Tethered

Twenty One || Frills

{Wolves ~ Jensen McRae}

...Though I got away, I never walked the same, Now I bury my smile and show no interest, Now I carry myself a little different, Now I avoid the woods, Now I know the wolves...

———

I outran the sun this morning as I finished up in the stables just in time for the peeking rays to coat my surroundings. The heat is already beginning to climb, and the cool breeze will soon surrender to the humid air of the Valley. I skip up the porch steps, hearing the gentle chimes that hang as they billow in a whisper of wind, almost welcoming me back to the four walls of the ranch house that is starting to feel like home.
Maybe it's the fact I slept well, soundly and without a nightmare. Maybe it is the memories of last night in the bar with Beau, but I have a spring in my step that I can't quite let go of.
Quietly, I re-enter into what I expect to be the silence of the ranch house when I hear the trundling of Uncle Deacon down the steps. He too is wide awake and bustling around. His face lights up as he spots me closing the back door upon my appearance in the kitchen.
"Morning Ruby, darlin'," he almost whistles. "How'd you sleep?"
I hear the hope in his voice and he doesn't even need to elaborate for me to know he is just as aware of my sleep issues as I am. The floorboards in this house need to quieten down.
"Well," I nod. "Really well."
"I'm glad to hear it, bud," he smiles. There is such a gentle air around him that I feel soothed by his presence.
"You're in a good mood," I observe. "Did you sleep well?"
"Pretty soundly," he confirms. "I'm gettin' ready to head out fishin'."
"Ah," I exclaim. "That's where the good mood is coming from."
"Care to join me? I've got an extra fishing rod since I upgraded mine."
And for all the excitement I feel about training and continuing what I expected to be another day in the paddock under the hot sun, the earnestness of his invitation has me lost for words for a moment. The last time Uncle Deacon and I went fishing, I was twelve. I was still living in Virginia with my parents, but we spent the summer. I was so excited to spend any time I could with him, and all of my time thinking about anything but back home. It was the time of growing up when I wasn't quite a child, and not quite a teenager, those awkward years of confusion and self-doubt that, hell, I still feel all the time. We sat for an entire day fishing by the river bank, with packed sandwiches and stories aplenty. It is ingrained within me as a core memory. The nostalgia of his question slams into me so hard that he prompts me. "Well, what'd'ya say?"
"Have you packed the sandwiches?" I ask.
"What kind of fisherman do you take me for?" He playfully responds.
"Then it's a deal," I smiled, widely and proudly.
There is a childlike giddiness in my steps, a wash of nostalgia in my veins, as I race back up the staircase and begin getting myself together. Some casual jeans cut off at the knee, and an old T-shirt work for a day like today, I remember. Nothing fancy, no frills. The memories flood back to me, how I begged every summer to go fishing with Dad and Uncle Deacon, my Mom giving me the same eye roll and deep sigh that cut my excitement right down the middle until Uncle Deacon swooped in to sew it right back up again as I was trundled into the back of the pickup with the bait and the beers before the heat of the day had run ahead of us. Today is going to be different, but I allow myself this small sense of peace amongst all of the madness.
The view of myself in the mirror is not one I expect. My lanky arms look tanned and more defined. My thighs have grown thicker, a tone to them that I didn't have before. Even my face is rounder, less gaunt and hollow. There is an echo of myself staring back that I didn't think would ever return.
A part of me I was sure had died.
Before the weight of my gaze can whip me into weeping, I swallow hard, blinking back the tears and stick on a baseball cap, threading my ponytail through the back to hang down the way I used to, and set off to rejoin my Uncle downstairs. I can hear Beau in the kitchen as I clamber down the creaking steps, my neck craning over to him.
"Mornin' Ruby," he smiles, "I take it you're off to the river with Mr Taylor?"
"Is that alright?" I ask tentatively, although nothing in his demeanour gave me any indication as to it being anything other than okay. His eyes flit to mine as he takes me in, both of us appraising each other. He is in a dirty set of jeans and a white vest, half-dusted and full of sawdust. His brow glistens as he wipes at it with the back of his palm, and I spy a tattoo on his inner bicep. I want to ask more about it, but Uncle Deacon gives a knowing cough and my attention is diverted.
"Mr Taylor gave me the update, of course, we'll pick it up tomorrow before we go pick up your dress for the ball," he nods.
"Y'all are really considering going to that farce?" Uncle Deacon guffaws.
"It'll be good for Ruby to get to know her competitors, and for the investors and sponsors present to get a taste of what she's racing for," Beau responds, practised diplomacy in his voice that I've heard him use with me many times when my own Taylor temper came rushing out.
"And I'll be with Beau," I add, hoping it counts for anything.
"Well..." Uncle Deacon's technicolour blue gaze drops to the floor for a moment, his hands adjusting the brim of his hat before he straightens and nods. "Let's get out there, kid."
And just like that, I'm a kid again, chasing the heels of my hero and favourite guy in the whole world. I wish I could say we haven't changed, but I know I'd be lying. Still, if my reflection was anything to go by, I might not be so far gone as I once believed.