“I’m not sad. I don’t care what he does! He’s just like my real parents. They didn’t want me either! I hate him and Topher!”
With a few hard yanks on the reins, he got Persimmon to move. We stayed abreast of each other. I remained silent, steady, letting him feel his emotions all the way home. I wanted him to know that no matter what, I would always be right here, riding at his side as long as I drew breath.
3
Chapter Three
The next few days were hectic and tense.
Dahn was not a lad who recovered from hurt quickly. He carried a slight with him for a long time, so even though I had explained to him that his dad was not abandoning him, he seemed resolute to believe so. Perhaps my inner agreement with his assessment was leeching through when we talked, so I dropped it. I’d let him process at his own pace while I tried other things to lift his spirits. Lots of time training goats—time when Baker was around to help, which was limited as Hanley kept him occupied—as well as signing him up for a couple of classes at the rec center in Bastian Grange.
Nothing was happening with the custody papers. Not that I thought it would be. Legal matters took forever even when there was no challenge from the other side. I made a note not to pester my attorney in Sacramento. Since we’d not lived in Oklahoma for long, California was still considered Dahn’s home state. Chris still lived there as well, so while I would rather list Oklahoma,it would be under California jurisdiction. All this moving would entail lots of paperwork on both sides. Our lawyers were more than happy to get all those billable hours, I was sure. To me, it didn’t matter how much it cost or what hoops I had to jump through. In the end, Dahn would be mine legally, and we could start our new lives over here on the ranch without worry.
Not that raising a sensitive child didn’t come with worry. This morning was the first time I’d seen him smile in two days. He and Bella—bless that woman—were working on baton twirling after a successful time working with Bastian Acres’ Pretty Petunia. His doeling for the fair now had her official name and was fully registered.
I’d bided my time after helping Linc and Ford with the horses and goats. The beefers had been moved out to graze on the western lots over the past two days. We’d spent all of yesterday checking on the windbreaks that would provide the herd shelter come winter. Most were in need of minor repairs, so that was on the job list for the next week. Today I was taking a few hours to run to the grange, as Baker and Granny sometimes called town, to get that taillight fixed and drop Dahn off at the rec center for a couple of hours. The boy needed friends other than Bella and his uncles and aged grandma. He’d get to spend an hour with a newly formed twirling class and then swap over to the ag group for an hour. I planned to spend my time at Timmy’s Garage and the sheriff’s office and wait in the wings while my son finished up.
Perhaps I would get lucky and run into Ollie while at his office. A man could hope.
A shout from Bella tugged me from my daydreams of sexy lawmen.
“Oh, I have a customer!” Bella shouted loud enough to be heard in the next county. I was pleased to see that a car with three women from town had arrived while I’d been fantasizingabout Ollie and his thighs. The Springhouse Boutique sorely needed customers. “I have to dash. Can we pick this up tomorrow after you work with Petunia?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be even better after I join the twirling club in school!” Dahn tucked the used baton under his arm and got a kiss on the cheek from Bella before she raced off, her flowery skirt blowing behind her, to greet her customers. She led them into the rustic but quaint shop. A moment later, Linc came hustling out, his big shoulders up by his ears. “Dad, I want to wear my new shirt.”
“Okay, don’t dawdle. I have to be at the garage in forty-five minutes.”
“Hey, Uncle Linc!” Dahn yelled as he raced up onto the porch, chucked the baton on the swing, and thundered inside. A sigh escaped me as I looked at the baton. That boy never took care of anything properly.
“You get the boot?” I asked my brother as he ambled up to the porch, his massive shoulders blocking out the late morning sun.
“Yeah,” he replied with a shy little smile. Linc spent a lot of time at that boutique. Doing what, we had no clue. More than likely, anything little Bella asked of him. It was obvious to everyone on the ranch—and that included the chickens pecking around in the flowerbed—that Linc was sweet on Bella. Her feelings were harder to gauge. She and Ford were naturally shy, it seemed, and they kept things incredibly close to their vests. “I was cleaning the waterfall fountain when they came in. I think those might be her first customers.”
“More will come now that a few were brave enough to venture out,” I said with a certainty I didn’t really feel. Bella’s presence in this area had not gone unnoticed. Many of the locals were not pleased with a transfemme man in their little bubble. Most were just now not gawking at Dahn when we went to town or to an event. I hoped the distrust and fear would fade the more timethey spent with Bella and discovered what a sweet, gentle soul she was.
“I think so. Her dresses are really pretty.” He eyed the narrow rocker then opted to just stand instead, his bulk settling against a porch rail. “You heading to town?”
“Yep, soon as Dahn changes his shirt. You need something?”
“Yeah, could you pick up a bouquet at the grocery store in town? I want to give it to Bella to celebrate her first sales.” I had to smile. What a lovesick bear my older brother was. It was fucking adorable. “If they don’t buy anything, I’ll just say they’re for her first non-family visitors or something.”
“I can totally do that.” I gave his shoulder a gentle thump with the side of my hand, picked up the baton, and went inside to round up my son. He was not changed but had found an old Superman comic book in the closet.
I hustled him out the door, and he read the comic on the way to town, his mouth going steadily about Clark Kent. Considering it was a quiet morning in the middle of the week, the Bastian Grange Recreation Center was bumping.
I pulled in at the very end of the long red brick building and glanced at my son sitting in the passenger seat, belted in, looking like the young man he was. Seemed just yesterday he was in a car seat. Now he was sitting beside me like an adult. I desperately wanted to hold tight to the years, but they seemed to slip between my fingers faster and faster. Kids and parents darted here and there across the sickly pale lawn. We needed rain badly. Knowing some was on the way made everyone happier.
“You want me to go in with you?” I asked as the engine quieted.
He mulled on that for a bit, holding his uncle Baker’s old comic to his chest like it was plate armor.
“Maybe just inside the door,” he said with a firm nod that sent satiny black hair down into his eyes. Perhaps I should take him to the barbershop while we are in town. “Don’t hover, okay?”
“Noted. No hovering.” We exited my SUV and entered the rec center, following the sounds of happy kids to a large room packed with kids doing a variety of things. Painting and weaving and sitting in a circle listening to someone discuss how to trim hooves on beef cattle. The classes ran the gamut. “That’s where I register. You stay here. I’ll wave when you can go.”
“Right. Here I shall stay. Have fun.”
He gave me a fast hug and then darted off, comic in hand, to sign up for his chosen activities. I waited by the door until he had his name sticker and took a seat at the hoof trimming seminar. A young man about his age leaned over and pointed at the comic. I got a curt wave. I’d been dismissed.
