“It was pretty casual in the beginning with Fern. Didn’t know if it would really go anywhere.”
“Are you fucking kidding? Donotbring your Fern on Thursday. There’s no way I can look her in the eye knowing I was your fucking mistress.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, Whit.”
Thank God, Blair and Mom are walking toward me. I quickly wipe the tears rimming my waterline. “I have to go.”
Click.
The foul taste lingers in my mouth long after I brush the grass from my dress and climb into Blair’s car. If it were only my sister in the car with me, I’d vent about Alex and his bullshit for the entire drive home. But Mom’s busy showing off a ceramic wind-up ballerina she purchased, repeating the same story four times over, and my need to word-vomit about everything has mostly worn off by the time we’re pulling into the driveway.
Pulling Blair aside to let Mom get ahead of us on the short path to the front door, I whisper, “Do you have plans tonight?”
“Nope. Why?”
“Alex is dating a Fern, making me an unintentional mistress. And this Fern wants him to spend more time with Jonas, which apparently means more to Alex than—oh, you know—Jonas wanting to spend more time with his dad.”
To be fair, the need to word-vomit was onlymostlygone.
“I’ll bring the wine.”
“Two bottles should do the trick.”
Colt
Somehow, we’ve amassed an audience. Sure, they’re cattle. But I can see how it’s intimidating, nonetheless.
“Dude, you just gotta do it,” I say. My mare sidesteps. She’s watching the cattle; I’m watching Jonas pout in the middle of a hayfield. “We all fall off horses sometimes.”
Betty barks in agreement.
Sometimes I wonder if she can talk but chooses not to.
On second thought, she might’ve been barking because she thinks we should get to work moving this herd, and Jonas and I are killing her vibe.
He stares intently at a piece of alfalfa in his hands, plucking at it with his fingernails. “I don’t want to ride a stupid fricking horse again.”
“Fair.” I nod, looking off toward the tree line and adjusting my grip on his horse’s reins.
I let a moment or two pass, with Jonas kicking at the ground, dirtying up the toe of a slightly oversized cowboy boot Kate found for him in the attic.
After a few weeks of Jonas being on the ranch nearly every day, I offered up something a bit more fun than mucking stalls—heading out on the range to check on the herd—and he damn near tripped over himself to get to the barn. Climbed right up on the horse without a fear in the world, and maybe the problem now is that he was a bit too cocky from the jump.After five minutes, he insisted he didn’t need me leading his horse around.
Sucks to be knocked down a couple pegs.
“You ever think about how smart and stealthy wild animals are?” I ask after he’s had some time to work through his anger at himself.
“No,” he snarks.
“Well, like, there could be a massive mountain lion in that tree”—squinting one eye, I point at a towering fir not too far in the distance—“watching us right now. We’d never even know it. Best hunters around, waiting until the perfect moment.”
I watch his eyes lift to follow my finger, growing in diameter by the second until they’re the size of softballs. “You think there’s a mountain lion in there?”
“Could be. Or he could be chillin’ on that rock ledge beyond the tree. Laid low like a sniper.”
“Won’t it go after the cows instead?” He risks a quick glance away from the rock face to look at the herd, who are still keeping a wary eye on us—rather, on the dog. She’s keeping a damn close eye on them, too.
“That’s dinner. You’re like the free chips they bring out before the meal.”
