Page 14 of Barn Burner
This became my mom’s passion project when she was told by her doctor that she needed to cut back after being diagnosed with spondylosis. Ever since I was a kid, I always remember my dad mentioning her back pain. She couldn’t always pick up my brothers and sister when they were young, but it wasn’t until I was older that I understood why. But being the stubborn woman she is, she ignored the advice to give up riding and carried on until four years ago, when she ended up being bed-bound for three weeks due to the pain. So, the riding school was passed over to Cooper, but instead of retiring, she started the petting farm. It isn’t as physically extensive, and I’ve made accommodations that everything is at the right height for her so there’s no bending or lifting.
Although sometimes I wonder if having the petting farm is more of an excuse so she can have a bunch of animals as pets.
As we get closer to the newest building on the ranch, Brayden lets out a loud gasp at the sight of the long-haired, reddish-brown cows currently lining up at the fence, vying for his attention.
“Oh my God! You have Highland cows? Or should I say,coos.” He snickers.
“Coos?”
“Yeah,” he replies, making a beeline for where they’re waiting. “In Scots, coo means cow, and with them being from the Highlands, they’re often called Highland coos, but maybe it’s more of a thing back home.”
“Mhm, maybe. Mom always wanted some, but these are purely for pets.”
He rears back, as if I’ve struck him. “Wait, you’re saying people eat Highland cows?”
I nod. “Yeah. Due to their coats, Highland cattle produce lean, tender meat.”
“But… they’re so cute. How could anyone eat these?” he asks in despair. He walks over to the one who is watching us curiously from beneath the long hair partially covering her eyes and scratches her head between the horns. Mom appears a moment later, because of course she does, and hands him a chopped-up apple.
“See, Jesse? Brayden gets it,” she says in mock annoyance. “They are too beautiful to eat.”
I roll my eyes, propping my hip against the fence post. Bonnie makes a beeline for me, and I take a step back just in time to avoid getting impaled by her horns. She lets out a huffed breath, jerking her large head at me. Her way of asking me to rub her horns.
“We have a small herd, but it’s slowly growing as Mom keeps adopting more that need homes so they don’t get sent to slaughter,” I tell Brayden while running my hand over the base of Bonnie’s horn. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we’ll need to expand the field soon to accommodate.”
Brayden’s laughter rolls over me like a warm blanket. So rich and smooth.
“This is like my dream,” he announces, holding his palm out flat to feed Bessie another piece of apple. “Honestly, this place is just like heaven to me.”
My mom gives me a proud look over his shoulder, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.
People have been in my life before, and they have always tried to change me. They don’t understand that this is my life.This ranch. This land. It’s the air in my lungs. The blood in my veins. It’s everything I’ve ever known, and it will continue to be my everything until my very last breath.
Huxley Creek Ranch is my life’s purpose, and it’s difficult for most people to understand, especially those who haven’t come from this life, and it’s why people always leave.
And regardless of this simmering chemistry between us, I’m old enough to know better that Brayden is here purely for a vacation. A break from whatever it is he’s running from in his life. But knowing that the place that makes my heart beat is bringing him so much happiness, even if it’s only temporary, means the fucking world to me.
My mom makes a heart with her fingers behind Brayden’s back, and I click my tongue, turning my attention back to Bonnie.
“What other animals do you have here?” Brayden asks.
“We also have Pygmy and Anglo-Nubian goats, along with some call ducks, a couple of donkeys, and a Shetland pony called Sheila.”
“Sheila! That’s epic!” He snorts.
“I want to get some Valais Blacknose sheep, but this one won’t let me.” Mom jabs her thumb my way.
“We are not getting sheep, Ma,” I grumble.
She glares at me, her lips pursed in that stubborn pout that works on my dad and Cooper but not on me.
“What do they look like?” Brayden asks her.
Mom gets her phone out and shows him a photo of the fluffy-looking sheep with black faces.
“Holy shit!” He laughs. “They almost don’t look real.”
“I know! Aren’t they so cute?”
