He laughs at us. “Good fucking luck with that one. She’s worse than my damn ex-wife.” He slurs his words, swaying on his feet now that he’s at a standstill.
“Yeah, we’re good. Get on now. Go drink another one.” Murray shoos him away, but I know he’d rather punch the fucker who dares to touch this mare.
Luckily the drunk stumbles away, not causing any issues.
The mare watched Murray throughout the entire exchange. It earned him some trust with her, because she starts following him as he walks away.
“Murray, go right to the trailer. You won our girl over,” I yell at him.
He looks tentatively over his shoulder and she stops. When he looks back ahead she follows again. We play this game until she’s tucked safely in the trailer. She still didn’t like us getting close, but once we got to the ramp she climbed on in.
“She’s a smart thing,” I remark.
“Should be good for training once we can get her to realize she’s safe with us.” He nods. “Let’s get on home.”
We climb back in the truck and I have mixed feelings about getting home.
I don’t want to pass off my work, but I want to find my wife. That means I’m going to give the younger ranch hands the task of helping Murray get these two settled.
Pulling up to the house, Juliette’s truck is gone. She’s already gone to the bar for work, I missed her by hours.
I’ll shower and get over there to see her as soon as I can.
When I get in the house though I’m greeted by my dirty boots still sitting in the middle of the floor. Still surrounded by the dirt and a dried circle of salt from the snow melt.
Sighing, I grab the boots and toss ‘em out the door onto the deck so I can clap the dried mud off them later. Getting the broom, I clean up the mess they left behind before sanitizing the spot. There’s a ninety percent chance there was cow shit on those. And I guarantee that contributes to her griping. She’s always yelling at me to take them off outside and I never listen.
Why do I not listen?
Snapping a photo of the freshly cleaned spot I send it to Juliette before running upstairs to shower.
Only the sight I’m met with isn’t one I ever thought I’d see. Every one of her drawers is open and empty. I rush over tothe closet to find the same. And the bathroom paints the same picture.
Juliette left.
Frantically I pull out my phone. I dial her number over and over. At least it’s ringing now so I know I’m not blocked.
So I switch to texting.
Me:Babe, where the hell are you?
I stare at my phone waiting for the three dots to appear, letting me know she’s going to respond, but they don’t.
Suddenly our home speaker system starts playingSame Old Youby Miranda Lambert.
The chorus repeats over and over again, she is making her point.
I collapse onto the bed, staring out the window at the field as the song finally stops.
Fuck.I’ve really gotten myself into it this time. I reflect on how we got here and the only thing I realize is that I can’t let her go. She can’t leave me. I’d never survive, because I don’t know what life is without Juliette. Who am I even without her? I hop off the bed and rush to the shower. No man has ever won their woman back smelling the way I do.
It might have been immature to play Miranda Lambert over the speakers at home, but I also might have gotten into my tequila at the bar before work. I think leaving your husband in hopes he appreciates you more calls for shots.
Now I’m preparing for him to walk through that door any second. If I know him, he wallowed for a minute, took a shower and now he’s flying down the road to squeal into the parking lot on two tires.
“Jules! Two beers?” one of my regulars calls out.
“You got it!” Popping the tops off his favorites, I slide them down the bar as I hear the squeal of a man coming into the parking lot on his two tires as predicted.
