leaning casually against the fence as I looked at him. "You can't just mirror what you'd do with your right hand."

Colt's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he coiled the rope again. "That all?" he muttered, irritation clear in his voice.

I pushed off the fence and walked over, grabbing my own rope from where I'd left it hanging. "Look," I began, holding the loop in my right hand. "The reason we're going back to basics is because you need to relearn everything. You can't just transfer what you know from one hand to the other. It doesn't work like that. You've got to figure out what feels right, what's natural for your left hand."

Colt rubbed at the scruff on his chin, then swapped the rope between hands, testing the feel. "Nothing feels natural in my left," he admitted, the frustration seeping into his tone. "Feels like trying to use someone else's hand."

"You'll get there," I said, showing him my own grip. My right hand held the rope firmly, with a confident, practiced grip. But when I switched to my left, the grip was looser, more fluid. "See? It's different. You don't have to hold it like I do, but you can't hold it the same way you would with your right. Play around with it. Loosen up, tighten up—whatever feels better."

Colt studied my hands, then nodded. He turned his left hand palm-up, loosening his grip on the loop like I'd suggested. After shaking out his arms, he set himself up to throw again.

This time, he kept about six feet of rope loose between his hands, swinging the loop off to the side. He brought his arm up overhead, letting the loop twirl faster and faster. But instead of forcing it, he bent his elbow slightly, letting the motion flow more naturally. When he released the rope, the loop sailed through the air and landed right on the cow skull, catching one of the horns. A small, satisfied smile crept onto his face.

"There you go," I said, nodding in approval. "Feels better, doesn't it?"

Colt's smile widened as he reached out and pulled me into a half hug. It caught me off guard, the sudden closeness, but there was a comfort in it too. His embrace was warm, solid, and for a moment, I let myself forget about the fences that needed mending and the wild mustang still roaming the pasture.

"Thank you," he murmured into the nape of my neck, his breath sending a shiver down my spine.

Even though we'd grown closer, these moments still surprised me. I was used to Colt's rough edges, his gruff way of hiding the softer parts of himself. But in this brief embrace, I felt that softer side clearly, a part of him that he didn't show often, but when he did, it felt... safe. Almost too safe.

When he let go, I nodded, shouldering my own coiled rope and turning toward the barn. "Again," I ordered, trying to shake off the warmth of the moment.

Colt's grin only grew as he loosened his rope and took aim once more. I was halfway to the barn when I felt the loop of his rope settle around my shoulders. Before I could react he jerked it tight, and I stumbled backward, thrown off balance. The ground came up fast, and I landed with a yelp, sprawled in the dirt.

As I turned to look at Colt, who was now doubled over with laughter couldn't help but laugh too, despite the dirt on my jeans and the flush in my cheeks. With a playful eye roll, I untangled the rope and let it drop to the ground. "Not bad, Langmore."

"Thank you, Odell," Colt replied, his grin wide and unrepentant.

I ignored the warmth spreading throughout my chest, settling itself in every part of my body. Turning away, I gestured toward the barn. "Put your toys away. We've got hay to move, and you've got to learn to do it left-handed."

Colt smirked at my back, clearly enjoying himself. But as much as he took pleasure in getting under my skin, I was happy to see that he was adapting. When we got to the barn, I watched him pick up the pitchfork, switching it to his left hand without a word of complaint. He moved through the motions, a little slower, a little less steady, but determined. I made sure he kept at it until the job was done, ignoring his occasional grunts of frustration.

When he finally finished, he looked worn out, but there was a certain satisfaction in his expression. He stretched his arms overhead, then crossed them one at a time over his chest, trying to work out the kinks. I saw him rub his knuckles over his lower back, and I felt an echo of that tightness in my own muscles.

"Want a beer?" I offered, the words slipping out before I can second-guess myself.

Colt glanced at me, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, and nodded. "Yeah," he said, "I could use one."