The Construction of Cheer - Liz Isaacson Page 0,28
he asked himself. He too got out of the truck and followed Ace, not really trying to keep up with him. He glanced left and right like he might try to rob the place and he wanted to make sure there weren’t any cops nearby.
He wasn’t sure why this energy needled below his skin, only that it was there, and it was making him jumpy.
Inside the tack and feed, he got his own cart, because Ace had conveniently disappeared. It was just as well, because Cactus needed new leather to make reins, and Ace needed chicken feed and goat pellets. The two items were on opposite sides of the store.
Cactus started to relax as he went down the first aisle. He didn’t use shopping as therapy, but he did like looking at everything in the tack and feed. He liked to get raw leather and braid his own reins, though he could just buy a pair of ready-made leads.
He needed something to keep his hands busy at night, which was why he’d learned to crochet, knit, and whittle over the years. He’d been braiding reins since the age of seven, when he’d sit beside his father and listen to him talk to Mother about the ranch, about their children, and about his dreams. Sometimes Uncle Bull would take Mother’s spot in the living room, the fireplace flickering onto their faces as Cactus kept his mouth closed and his hands busy.
He was extraordinarily good at keeping quiet. He’d learned early on in his life that he didn’t have to talk all the time. Even if he disagreed, he could keep his thoughts to himself. He didn’t have to voice his opinion. He didn’t have to be heard.
He thought of Bishop as he turned down the aisle filled with outdoor cooking equipment. The man’s birthday was coming up, and while Cactus wasn’t going to get him a heavy-duty Dutch oven, Bishop would probably like something new to make the family meals he, Etta, and Ida put together week after week a little easier.
Cactus pulled out his phone and set himself a calendar reminder for the following day. Get Bishop something for his birthday. He looked up when he heard familiar laughter. His heartbeat bumped over itself while he first thought it was one of the women he’d chatted with over the past few months.
“Don’t be stupid,” he muttered. He’d never spoken to them on the phone or in person. There was no way it could be one of them. There were only three, and Cactus wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong with each one to make them all eventually go silent.
He’d concluded that he just wasn’t that interesting. Bishop had looked at one of his conversations, and he’d had nothing to say. No suggestions for what Cactus could’ve done differently.
It had taken all of Cactus’s courage to show Bishop just one conversation, and he wasn’t putting himself through that again.
He’d deleted his profile on the dating app, and since no one asked him what his plan was to meet a woman, he didn’t have to have one.
The woman laughed again, and Cactus definitely knew her. He inched around the corner and looked down the aisle to find none other than Ace wearing a smile the size of Texas itself as he flirted with a pretty brunette.
Of course, Cactus thought. Holly Ann Broadbent stood with one hand on Ace’s cart, clearly holding him in place. Cactus wasn’t sure why Ace and Holly Ann hadn’t worked out a few months ago. He was clearly smitten with her, and as she pealed out another round of laughter, it was obvious she was thrilled to be talking to Ace.
He’d gotten her number at the Christmas movie three months ago. Cactus hadn’t followed up with him, so he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. He relied on Bear and Bishop for the ranch gossip, and Bear was a poor choice as he hated drama and gossip as much as Cactus hated that he’d lost his infant son and then his wife.
He pulled in a breath while he waited for the anger and humiliation to grip his heart. Today, though, it only blipped through him. The humiliation especially dried up quickly, and the anger felt more like a slow burn than the instant fury he’d experienced in the past.
He pushed his cart past Ace and Holly Ann, whispering, “Bless him with whatever it takes to be happy.”
That was all Cactus really wanted. For himself, for all of his