I don't wait around to hear more. I walk through the house, heading toward the door that leads out back. From there, it's a straight shot to my cabin. If it weren't for Dakota standing in the kitchen holding Colt, I'd keep going.
"Hi, Colt." I soften my voice, the pain inside me pushed aside for the moment. They call me the baby and horse whisperer, but they've got it all wrong. It's the babies and horses who whisper to me, soothing the savage beast within.
Dakota turns to look at me, but Colt's head stays fixed in its position. I put a hand on Dakota's shoulder and lean around her into my nephew's field of vision. Once he spots me, he begins to kick his legs. I press a kiss to his temple and tell Dakota I have to run.
There is worry in her eyes, and I assume it's concern about me, so I kiss her forehead too, and keep going out the back door.
I stomp across the brick pavers that make up the back patio and step onto the grass. Once I cross the backyard, I'll hit the trees and be swallowed up by pines. After that, it's a short walk to my cabin.
"You got a bee in your bonnet?" I hear the old, grumbling voice behind me.
A smile tugs at my mouth. I turn around and find Gramps sitting at the outdoor couch, in the direct sunshine. I walk over and stand in front of him, giving him some shade. "Why does it seem like you're always sitting in various places around the homestead?"
"'Cause I am. What the fuck else is there for me to do?" He leans over a few inches, half his face bathed in sun again. "Get out of my sun."
I do as he says, but ask, "You want skin cancer?"
"Fuck it," he answers.
I laugh, but it's not an altogether happy feeling. It wasn't too long ago that he was telling us he was old but still had some party left in him. Now it feels like he's losing a bit of that spark, loosening his grip on life. I hate to think of what that means.
He taps a wrinkled finger on his thigh. "You spend a good deal of time stomping around this place, but today it seems like you're a little extra pissed off. What did your dad do now?"
"What makes you think it was my dad?"
"When isn't it your dad?"
I've never talked to him about my father. So Gramps isn't just always sitting in various places around this house, but he's also watching from those seats.
"He doesn't like me, Gramps."
"Is that what you think?"
"Yes."
When he doesn't respond, I ask, "This is the part where you tell me I'm wrong."
He makes a noise with his lips, like he's blowing a raspberry. "Your dad's the only one who can do that. My words will bounce right off you."
He's right. He could tell me I'm wrong until the cows come home, but not a damn one of his words would penetrate.
"Sounds to me like you need to talk to your dad."
I lean my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands between them. "When have you ever known my dad to talk about feelings and shit like that?"
"Never. But that's the point, isn't it?" His left leg twitches and shakes. "He never does and that's made it so that now he needs to."
"I suppose." I rub my eyes. "I need to get going. I have some work to do out on the Circle B." At some point we’re going to have to start calling it by its new name. Maybe when Jo gets the sign up.
"I heard about that from your parents. You're doing an awful lot of work out there."
"Jo needs the help."
"Is that right?"
I give him a slow look. "Yes, that’s right."
"That all it is? Forgive me, Grandson, but I've never seen you go this far out of your way for someone."
