WINNIE
The Education of Beau Sterling
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
5:30 AM
Tumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen / Pour myself a cup of ambition / And yawn and stretch and try to come to life
-Dolly Parton
***
Five-thirty AM arrived with the subtlety of a slap to the face.
I’d been up since five, which was standard. What wasn’t standard was the petty, vibrating excitement I felt about what was about to happen. In exactly three minutes, I was going to drag Beau Sterling out of bed and make a billionaire trust fund baby earn his keep.
I stood outside his room with two mugs of coffee—one for me, one for him if he didn’t immediately piss me off.
I knocked. Loud.
Nothing.
I knocked harder. "Sterling! Rise and shine!"
A groan came from inside that sounded like it’d been dragged from the pits of hell. "Go away."
"Nope. Up and at ’em, princess. We got work."
"It’s still dark," came his muffled, sleep-rough voice. "The sun isn’t even awake. Why are we awake if the sun isn’t awake?"
I tried the handle—unlocked. Rookie. I shoved the door open. The room was pitch black except for the glow of a phone charger. Icould just make out a Beau-shaped lump buried under every blanket on the bed.
"Because the horses don’t care what time it is, and neither do I. You got five minutes to get dressed, or I’m comin’ back with a bucket of ice water."
The lump groaned, longer and more dramatic. "You’re joking."
"Do I look like I joke about chores?" I flipped the light switch.
He made a sound like a dying walrus and one arm shot out from the blanket cocoon to shield his eyes.
"Four minutes now," I added.
"I hate you."
"Yeah, get in line. Coffee’s downstairs. Don’t make me come back."
I turned and left before I had to witness whatever state of undress he was in. Professional distance. He was a job. A temporary, annoying job who used to cry over cow pies when he was twelve.
Downstairs, Pops was already at the stove, flipping pancakes. The smell of bacon filled the air because apparently, he’d decided to kill our guest with kindness. I would’ve gone with cold cereal and a reality check.
"He up?" Pops asked.
"Define ‘up.’" I sipped my coffee. "He’s conscious and whining, so I’ll call it a win."
"Give the boy a break, Winnie. First day’s rough."
"First day’s supposed to be rough. That’s the point." I snatched a piece of bacon, dodging Pops’ spatula. "If it was easy, he wouldn’t learn nothin’."
