Page 22 of When We Were Us
I leave Tucker whining in the bed of the truck and move toward the stables. It’s almost like he can sense what I need from him this morning, and he’s chomping at the bit to get at it.
I stride inside to saddle my six-year-old quarter horse, Apollo. He whinnies as I approach with a brush, saddle pad, and his bridle over my arm. I run my hand up his muzzle and to his forehead to scratch between his ears.
His glossy black tail swishes as I talk to him in a low voice. “Morning, big man.”
Removing my baseball cap, I run my hand down his neck and give his flank a pat. I’ve never been a big fan of cowboy hats and Wranglers, only wearing them on long cattle drives, but I live forthis. The silence of the morning, the rhythmic chuffing of the brush against Apollo’s coat, the creak and slide of leather through metal, soft whinnies, and the earthy-sweet scent of manure mixed with hay and wood chips.
Mornings in this stall are sacred and have always calmed me.
Apollo knickers and bumps my shoulder with this nose. I’m distracted by the chirping of my phone, and I flip it open, quickly scanning a text from Jack. Apollo bumps me again when I’m not moving fast enough for him.
“Ok, big man, we’re going.”
Beau,Tuck, and I work for nearly an hour straight. Jack wasn't kidding about these heifers being stubborn. Tucker does an amazing job moving them all back to where they’ll be safe. It can take a lifetime of training to get better and better, but the sheer will to want to move something that doesn't want to move, coupled with the predator/prey mentality out here on the ranch is to his advantage. Even when he’s a forty-pound dog stalking after a 1,200 lb. heifer. Tuck makes easy work of jobs like this one, and by the time we’re done, he’s happy and hungry.
After I’ve finished grooming Apollo and feeding and watering both him and Tucker, I head to my office in the barn to check a few emails. Jack calls to update me on the fencing situation, and since he has that under control, I leave Tucker curled up asleep in his dog bed next to my desk. He’ll be out for hours and I’m starving.
It’s just before seven when I walk into my parents' kitchen across the ranch. The smell of eggs and bacon assault my senses and my stomach growls.
“I heard that.” Mom smiles at me from over the rim of her coffee mug. She’s sitting at the counter with Pop, who is reading an actual newspaper. “Grab yourself a plate, sweetheart, before it gets cold.”
“Morning.” I drop a kiss on the top of her head, and she pats the hand I lay on her shoulder. I move past her toward the coffeepot and clap my dad on the shoulder as I go. “Pop, how’s your back this morning?”
I pour coffee into a mug and lean against the counter, taking a careful sip.
I always thought my dad was invincible. But four years ago, he was thrown from his horse during a rainstorm after the thunder hit too closely and the horse spooked. He still rides, but not nearly as much now that they’d had to fuse four vertebrae in his back.
It would have been a rough recovery at any age, but at sixty-seven, it had taken longer than he’d appreciated. He’d been laid up for months, and it was finally the catalyst that pushed him to agree to retire and hand the ranch over to me.
It was always going to be mine; I’d worked just as hard at making it what it was today as he had. It’s my life, my livelihood, and honestly, my first love. I couldn’t picture myself doing anything else. Wouldn’t even want to.
“Back’s fine.” He folds the paper and sets it aside, looking at me over the rim of his reading glasses. “You been over to Vern’s place recently?”
“Sit, sit.” Mom gets up, ushers me to the island, and then sets a plate filled with eggs, bacon, and fruit in front of me.
And here we go.
I pull a deep breath in through my nose and pick up my fork. Shoving a big bite of eggs into my mouth, I buy some time before answering. I know that they’re aware Wren is back in town, but they’d rather take the subtle approach.Deciding to try for indifference, I keep my eyes on my plate as I chew.
“Wren’s back. She can take care of anything that needs doing.”
I see my parents share a look from my peripheral. Mom opens her mouth to speak, but Hudson strides into the kitchen before she can. He spots me at the counter and gives a wide grin.
“Pushing forty and still eating breakfast every morning at Mom and Pop’s? Pathetic.” He smirks and snatches a slice of bacon off my plate, shoves it into his mouth, and then flicks my ear on his way to the coffee maker.
“What are you, twelve?” I give him a shove as he walks by.
Mom shakes her head and lifts up on her toes to press a kiss to my brother’s cheek.
“Maybe you ought to fire that housekeeper of yours, Snowflake. You can run your mouth when you make your own food,” I say around a mouthful of toast.
“Maybe if you moved out of that shack you call a house, you could get a date.”
His retort makes absolutely no sense in context. I roll my eyes with a shakeof my head, but it gives Mom the perfect opportunity to get a word in.
“Speaking of… Have youseenWrenley?” Mom asks, eyeing me cautiously from the stove and innocently sipping her coffee.
Goddamn it.
