The work came in a rhythm we all knew. I ran the skid steer, moving the large round bales, while Griffin and Ryder forked down square bales for the horses, tossing them off the stack with the kind of efficiency people only get after doing something a thousand times in bad weather. Steam rose off the cattle when they crowded in around the feed, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder and huffing, their breath coming up in thick white bursts in the air. The hay smell poured out warm and sweet, grassy, and started to work its way into my coat, my gloves, everything.
Kipp wanted the herds heavy going into the cold stretch. We all did. You could feel that deep cold coming in your bones before it hit. Bellies full meant less worry. Less worry meant maybe two hours of actual sleep tonight, not the kind where your eyes are closed but your mind keeps circling fences in the dark.
Kristin stood with Nash at the rail, checking the mineral tubs and watching the horses work the line for any sign of stress. She had a clipboard in her hands. She always said she hated clipboards. She had once told me, dead serious, that clipboards were for people who liked to act like they were in charge when they were not. She was holding that one like it was a shield and also like she would break someone's fingers if they tried to take it from her.
It calmed me more than I wanted to admit to see her doing something that normal.
She looked different from the way she had even a week ago. Still pale. Still healing. But she had color again, and focus, and that small, stubborn tilt to her mouth that always meant she had decided she was fine and that was the end of the discussion. That tilt had gotten her in trouble more than once. That tilt had also kept her alive.
She’d put on a good show on Christmas Day, pretending she was fine, but she had moved like she was made of glass and didnot trust the floor under her. She kept looking at doors, always knowing where they were, always knowing who was closest to them. Her hands had stayed near her own body like she did not want anybody touching her unless she said it first.
Today, she was upright and steady. Today, she was telling Nash where to put the salt, just as she signs his pay checks. I could work with that, I could breathe with that.
She had her hair pulled back under a knit cap. The wind kicked little loose strands around her face. Her cheeks were red from the cold. The bruise that had sat high on her wrist like a brand a few days ago had gone from purple to yellow and green. I still wanted to put my hand over it, like I could erase it by covering it. She saw me looking once, just for a second, and lifted that same wrist like she was not hiding anything from anybody. She held my eyes, and I had to look away first. That was her way of telling me I was allowed to watch, but I was not allowed to panic.
By mid-afternoon, the last of the feed and bedding were placed, and the last gate tied up in a way Ryder promised was temporary, but I had a feeling would still look exactly like that in June. Griffin slapped his gloves against his thigh and left a smear of hay dust there, his breath coming out heavy. He looked at what we had done, then looked at us, then grinned.
Time for the good part.
New Year’s on the Diamond was never fancy, but it was ours. Always had been. We didn’t go into town. We didn’t bother with strangers; it was one more time for family. Food in the kitchen. Cards at the table. Somebody always pulled out a guitar. Sometimes people danced. Most years, one of the kids cried around eleven thirty and pretended they weren’t tired. Once in a while, somebody would step outside with a beer and stand with both hands braced on the porch rail and breathe hard through a year they shouldn’t have made it through, and whoever noticedfirst would just drift out, stand there quiet beside them, and wait. It wasn’t pretty, but it was honest, and it had kept all of us standing through more than one year we had no business surviving.
This year felt bigger.
This was the first real night since the rodeo when I didn't feel like I needed my back against a wall to breathe. That mattered more than I wanted to say out loud.
Kipp called from the porch and told us to quit dragging our feet and get cleaned up because nobody was eating before everyone was inside. If anyone made Nora mad about the timing this year, he wasn't saving them.
We all pretended that was a threat.
Everyone split up to their own houses for a couple of hours. I walked with Kristin back toward ours. The sun was already low, and the light took on that soft winter gold that hits the edges of the metal gates, turning them into lines of fire. The air held a tight cold that made sound carry. I could still hear Nash and Ryder arguing even after they went inside. I could pick out Griffin's voice floating from Kipp's porch. I could hear Kipp laughing at his own joke.
Kristin walked close enough that our shoulders occasionally brushed. She kept her hands tucked into her coat sleeves and her chin tilted down toward the collar to shield her neck from the wind. She didn’t say anything for a while, and I didn’t push her. I’d learned not to fill her silence with my own words.
We cleaned up fast. I changed my shirt, scrubbed my hands, and tried to flatten my hair, which never listens to me and always goes where it wants after I take off a hat. She pulled on a soft sweater that hugged her, making my throat tight. Her jeans hugged her hips. She smelled like cedar and soap. Then she reached for my collar without asking and fixed it before she ran her hands down my chest.
“Keep that up, I’m going to skip this party, and we can ring in the New Year while you scream my name.”
That look in her eyes before she bit the corner of her mouth and smirked made me think she would disagree if we missed it.
“Cowboy, we’ve got our entire lives of New Year’s Eves to skip out on; we better show up to this one.” Kristin patted my chest and turned, swaying her hips slightly, which drew my attention to her ass. Good thing we had to walk to Kipp’s, I wasn’t anywhere close to decent at the moment.
We stepped back out and headed toward Kipp's place. Lights glowed in the windows already. I could see shadows moving back and forth in front of the curtains. I could hear the muffled thump of music before we even reached the porch. The sound carried across the yard and straight into me, cutting through the cold. It felt like walking toward a heartbeat.
Inside was already noisy. Coats hung over every chair. Boots lined the wall in a messy row, melting little halos of snow into the mat. The kitchen table was covered with platters, bowls, and mismatched dishes. Griffin and Nash were in an argument about seasoning that had clearly started long before we arrived and was showing no sign of ending. Nash had both hands in the air, and Griffin had both eyebrows raised. Ryder leaned against the counter with a drink, a look on his face that said he was enjoying the show and wasn't going to get involved, as this was too good.
Kipp stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, giving directions nobody was following.
“You are late,” Kipp said without looking up.
“We are right on time,” Kristin answered, and that made him finally turn and grin.
“Good. Grab plates before Ryder eats everything.”
“That is slander,” Ryder said through a mouthful.
“No, it’s not because it’s true,” Lexie called before she stuck her tongue out at her husband.
“Lawyers,” Ryder mumbled as Lexie walked past him and he swatted her ass.
