Page 6 of Special Delivery Cowboy
I walked down to the south pasture to check on the pregnant cows. Number forty-seven stood apart from the herd, her belly heavy, that look in her eyes that said she'd drop her calf any day now. Made a mental note to check on her again after I got back. If I got back before dark, anyway.
The wind shifted, bringing a bitter edge that meant the temperature was dropping fast. Going to be a cold one. The kind of night you wanted to be inside, fire going, maybe some company.
Not that I'd have any. Another quiet holiday on the ranch, which was fine by me. The cattle didn't care if I was alone.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket as I was securing the generator shed. Mom.
Come up to the house. Need to talk to you son.
I frowned at the screen. Mom didn't usually text during the day unless something was wrong. I typed back:Everything okay?
Yes. Just come up.
I finished with the generator and headed toward the main house, my boots caked with mud and manure from the morning's work. The two-story log home sat at the heart of theproperty, smoke rising from the chimney. I'd grown up in that house. Knew every creaking floorboard, every view from every window. Someday—if I ever found someone willing to share this life—it would be mine to fill with my own family.
Someday.
I stomped the snow off my boots on the porch and opened the door. Warmth and the smell of coffee hit me immediately—and something baking. Mom's Christmas cookies, probably.
"In here," Mom called from the kitchen.
I walked through, already pulling off my Stetson. Dad sat at the kitchen table, still wearing his work shirt despite the late morning hour. Mom stood by the counter, her hands wrapped around a mug. Both of them watched me with expressions I couldn't quite read.
Serious, but not bad.
"What's going on?" I hung my hat on the hook by the door.
"Sit down, son." Dad gestured to the empty chair.
I sat, tension creeping into my shoulders. "Someone dying?"
"No." Mom laughed, but it sounded nervous. "Nothing like that. We wanted to talk to you. Officially."
Dad cleared his throat. "We're retiring."
I blinked. "What?"
"As of January first," Mom said, setting her mug down. "Your dad and I are stepping back. The ranch is yours, TJ. Fully. We'll still be around to help when you need it, but day-to-day operations, all the decisions—that will be up to you going forward."
I sat back in my chair, processing. I'd known this was coming eventually. I was the oldest. Emily had her tech job in Seattle, was happy there with her husband, no interest in ranching. Cole loved the Navy, was making it a career, already talking about doing his full twenty years. Neither of them wanted to take overthe family business, and that was okay. They'd found their paths. This was mine.
But hearing it out loud made it real.
The weight of it settled over me—three generations of Johnsons working this land, and now it was mine to carry forward. Pride mixed with responsibility, heavy and real.
"Okay," I said finally. "When are you moving out?"
"End of January." Dad's voice was steady, confident. "We bought a smaller place outside Livingston. Five acres. Enough for your mom to keep breeding her dogs on a smaller scale, not so much that we're killing ourselves with upkeep."
Mom nodded. "I'll scale down to a few litters a year. Focus on showing the retrievers more. It'll be nice to have less responsibility, honestly."
"You sure about this?" I glanced between them. "You worked your whole lives—"
"Which is exactly why we're ready." Dad leaned forward, his weathered hands folded on the table. "Sixty years of breaking my back is enough, TJ. Your mother wants to see something besides the backside of cattle. We want to see Emily in Seattle more than twice a year. Maybe take that trip to Ireland she's been planning since before you were born."
"You've earned it," I said, meaning it. "Both of you."
"We know you'll take good care of this place." Mom's eyes got a little misty. "You always have. You love it the way we do. Maybe even more."
