I run my index finger over my upper lip and lean against the wall beside the tack room. I feel energized for the first time in well over a week, thanks to being back in the saddle all morning, rather than the tractor. We moved a herd of heifers from one section of grazing land to another, starting the moment the sun peeked over the mountain. Breathing in the fresh outside air, lightly scented with the aroma of tanning skin and horses, I was reminded of when I first came to work here.
Turning to head out of the barn, I sling back the rest of the coffee in my travel mug when Denny smacks me hard between the shoulder blades.
He fumbles with the saddle tucked against his side. “Hey, almost forgot to tell you we’re going to a bar in Sheridan tonight.”
I guess I could get behind going out, instead of doingwhat I’d planned to do tonight—shower, eat some half-assed dinner with the guys in the bunkhouse, play some online Scrabble with my mom and brother, jerk off while I think about Whit, fall asleep before nine o’clock.You know, the usual.
“Where we going?”
“Not sure yet. Guess it’ll be up to Whit, since it’s her birthday.”
It’s…herwhat?
“Huh?”
“It’s Whit’s birthday—”
“Today?” I interrupt, my wide-eyed stare earning a weird look from him.
“I don’t know, to be honest, but we’re going out tonight to celebrate. She didn’t want to go to The Horseshoe.” Denny brushes past my bewildered body to put his saddle away. From the tack room, he yells a casual, “You coming?”
Chill. Casual. Noncommittal.
“Yeah, sure…”
I speed-walk thefuckout of the barn, kicking up dust and feeling the wind in my mustache. I’m cruising so fast down the driveway, it takes more than a couple seconds for Betty to catch up. And when she does, she’s nipping at my heels to encourage me to go faster.
“Betty Spaghetti, we gotta find Jonas.”
Thankfully, I spot him from a mile away. On top of a pile of soil Austin had trucked in last week to double the size of Cecily’s garden, Jonas and Odessa are playing with yellow metal Tonka trucks. I don’t know how Whit can be so worried about him growing up to be well-adjusted when he puts up with Odessa’s shit without so much as an eye roll or raised voice. I’m sure playing dump trucks with a six-year-old is the last thing he wants to be doing.
“Hey, dude,” I call out, approaching the dirt pile. “Is it your mom’s birthday today?”
“Uh, yeah.” He tips the dump truck, pouring soil all over Odessa’s bare foot.
“Did you get her a present?”
The look he gives me says he hasn’t even considered it. “No.”
“Shit,” I mumble.
“Swear jar,” Odessa says unhelpfully.
“We should hit up Anette’s on our way home today and buy your mom a cake.”
Odessa crosses two fingers in front of her, making the sign of a…cross?No, an X. The definitive buzzing sound that follows from her lips makes that clear. My suggestion was the wrong one.
“My mom always says mommies only want homemade presents,” Odessa says, returning to the hole she’s dug with her toy excavator.
Even though it’s way more work, and I have no idea how to bake, the six-year-old is onto something.
“Okay, in that case, give me ten minutes to shower. We’re gonna bake a cake.”
I don’t give Jonas enough time to argue or point out that I’ve lost my mind. I know I have. But I’ll be damned if I don’t give my future wife the birthday she deserves.
After ten minutes—not a second longer—I’m freshly showered and striding up the steps to the big house with Jonas reluctantly following, leaving Betty to play with Odessa. Apparently I found the one thing he enjoys less than keeping a six-year-old girl company, and that’s helping in the kitchen.
“Hey, ladies,” I shout down the hallway as the screen door slams shut behind me.
