“Time to what?” she asks, eyes narrowing as she prods the fleshy part between my thumb and forefinger with the tweezers.
“Step in, I guess,” I answer, hoping I’m not giving too much away because I get the distinct impression that she’d hate the idea of someone trying to talk Pops into selling this place.
She presses down on the end of the sliver, simultaneously digging in with the tweezers, and pulls out the troublesome piece of wood. A small drop of blood blooms on my skin and she covers it with a cotton ball before tearing open the disinfecting wipe with her teeth. She gives the spot a swipe and then bandages me up quickly.
Her hand leaves mine and the look on her face tells me she’s not fooled by my vague answer. Her lips are pulled down into a frown and her eyes are slits as she pushes up from the table. “This ranch is his life. He loves it here. Having to leave would break him, and living in the city would suck the life right out of him.”
“He’s never tried it. He might like it there, and he’d be much closer to a decent hospital if he needs it again,” I argue.
I realize my mistake as soon as the words are out of my mouth. I should have denied it. Instead, I’d given her the confirmation she was looking for.
If looks could kill, I would be a dead man right now from the daggers she's shooting at me.
“You’re unbelievable.” The chair screeches across the linoleum floor as she surges upright.
“Why? Because I want what’s best for him?”
“You want what will keep you from feeling guilty about never coming to see him. You want what’s easiest and most appealing toyou.Hebarely factors into your decision at all.”
“I’d hardly say it’smydecision,” I argue. “I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. But he should start thinking less about hanging onto this place and more about what’s best for his health.”
She blows air through tight lips. “His health would be just fine if he hadn't been doing most of this stuff on his own the last few years. It took a toll on him. He’s lucky to have Tripp now. Wrangling 1200-pound cattle isn’t a job for a seventy-seven-year-old man, no matter how good of shape he’s in.” Red creeps up her neck, hiding her freckles and showing her irritation.
“It’s not. That’s exactly why he should step away from the ranch. Sell it and retire somewhere closer to his family.”
She shakes her head back and forth, arms crossed tightly across her chest and color filling her cheeks. “It would break his heart to leave this place. His whole life has been here. It’s been in his family for generations.”
I shrug, trying to appear unfazed by how much she seems to care for Pops. “I don't need a history lesson. It’s just a house.”
"Typical city boy—if it doesn't come with valet parking and a Starbucks, it's worthless." Red flushes her face and tinges her ears, making me roll my lips together because if she sees me crack a smile right now, I know I’m as good as dead.
“You’re willing to uproot him from his life just because y’all can’t be bothered to make trips out here to check on him every so often. You're all a bunch of selfish city assholes. Pops might share your last name, but he sure as hell deserves better thanyou.” Her copper hair flies as she spins around and storms down the porch steps in a huff.
A tight knot forms in my chest as I stand on the porch. I rub at it as I watch Sawyer climb into her pickup truck, kicking up gravel as the tires spin. She might be right, but I don’t have time to think about it as awhistle pulls my gaze from the settling dust to Pops and Tripp trekking back from the catch pens where part of the herd now resides.
“She ran out of here like a bat out of hell. What’d you do? Try to kiss her? She’ll bite if you’re not careful,” Tripp hollers at me. I can see his smile easy enough from here and Pops ducks his head to hide his, but his shoulders shake in laughter.
“Oh, I’ll bet she bites alright,” I mutter to myself, mystified and, for reasons I don’t quite understand, a little turned on.
Lookin' Like A Chump
Sawyer
Herds Bar is crowded, and after the day I’ve had, I’m glad I agreed to come out with Allie tonight—even if it means enduring a few side-eyes from people who bought into whatever lies Kyle has been spreading over the last 48 hours. I roll my eyes at the predictability of it.
I ignore them and take the drink Allie already brought over from the bar because I deserve it after wrangling all the goats that escaped their enclosure after wrecking their fence.
Again.
Roscoe is a damn nuisance.
Not to mention having to deal with Wes and his smug, know-it-all attitude.
Realizing Wes is only here to convince Pops to sell Dawson Ranch hit me harder than I thought it would. I’d grown close to the old man over these last several years. He was like family to me.
He helped me out when I needed it after my divorce, and now, I helped him. I didn’t like the thought of Pops not being close by, and I hated the idea of the ranch being sold off in chunks to someone else who would ruin everything Pops and his family had built out here.
Almost everyone is congregating around the big corner booth, so it’s simple enough to pretend it’s just me and my best friend in the crowded bar on a Friday night.
