"Last I checked, my last name is Hayden. That makes me as good as any of my brothers at being a leader on this ranch. I learned to walk on Hayden soil just like my brothers. I learned to shoot here, just like they did, and I'll bet every breath I have left in this world that I'm a better shot." My hair has fallen in my face as my head shook with the vehemency of my words, and I tuck it back behind both ears.
My mom sighs and shakes her head. "It's not—"
A thought slams into me and I cut her off. "You never even thought of me during all this, have you?” My gaze flies from her to my dad. “Warner vacates his position, it's not filled by Wyatt, and you don't even think about your fourth child? You want to make sure this ranch is run by Haydens, well, guess what?" I point back at myself. "You've got one. Right here. I have ideas for days, I could bring so much to this place. You need to diversify. Your entire livelihood is based on cattle, but if you—"
My dad's head is shaking before his mouth opens, so I beat him to his sentence.
"Let me guess. I'm young. I'm a woman, and to date, a woman has never been in a position of leadership on this ranch."
"No," my dad storms. His flattened palm smacks the table, sending a thunderous wave through the room. "It's because you're not ranch material. Yes, you're young, but you've always been impetuous. You make unwise choices, like running a gambling ring in your dorm room. You are a liability, and that"—he points a stiff finger across the table at me, and it feels like a physical assault even though it's nowhere near touching me—"is why you've never been considered for stepping into Warner's spot."
I can take a lot. Negative opinions roll off me like a bead of sweat in the blazing summer sun. But this? It stings.
The fire inside me has been snuffed out. I'm done with this conversation. My hand taps my knee as I think about what to do next, and very quickly I settle on an idea. "I'm going to move into Warner's cabin for the time being while I figure out my next steps."
"Jessie, I didn't mean…" My dad's words fizzle out.
"Yes, you did." I stand. "And that's okay. You told the truth." I lick my lips, gathering my courage. "So here's my truth. I love this land as much as Wes. As much as any of you. And maybe I've lived my life in a way others view as impulsive. But I can't think of anyone you'd hire to help Wes who would bleed for this ranch. I'm a Hayden too, and there's nothing I wouldn't do to keep this ranch going. What weighs more? A handful of bad choices, or my commitment to the hundred plus years of Hayden blood, sweat, and tears that saturate this land?" I start to turn away but turn back for a quick second and point up at the family crest above the mantel on the fireplace. "Legacy. Loyalty. Honor.Who else embodies all three values? I don't want an answer, Dad. I already know it. The real question is if you do."
I go to my room, the very same room I used as a nursery. The walls have seen three different colors of paint, but they are the same walls I looked at through newborn eyes.
I begin repacking what I unpacked when I arrived. The living room is empty when I pass back through, arms full of my belongings. I load up my car and drive to Warner's place.
When I arrive, I realize I don't have a key, so I leave everything on the covered porch and return to the homestead. When I enter my room, there is a single gold house key on the end of my dresser. I don't need to ask what it unlocks, or who put it there. It could only have been my mother.
With the key safely tucked in my back pocket, I load up more of my things from my bedroom. I don't have boxes, so I make do with old backpacks and tote bags. I even strip my sheets from my bed, so I won't have to deal with it when I get back to Warner's.
I need to stop thinking of it as Warner's house. Now, it's mine. I'm taking it over. A land grab. If I have to, I'll plant a flag in the front yard.
The key slides in the lock, and I open the door with my foot, propping it open and picking up two bags. I step in, standing in the foyer and looking around. Warner didn't take much furniture with him, just a few items here and there. Tenley had wanted to start over together, and they’d gone to Phoenix to pick out all new furniture. I’d met them for lunch when they were in between stores.
I walk through the house and into the master bedroom. Warner’s furniture is still there, minus his collection of books. While I’m in here, I remove the sheets from the bed and toss them on the ground in a heap.
In the living room, I remove a painting from the wall and go back out to the porch, returning with my favorite picture.
"There," I say proudly to the empty room. I stand back and gaze upon the charcoal drawing of a much younger me perched on Hester Prynne. My mother snapped the picture of me, my head tipped up, my cowgirl hat poised just so on my head. I look confident and sublimely happy. Wyatt took the photo and had it made into the charcoal drawing for Christmas. It has always been my favorite gift.
"Now I'm home," I whisper. "Jessie's cabin."
I spendthe next week making the cabin into my own. New throw pillows and blankets, some cheap wall hangings, and candles that make this place smell more floral than I'd prefer. Beggars can't be choosers, and there wasn't a huge selection, so I bought them anyway.
I've seen my mom and dad almost every day, and Wes too. Wes hasn't even asked why I'm still at the ranch instead of going back to school, which either means he doesn't give two shits or he's that preoccupied. My dad offers me terse nods and grumbles, and my mom swears she's never seen him so stressed out. It worries her, and me too. After his heart attack a few years ago, stress is the last thing he needs. At this point, I'm trying to stay out of his way and help my mom as much as possible with the hundreds of chores she has on the ranch. I like helping her, but taking care of goats and making goat cheese are not where I'm meant to be. I want to be in the saddle. I want to manage operations.
Yesterday I watched Wes and the cowboys ride out to lead the cows to a new pasture, hoping to find better grass. I kept imagining I was out there too, and that daydream is still in my head, even now, while I'm rearranging my clothes in the closet. My phone in my back pocket begins to vibrate, and that breaks into my thoughts.
Marlowe, according to the flashing screen.
"Hello, best friend," I greet, cradling the phone between my shoulder and my ear so I can use both my hands.
"Did you come home last weekend and not tell me?" Her accusatory tone holds thinly veiled hurt.
"It's not like it sounds, I promise. I was going to call you tomorrow." I've been avoiding calling her. It's not like I have good news to share. I grab the phone before my neck starts to hurt from the awkward angle. "I have a lot to tell you."
"Is everything okay?" Her tone shifts to concern. I picture her sliding around the 'M' she wears on a gold chain around her neck.
"I think so?" I don't know why it comes out as a question, except that I'm not certain if everything really is okay. It all feels very fluid right now, my life a sloshing liquid where only two weeks ago it was a solid. "Do you want to meet for a drink?"
“You mean this weekend? You’re coming back already?”
