Page 41 of Riding the High

“That tracks,” Nash says with a chuckle.

“Laugh it up, fuckers,” I tell them all, watching Mabel play with the dog. “It’s a win-win situation. It doesn’t always have to be drama.”

“I, for one, think it’s a great idea,” my mama cuts in, winking at Ginger as she pours her sweet tea from a glass pitcher. “Gives me lots of time to sort some bits around here. I’ve just introduced Glenda to a few new weekly clubs. And now I’ll be able to go with her—ease her into town life.”

Glenda is Ivy’s mother, who moved to the ranch a couple of months ago. She’s recovering from alcoholism and is thriving here at Silver Pines. She visits the horses daily, walks the trails around the property, and spends a lot of time sitting on her front porch watching the ranch hands go about their daily chores while she crochets. She’s even started a little business selling hats and blankets.

“It’s very sweet of you to take this on Ginger,” Mama carries on. “I was worried about how I was going to balance looking after Mabel with taking care of the books. Especially with Wade and Ivy so focused on making sure Angel Wings is ready for her derby run. But I still want my Mabel-and-Nana day once or twice a week.”

“Of course,” I say, nodding.

I’m so lucky to have a mother who wants to spend so much time with her grandchild. In fact, over the last few years, she’s almost been like a second mother to Mabel. Especially when Gemma bails on her visits.

“Well, Mabel must be thrilled,” CeCe chimes in from across the table. “’bout time you realized how good Ginger is with her. You’re lucky to have her all summer.”

My sister grins at Ginger but I can see the guilt in Ginger’s eyes for lying to her best friend.

“Mabel is thrilled,” I say.

At least that much is true. She literally squealed when I told her yesterday morning that Ginger would be with her for most of the summer.

“You’re gonna live with Cole, though? Good luck,” Nash scoffs. “You two usually don’t get through a night without some sort of tussle.”

Ironic that tussling with Ginger in a different way is the root of this problem.

“We’ve been working on that lately, actually, and I’ll have my own quarters at the house. I can stay far away from him and, besides, we have strict rules,” Ginger tells them.

“Sounds like a great plan for a few months. A real win for everyone,” Liv says with her chin resting on her palm. She’s looking at Ginger like she sees right through her as she tosses her copper hair over her shoulder.

“It will be,” Ginger fires back, a little too sharply, and I get the feeling she’s trying to convince herself.

“Good girl for making rules,” Ivy says, giving Ginger a high five from across the old barnwood table. “I hope it includes your coffee made every morning.”

“Settle down over there,” I interject, watching as Wade stops spicing our steaks and walks over to Ivy to lazily slide his hand over her growing belly. It’s like he can’t not touch her. He takes a drink of his bourbon then bends down to kiss her.

“How’s that steak coming along?” Ivy asks as he lingers with her long enough to torture us all.

“Mama wants to eat?” he says.

Fucking hell.

“Get a room, for shit sakes,” I say, louder than I should, tossing a napkin at them.

“Dollar, Dad!” Mabel yells from the yard. She’s sitting in the thick green grass with Harley and her coloring, but she looks about done with that now. “Auntie, come play ring toss with me!” she calls to CeCe.

“Call her in to clean her room and she doesn’t hear me. Say ‘shit’ just above whisper level and she does?” I say quietly.

My mother giggles in response. “She’s a businesswoman. Takes after her nana.”

“I’m coming, baby,” Cece singsongs, before kissing Nash and turning to Ginger and Liv. “Come with me, you two.”

Both women dutifully stand and they all walk over to where Mabel is waiting. I watch as they retreat into the middle of the massive yard; the natural fescue grass swaying in the breeze beyond serves as the precursor to the pond my dad installed at the edge of the space. This was his favorite place to sit. He loved cooking outside like this in the summer. He’d take charge of the big outdoor kitchen covered with a pergola under the Edison string lights, or have all of us sit around the large stone firepit, drinking bourbon and making s’mores. I know he’d love to be here with me now and watch Mabel play.

The familiar pang of grief tightens in my chest as I remember the last time we were together out here. It was the fall before he died and we were watching Mabel chalk on the patio. All the leaves had turned, and the lawn was littered with them. He was struggling to rake them, and we had to call in some ranch hands to help. We sat and watched them while he gave me advice. I was pissed that Gemma had missed Mabel’s school play. He told me not to sweat the small stuff, to stop chasing perfection for Mabel and just live in the moment. He urged me to let my daughter put down her own roots. Her childhood didn’t need to look like mine to be memorable or special; it just had to be hers.

“Looking mighty forlorn over there, bud. Sad you don’t havea woman of your own to kiss?” Nash says, turning his Stars hat backward and grinning at me.

“Christ almighty. Just trying not to be sick. Whipped is what you are, the both of you!” I point between Wade and Nash. They laugh, signaling they couldn’t give a fuck that they are. For one tiny second, I feel a touch of jealousy at how settled and content my brother and my best friend are.

---