“Are you insane? You could have been hurt!”
She rolled her eyes, typical Avery. “I’m not a kid, Clover. I can handle myself.” I quickly looked her up and down, checking for injuries. Her worn boots looked like they had taken a beating and needed to be replaced. But Avery had a stubborn attitude. When she loved something, she refused to let it go.
“That’s not the point!” I was practically yelling now. “Why’d you even go there? You know how I feel about rodeos. When I found that flier, my heart dropped.”
Avery didn’t back down; her eyes flared with defiance. “I wanted to ride. I’ve been pestering the Dust Devils for weeks. But why were you snooping around?! You could have messed up my chance.”
Anger simmered inside me, ready to boil over. “Oh, wouldn’t that be a shame,” I spat out, sarcasm dripping from every word.
She glared at me, but it didn’t douse my anger. “Seriously? I’m fully capable of making my own fucking decisions.”
I felt my nostrils flare up. “Obviously not if you’re hanging out at the Dust Devils’ rodeo. This isn’t a game, Avery. They’re legitimate criminals.”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on. The Devils aren’t that bad. They gave Dad his start, and he got sponsors almost immediately!”
The mention of our father made me sick. “Dad always said the Devils were dangerous, Avery.”
She shook her head in annoyance. “I’m not going to join their fucking gang, Clover. I’m just riding at their rodeo.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And where were you after it got shut down? Your text said you were heading home!”
Her comeback was quick, just as heated as mine. “I was bummed about missing my ride. I went out with friends. It’s not that big of a deal. I still can’t believe you showed up. Why did you?”
I couldn’t believe she had the guts to ask. “Seriously, Avery? I was there for you,” I snapped, “even though I hate everything the rodeo stands for.” Anger reflected in both our eyes as I took a step closer and pointed at her. “But you wouldn’t get it. All you care about is the rush, not the people who care about you.”
I couldn’t help but notice the stark differences between us as we fought. Avery’s soft and delicate face looked nothing like mine. Her pale hair, always practical for work, in a bun. Mine was a cascade of light brown waves. She lived in her tough denim and plaid shirts, while I preferred pink, rhinestone tops, and vibrant scarves.
“That’s not fair, Clover,” she countered, her voice echoing around us. She was full of fire, but I was used to it.
“Am I supposed to watch you ‘follow your dreams,’ Avery?” I mocked. “Is that what you call risking your life?”
“I’m careful!” Avery stood her ground, her resolve shining in her eyes. “I need to test my limits. No one, not even you, can stop me. The Devils are the only ones who give women a chance. Everyone else just laughs at me.”
The tension between us was thick, her words hanging in the air. She was right, in a way. I knew my fears shouldn’t control her, but the thought of her dancing with the devils made my stomach churn.
“Dad died riding a bull,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.
Avery’s tough shell softened, her rough and calloused hand reaching for mine. “I promise I’ll be careful, Clover. But I want to do this. I need to do this.”
The distinct contrast between us never felt more apparent. Avery, with her adventurous spirit and audacious dreams, worried me. She thrived on chaos, took risks, and laughed in the face of danger. On the other hand, I was the calm after her storm, always trying to pick up the pieces left in her wake.
This was our life—Avery, chasing thrill and adventure, and me, constantly trailing behind, the fear for her safety an ever-present shadow. This was our dance, a turbulent mix of worry, anger, love, and an unhealthy dose of frustration.
“I just worry about you, okay?” I finally choked out.
She let out a sigh and took a step toward me, wrapping me in her arms with a begrudging embrace.
Returning her hug, I took a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of hay and horses clinging to her. “I just love you so damn much,” I breathed. “You’ve always been brave and stubborn, but you’re also kind and strong.”
When we finally broke apart, she spoke. “I love you too. Next time, you don’t have to chase me down at the rodeo. I can handle myself.”
I resisted the urge to argue with her again. She couldn’t handle herself. She could barely remember to fill her gas tank up let alone deal with the risks of a criminal underground rodeo. She was naïve and reckless, but fighting about it got us nowhere.
I avoided answering her and instead looked around our modest home. It was small but ours, the only thing Dad left us when he died. We owned three acres, and our property backed up to some trails. The floors and walls were scuffed, our kitchen needed an overhaul, and the bathroom sink had a persistent leak.
But it was ours.
Avery had put up rodeo posters and pictures of her favorite riders. It wasn’t my style, but it made her happy, and that was all that mattered to me.
Feeling worn out, I excused myself. “I’m gonna shower,” I mumbled, heading for the bathroom.
“Hold up,” Avery said, a hint of mischief in her voice before she started digging through her purse. “I got you something from the rodeo.” She handed me a tiny stuffed bull, a red flag held in its mouth. “An apology gift.”
My eyes rolled in response, but my lips betrayed a smile. “Thanks, I’ll add it to my pile of unwanted rodeo keepsakes.”
I retreated into the sanctuary of the bathroom, turning on the shower as hot as it would go. I tried to calm my anger. Avery was impulsive and reactive. Fighting with her wouldn’t fix things.
When I came out, Avery was already in bed, the toy bull clutched in her sleep-loose grip. My heart warmed at the sight.
Closing the door to her room, I made a quiet vow. No matter what, I’d protect my sister, even if it meant stepping into the rodeo arena myself.
As dawn painted the world in a wash of eerie crimson, the crisp morning air stirred an ache in me. Life as a trail guide promised the allure of adventure and an escape from reality, leading wide-eyed tourists through the treacherous, intoxicating landscape.
In worn leather attire, I headed to the stables. My horses, an extension of my own anxious energy, snorted their greetings.
“Morning, Ginny,” I cooed, offering the eldest mare a blood-red apple. She crunched into it appreciatively, and the familiar, comforting sound soothed some of my restlessness.
Strapping on my worn boots, I pressed my back against the cool metal of Ginny’s stall. It was still early; dawn was just a blush on the horizon, making the stables a realm of half-shadow and murmurings of horses. I did some of my chores, then saddled Ginny.
With her reins firm in my grip, we left for an easy morning ride. A sense of serenity washed over me. Out here, I could pretend that the pile of bills and my sister’s reckless antics weren’t waiting for me back home.
Here, I could pretend I was doing okay.
I rounded a bend on the trail and spotted the ominous shape of an RV parked haphazardly. It was rare that people were out here, and my brow furrowed in confusion as I approached.