Sawyer
“Sawyer? I was wonderingif you could do me a favor?” Char appears in the big bay doors of the equipment barn pushing her double stroller with Paisley trotting along behind them.
Please don’t ask me to change diapers.
“Sure, what’s up?” Wiping some of the grease off my hands into a red shop towel, I tuck it into my back pocket and lean against the stock trailer.
I still don’t know why Dad doesn’t just hire a regular mechanic.
“I have someone coming for the two mares in the front stall but I haven’t had a chance to bring out the farrier. Would youmind just giving them a quick trim?” She squints one eye over her smile, like she’s waiting for me to say “no”.
Shit, it’s better than changing a poopy baby. “Yea, no problem.”
“Thank you!” She throws up her hand in a wave.
Paisley jumps, raising her own arm up. “Bye!” she yells, rushing to catch up with her mom.
I guess kids aren’t that bad once they’re her age. I just don’t get the hype.
Glancing at my phone, I have about three hours before work. That should be enough time to get them both and a quick shower.
The wheel bearing in the trailer can wait until tomorrow. I don’t think Dad expected me to get it all done today anyways.
Except I can’t find the stupid rasp. I swore I left it with the clippers after the last time.
Twenty minutes later, by a freak accident, I find the handles sticking out from a bale of alfalfa next to Misty’s pen.
Fuck, Sophia. Can’t you put anything away? She acts like the whole world revolves around her.
With a sigh, I trudge back to Char’s mares and get them tied up far enough apart that they can’t mess with each other.
The first one goes pretty easy but the second keeps reaching down and biting me every time I start on one of her front hooves.
And it freaking hurts.
I know that there has to be some sort of grain bag or something around here?
Anything to muzzle her.
If I had a helper, I’d already be done.
Crap. I’m running late.
Do I shower? Or just high tail it to the bar?
Val is gonna hate me.
I get everything put backin the right place, then break out in a jog for my truck.
“Sawyer? How’s it going on that wheel?” Dad steps off the porch carrying Jack, who coos at me and waving his chubby fingers.
“Oh, fine. I’ll have it done tomorrow.” I reach the door of my old Tacoma and it wrenches open with a squawk.
Dad’s amber eyes narrow slightly. “Where’re you running off to? Not like you to leave something half done.”
Fuck.
I sure as hell don’t want to lie to him. But I’m also not ready to have a conversation about working off of the ranch.
